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THE  LIFE 


OF 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON,  LL.  1) 

INCLUDING 

A JOURNAL  OF  A TOUR  TO  THE  HEBRIDES, 

BY 

n 

JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 


A NEW  EDITION, 

WITH  NUMEROUS  ADDITIONS  AND  NOTES, 

BY 

JOHN  WILSON  CROKER,  LL.  D.  F.R.S. 


^-Q,UO  fit  Ut  OMNIS 

V oti<rn.  pateat  veluti  descripta  tabella 
Vita  senis Hohart.  I Sat.  lib.  u. 

IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 

II. 

NEW  YORK: 

HARPER  & BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

329  & 331  PEARL  STREET, 

FRANKLIN  SQUARE. 

1863.0 


■'  i ■ 


psv  oe  w 


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A Q jM 

I 

LI  F E 

Of 

SAMUEL  JOHNSON,  LL.  D. 


I passed  many  hours  with  him  on  the 
17th,  [May],  of  which  I find  all  my  memo- 
rial is,  “ much  laughing.”  It  should  seem 
he  had  that  day  been  in  a humour  for  jocu- 
larity and  merriment,  and  upon  such  occa- 
sions I never  knew  a man  laugh  more  hear- 
tily. We  may  suppose  that  the  high  relish 
of  a state  so  different  from  his  habitual 
gloom  produced  more  than  ordinary  exer- 
tions of  that  distinguishing  faculty  of  man, 
which  has  puzzled  philosophers  so  much  to 
explain.  Johnson’s  laugh  was  as  remarka- 
ble as  any  circumstance  in  his  manner.  It 
was  a kind  of  good-humoured  growl.  Tom 
Davies  described  it  drolly  enough : “ He 
laughs  like  a rhinoceros.” 

“ TO  BENNET  LANGTON,  ESQ. 

“ 21st  May,  1775. 

“ Dear  sir, — I have  an  old  amanuensis 
m great  distress!.  I have  given  what  I 
think  I can  give,  and  begged  till  I cannot 
ted  where  to  beg  again.  I put  into  his 
hands  this  morning  four  guineas.  If  you 
could  collect  three  guineas  more,  it  would 
clear  him  from  his  present  difficulty.  I am, 
sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

[“  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ 22d  May,  1775. 

“ One  thing  or  other  still  hinders  me,  be- 
sides, perhaps,  what  is  the  great  hindrance, 
that  I have  no  great  mind  to  go.  Boswell 
went  away  at  two  this  morning.  L[ang- 
ton]  I suppose  goes  this  week.  B[oswell] 
got  two-and-forty  guineas  in  fees  while  he 
was  here.  He  has,  by  his  wife’s  persuasion 
and  mine,  taken  down  a present  for  his 
mother-in-law. 

****** 

J [He  had  written  to  Mrs.  Thrale  the  day  be- 
fore. “ Peyton  and  Macbean  are  both  starving, 
imd  I cannot  keep  them.” — Lett.  v.  i.  p.  218. — 

Ed.] 


“I  am  not  sorry  that  you  read  Boswell i 
journal.  Is  it  not  a merry  piece  ? There 
is  much  in  it  about  poor  me. 

“ Do  not  buy  C ’s  2 Travels ; they 

are  duller  than  T ’s  3.  W 4 is 

too  fond  of  words,  but  you  may  read  him. 
I shall  take  care  that  Adair’s  account  ol 
America  may  be  sent  you,  for  I shall  have 
it  of  my  own. 

“ Beattie  has  called  once  to  see  me.  He 
lives  grand  at  the  archbishop’s.”] 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ 27th  May,  1775 

“ Dear  sir, — I make  no  doubt  but  you 
are  now  safely  lodged  in  your  own  habita- 
tion, and  have  told  all  your  adventures  to 
Mrs.  Boswell  and  Miss  Veronica.  Pray 
teach  Veronica  to  love  me.  Bid  her  not 
mind  mamma. 

“ Mrs.  Thrale  has  taken  cold,  and  been 
very  much  disordered,  but  I hope  is  grown 
well.  Mr.  Langton  went  yesterday  to 
Lincolnshire,  and  has  invited  Nicolaida  s to 
follow  him.  Beauclerk  talks  of  going  to 
Bath.  I am  to  set  out  on  Monday;  so 
there  is  nothing  but  dispersion. 

“ I have  returned  Lord  Hailes’s  entertain- 
ing sheets,  but  must  stay  till  I come  back 
for  more,  because  it  will  be  inconvenient  to 
send  them  after  me  in  my  vagrant  state. 

“I  promised  Mrs.  Macaulays  that  1 


2 [Probably  “ Chandler’s  Travels  in  Asia  Mi- 
nor.”— Ed.] 

3 [Probably  “ Travels  through  Spain  and  Por- 
tugal in  1772  and  1775,  by  Richard  Twiss,  Esq.” 
—Ed.] 

4 [Probably  “Cqrsory  Remarks  made  in  a 
Tour  through  some  of  the  Northern  Parts  of  Eu- 
rope, by  Nathaniel  Wraxall,  jun.” — Ed.] 

5 A learned  Greek. — Boswell.  [Mr.  Lang- 
ton was  an  enthusiast  about  Greek. — Ed.] 

6 Wife  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Kenneth  Macau- 
lay, author  of  “The  History  of  St.  Kilda.”  - 
Boswell. 


4 


1775. — JETAT.  66. 


A^ould  try  to  serve  her  son  at  Oxford.  I 
lave  not  forgotten  it,  nor  am  unwilling  to 
perform  it.  If  they  desire  to  give  him  an 
English  education,  it  should  be  considered 
whether  they  cannot  send  him  for  a year 
or  two  to  an  English  school.  If  he  comes 
immediately  from  Scotland,  he  can  make  no 
figure  in  our  Universities.  The  schools  in 
the  north,  I believe,  are  cheap,  and  when 
I was  a young  man,  were  eminently  good. 

“ There  are  two  little  books  published  by 
the  Foulis,  Telemachus  and  Collins’s  Po- 
ems, each  a shilling ; I would  be  glad  to 
have  them. 

“ Make  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Boswell, 
though  she  does  not  love  me.  You  see 
what  perverse  things  ladies  are,  and  how 
little  fit  to  be  trusted  with  feudal  estates. 
When  she  mends  and  loves  me,  there  may 
be  more  hope  of  her  daughters. 

“ I will  not  send  compliments  to  my 
friends  by  name,  because  I would  be  loth  to 
leave  any  out  in  the  enumeration.  Tell 
them,  as  you  see  them,  how  well  I speak  of 
Scotch  politeness,  and  Scotch  hospitality, 
and  Scotch  beauty,  and  of  every  thing 
Scotch,  but  Scotch  oat-cakes  and  Scotch 
prejudices. 

“ Let  me  know  the  answer  of  Rasay, 
and  the  decision  relating  to  Sir  AUanL  I 
am,  my  dearest  sir,  with  great  affection, 
your  most  obliged  and  most  humble  ser- 
vant, “Sam.  Johnson.” 

Ed.  [In  the  latter  end  of  May  he  set  out 
on  what  he  called  “ his  annual  ramble 
mto  the  middle  counties,”  of  which  his  let- 
ters to  Mrs.  Thrale  give  a kind  of  journal. 
He  had,  it  seems,  previous  to  his  departure, 
a kind  of  fit,  which,  as  well  as  Mr.  Thrale’s 
care  for  his  personal  appearance,  he  thus 
notices :] 

[“TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  25tli  May,  1775. 

Letters,  “The  fit  was  a sudden  faint- 
222— m ness>  su°h  as  I have  had  I know 
not  how  often ; no  harm  came  of 
it,  and  all  is  well.  I cannot  go  [to  Oxford] 
till  Saturday,  and  then  go  I will  if  I can. 
My  clothes,  Mr.  Thrale  says,  must  be  made 
ike  other  people’s,  and  they  are  gone  to 
the  tailor’s.-” 

“ Oxford,  1st  June,  1775. 

“ I did  not  make  the  epitaph  2 before  last 
night,  and  this  morning  I have  found  it  too 
long ; I send  it  to  you  as  it  is  to  pacify  you, 
and  will  make  it  shorter  * *.  Don’t  sup- 
pose that  I live  here  as  we  live  at  Strea- 

1 A lawsuit  carried  on  by  Sir  Allan  Maclean, 
chief  of  his  clan,  to  recover  certain  parts  of  his 
family  estates  from  the  duke  of  Argyle. — Bos- 
well. 

J [On  Mrs.  Salisbury. — Ed.] 


tham.  I went  this  morning  to  the  chape 
at  six,  and  if  I were  to  stay  would  try  t« 
conform  to  all  wholesome  rules  * *.  Mr. 
Coulson  3 is  well,  and  still  willing  to  keep 
me,  but  1 delight  not  in  being  long  here. 
Mri  Smollett,  of  Loch  Lomond  *,  and  his 
lady  have  been  here — we  were  glad  to 
meet.'9 

“6th  June,  1775. 

“ Such  is  the  uncertainty  of  all  human 
things,  that  Mr.  [Coulson]  has  quarrelled 
with  me.  He  says  I raise  the  laugh  upon 
him,  and  he  is  an  independent  man,  and  all 
he  has  is  his  own,  and  he  is  not  used  to 
such  things.  And  so  I shall  have  no  more 
good  of  C[oulson],  of  whom  I never  had 
any  good  but  flattery,  which  my  dear  mis 
tress  knows  I can  have  at  home. 

****** 

“ Here  I am,  and  how  to  get  away  I do 
not  see,  for  the  power  of  departure,  other- 
wise than  in  a post-chaise,  depends  upon 
accidental  vacancies  in  passing  coaches,  of 
which  all  but  one  in  a week  pass  through 
this  place  at  three  in  the  morning.  After 
that  one  I have  sent,  but  with  little  hope ; 
yet  I shall  be  very  unwilling  to  stay  here 
another  week.” 

“ [Oxford],  7th  June,  1775 

“C[oulson]  and  I am  pretty  well  again. 
I grudge  the  cost  of  going  to  Lichfield — 
Frank  and  I — in  a post-chaise — yet  I think 
of  thundering  away  to-morrow.  So  you 
will  write  your  next  dear  letter  to  Lich- 
field.” 

“ Lichfield,  10th  June,  1775. 

“ On  Thursday  I took  a post-chaise,  and 
intended  to  have  passed  a day  or  two  at 
Birmingham,  but  Hector  had  company  in 
his  house,  and  I went  on  to  Lichfield, 
where  I know  not  how  long  I shall  stay.” 

“ Lichfield,  11th  June,  1775. 

“ Lady  Smith  is  settled  here  at  last,  and 
sees  company  in  her  new  house.  1 went 
on  Saturday.  Poor  Lucy  Porter  has  her 
hand  in  a bag,  so  unabled  by  the  gout  that 
she  cannot  dress  herself.  I go  every  day  to 
Stowehill ; both  the  sisters  s are  now  at 
home.  I sent  Mrs.  Aston  a ‘ Taxation  6,’ 
and  sent  it  to  nobody  else,  and  Lucy  borrow- 
ed it.  Mrs.  Aston,  since  that,  inquired  by 
a messenger  when  I was  expected.  ‘ I can 
tell  nothing  about  it,’  said  Lucy  : ‘ when  he 
is  to  be  here,  I suppose  she  ’ll  know.’ 
Every  body  remembers  you  all.  You  left 
a good  impression  behind  you.  I hope  you 


3 [Mr.  Coulson,  of  University  College.  See 
ante,  vol.  i.  p.  493. — Ed.] 

4 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  452. — Ed.] 

5 [Mrs.  G astrell  and  Miss  Aston. — Ed.] 

6 [A  copy  of  his  pamphlet,  “Taxation  nc 
Tyranny.” — Ed.] 


1775. — JET  AT.  6b. 


b 


wiD  io  the  same  at  [Lewes].  Do  not  make 
them  speeches.  Unusual  compliments,  to 
which  there  is  no  stated  and  prescriptive 
answer,  embarrass  the  feeble  who  do  not 
know  what  to  say,  and  disgust  the  wise, 
who,  knowing  them  to  be  false,  suspect  them 
to  be  hypocritical.  ******* 
You  never  told  me,  and  I omitted  to  inquire, 
how  you  were  entertained  by  Boswell’s 
‘Journal.’  One  would  think  the  man  had 
been  hired  to  be  a spy  upon  me ; he  was 
very  diligent,  and  caught  opportunities  of 
writing  from  time  to  time.  You  may  now 
conceive  yourself  tolerably  well  acquainted 
with  the  expedition.  Folks  want  me  to  go 
to  Italy,  but  I say  you  are  not  for  it.” 

“ Lichfield,  13th  June,  1775. 

« I now  write  from  Mrs.  Cobb’s,  where  I 
have  had  custard.  Nothing  considerable 
has  happened  since  I wrote,  only  I am  sorry 
to  see  Miss  Porter  so  bad,  and  I am  not 
pleased  to  find  that,  after  a very  comfortable 
intermission,  the  old  flatulence  distressed 
me  again  last  night.  ‘ The  world  is  full  of 
ups  and  downs,’  as,  I think,  I told  you  once 
before. 

“ Lichfield  is  full  of  box-clubs.  The  la- 
dies have  one  for  their  own  sex.  They  have 
incorporated  themselves  under  the  appella- 
tion of  the  Amicable  Society ; and  pay  each 
twopence  a week  to  the  box.  Any  woman 
who  can  produce  the  weekly  twopence  is 
admitted  to  the  society ; and  when  any  of 
the  poor  subscribers  is  in  want,  she  has  six 
shillings  a week ; and,  I think,  when  she 
dies  five  pounds  are  given  to  her  children. 
Lucy  is  not  one,  nor  Mrs.  Cobb.  The  sub- 
scribers are  always  quarrelling ; and  every 
now  and  then,  a lady,  in  a fume,  withdraws 
her  name ; but  they  are  an  hundred  pounds 
beforehand. 

“Mr.  Green  has  got  a cast  of  Shak- 
speare,  which  he  holds  to  be  a very  exact 
resemblance. 

« There  is  great  lamentation  here  for  the 
death  of  Col.  Lucy  is  of  opinion  that  he 
was  wonderfudy  handsome. 

“ Boswell  is  a favourite,  but  he  has  lost 
ground  since  I told  them  that  he  is  married, 
and  all  hope  is  over.”] 

Ed.  [The  history  of  Mrs.  Williams  be- 
longs so  inseparably  to  that  of  Dr.  John- 
son, that  the  Editor  cannot  omit  here  insert- 
ing the  following  letter,  relating  to  a small 
annuity,  which  the  charity  of  Mrs.  Montagu 
had  secured  to  Mrs.  Williams,  and  which, 
as  we  shall  see,  was  long  afterwards  a sub- 
ject of  acknowledgment  from  Dr.  Johnson 
to  that  lady.] 

[“MRS.  WILLIAMS  TO  MRS.  MONTAGU. 

“ Johnson’s-court,  26th  June,  1775. 
Mont.  “Madam, — Often  have  I heard  of 

B‘  generosity,  benevolence,  and  com- 


passion, but  never  have  I known  or  expe- 
rienced the  reality  of  those  virtues,  till 
this  joyful  morning,  when  I received  the 
honour  of  your  most  tender  and  affectionate 
letter  with  its  most  welcome  contents.  Ma- 
dam, I may  with  truth  say,  I have  not  words 
to  express  my  gratitude  as  I ought  to  a lady, 
whose  bounty  has,  by  an  act  of  benevolence, 
doubled  my  income,  and  whose  tender, 
compassionate  assurance  has  removed  the 
future  anxiety  of  trusting  to  chance,  the 
terror  of  which  only  could  have  prompted 
me  to  stand  a public  candidate  for  Mr. 
Hetherington’s  bounty.  May  my  sincere 
and  grateful  thanks  be  accepted  by  you,  and 
may  the  Author  of  all  good  bless  and  long 
continue  a life,  whose  shining  virtues  are  so 
conspicuous  and  exemplary,  is  the  most  ar- 
dent prayer  of  her  who  is,  with  the  greatest 
respect,  madam,  your  most  devoted,  truly 
obliged,  and  obedient  humble  servant, 

“Anna  Williams.”] 

[The  following  letter,  addressed  to 
Dr.  Johnson,  though  it  does  not  belong  D' 
to  his  personal  history,  describes  a scene  of 
public  amusement,  and  affords  some  details 
concerning  the  habits  of  society,  which  may 
amuse  the  reader,  and  in  a work  of  this  na- 
ture will  hardly  be  considered  as  misplaced.] 

[“MRS.  THRALE  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“ 24th  June,  1775. 

“Now  for  the  regatta,  of  which, 

Baretti  says,  the  first  notion  was  Le.w 
taken  from  Venice,  where  the  gon- 
doliers  practise  rowing  against  each 
other  perpetually  ; and  I dare  say  ’tis  good 
diversion  where  the  weather  invites,  and 
the  water  seduces  to  such  entertainments. 
Here,  however,  it  was  not  likely  to  answer ; 
and  I think  nobody  was  pleased. 

“Well!  Croesus  promised  a reward,  you 
remember,  for  him  who  should  produce  a 
new  delight ; but  the  prize  was  never  ob- 
tained, for  nothing  that  was  new  proved 
delightful ; and  Dr.  Goldsmith,  three  thou 
sand  years  afterwards,  found  out  that  who 
ever  did  a new  thing  did  a bad  thing,  and 
whoever  said  a new  thing  said  a false  thing. 
So  yestermorning,  a flag  flying  from  some- 
conspicuous  steeple  in  Westminster  gave 
notice  of  the  approaching  festival,  and  at 
noon  the  managers  determined  to  hold  it  on 
that  day.  In  about  two  hours  the  wind 
rose  very  high,  and  the  river  was  exceed- 
ingly rough ; but  the  lot  was  cast,  and  the 
ladies  went  on  with  their  dresses.  It  had 
been  agreed  that  all  should  wear  white ; but 
the  ornaments  were  left  to  our  own  choice. 
I was  afraid  of  not  being  fine  enough  ; so  I 
trimmed  my  white  lutestring  with  silver 
gauze,  and  wore  black  riband  intermixed 
We  had  obtained  more  tickets  than  I hoped 
for,  though  Sir  Thomas  Robinson  i gave  us 
i [Ante,  v.  i.  p.  1 73.  —End 


6 


1775. — iETAT.  66. 


none  at  .ast ; but  he  gives  one  such  a pro- 
fusion of  words,  and  bows,  and  compliments, 
that  I suppose  he  thinks  every  thing  else 
superfluous.  Mr.  Catori  was  the  man  for 
a real  favour  at  last,  whose  character  is  di- 
rectly opposite,  as  you  know ; but  if  both 
are  actuated  by  the  spirit  of  kindness,  let  us 
*ry  at  least  to  love  them  both. 

“He  wished  Hester  [Miss  Thrale]  to  go, 
and  she  wished  it  too,  and  her  father  wished ; 
so  I would  not  stand  out,  though  my  fears 
for  her  health  and  safety  lessened  the  plea- 
sure her  company  always  gives.  The 
D’Avenants,  then,  Mr.  Cator,  Mr.  Evans, 
Mr.  Seward,  and  ourselves,  set  about  being 
happy  with  all  our  might,  and  tried  for  a 
barge  to  flutter  in  altogether.  The  barges, 
however,  were  already  full,  and  we  were  to 
be  divided  and  put  into  separate  boats. 
The  water  was  rough,  even  seriously  so ; the 
time  glided  away  in  deliberation  of  what  was 
to  be  done  ; and  we  resolved,  at  last,  to  run 
to  the  house  of  a gentleman  in  the  Temple, 
of  whom  we  knew  nothing  but  that  he  was 
D’Avenant’s  friend,  and  look  at  the  race 
from  his  windows, — then  drive  away  for 
Ranelagh,  in  time  to  see  the  barges  drawn 
up,  and  the  company  disembark.  Of  the 
race,  however,  scarce  any  thing  could  be 
seen  for  clouds  of  dust  that  intercepted  one’s 
sight ; and  we  have  no  balconies  to  see  shows 
from,  as  are  provided  in  countries  where 
processions  make  much  of  the  means  of  en- 
tertainment ; so  we  discomposed  our  head- 
dresses against  each  other,  by  struggling 
for  places  in  an  open  window,  and  then 
begged  pardons  with  courtesies,  which  ex- 
posed our  trains  to  be  trod  on,  and  made  us 
still  more  out  of  humour.  It  was  however 
a real  pleasure  to  look  at  the  crowd  of  spec- 
tators. Every  shop  was  shut ; every  street 
deserted ; and  the  tops  of  all  such  houses  as 
had  any  catch  of  the  river  swarmed  with 
people,  like  bees  settling  on  a branch. 
Here  is  no  exaggeration,  upon  my  honour ; 
even  the  lamp-irons  on  Westminster-bridge 
were  converted  into  seats,  while  every 
lighter  lying  in  the  Thames  bore  men  up 
to  the  topmast-head.  This  was  the  true 
wonder  of  the  day.  Baretti  says  he  will 
show  us  finer  sights  when  we  go  to  Italy. 
I believe  him ; but  shall  we  ever  see  so  pop- 
ulous a city  as  London  ? so  rich  a city  ? so 
happy  a city  1 I fancy  not. 

‘ Let  bear  or  elephant  be  e’er  so  white, 

The  people  sure,  the  people,  are  the  sight.’ 

“ They  could  not  indeed  be  very  atten- 
tive to  the  games,  like  those  Horace  talks 
of,  for  here  was  neither  panther  nor  camel ; 
no  pretence  to  draw  us  together,  as  I could 
find ; — yet  they  sat  so  thick  upon  the  slating 
of  Whitehall,  that  nobody  could  persuade 


me  for  a long  wiii  e out  of  the  notion  that 
it  was  covered  with  black,  till  through  a tel- 
escope we  espied  the  animals  in  motion* 
like  magnified  mites  in  a bit  of  old  cheese. 
Well!  from  this  house  in  the  Temple  we 
hasted  away  to  Ranelagh,  happy  in  having 
at  least  convinced  a hundred  folks  we  never 
saw  before,  and  perhaps  never  shall  see 
again,  that  we  had  tickets  for  the  regatta, 
and  fine  clothes  to  spoil  with  the  rain,  and 
that  we  were  not  come  thither  like  the  vulgar 
— in  good  time  ! — only  to  see  the  boat-race. 
And  now,  without  one  image  of  Cleopatra’s 
galley  or  Virgil’s  games,  or  one  pretext  to 
say  how  it  put  us  in  mind  of  either,  we 
drove  to  Ranelagh,  and  told  each  other  all 
the  way  how  pretty  it  would  be  -to  look  at 
the  ladies  disembarking  to  musick,  and 
walking  in  procession  up  to  the  rotunda. 
But  the  night  came  on  ; the  wind  roared  ; 
the  rain  fell ; and  the  barges  missing  their 
way,  many  came  up  to  the  wrong  stairs. 
The  managers  endeavoured  to  rectify  the 
mistake,  and  drive  them  back,  that  some 
order  might  be  kept,  and  some  appearance 
of  regularity  might  be  made  ; but  the  wo- 
men were  weary  and  wet,  and  in  no  disposi- 
tion to  try  for  further  felicity  out  of  the  old 
common  road ; so  the  procession  was  spoil- 
ed ; and  as  to  musick,  we  heard  none  but 
screams  of  the  frighted  company,  as  they 
were  tossed  about  at  the  moment  of  getting 
to  shore.  Once  more,  then,  all  were  turned 
loose  to  look  for  pleasure  where  it  could  be 
found.  The  rotunda  was  not  to  be  opened 
till  twelve  o’clock,  when  the  bell  was  to  call 
us  to  sup  there  ; the  temporary  building  was 
not  finished,  and  the  rain  would  not  permit 
walking  in  the  garden.  Calamity,  however, 
vanishes  often  upon  a near  approach — does 
not  it? — as  well  as  happiness.  We  all 
crowded  into  the  new  building,  from  whence 
we  drove  the  carpenters,  and  called  for 
cards,  without  the  help  of  which,  by  some 
fatality,  no  day  dedicated  to  amusement  is 
ever  able  to  end. 

“ Queeney  said  there  was  no  loss  of  the 
ornaments  intended  to  decorate  Neptune’s 
hall ; for  she  saw  no  attempt  at  embellish- 
ment, except  a few  fluttering  rags,  like  those 
which  dangle  from  a dyer’s  pole  into  the 
street;  and  in  that  room  we  sat  telling 
opinions,  adventures,  &c.  till  supper  was 
served,  which  the  men  said  was  an  execra- 
ble one,  and  I thought  should  have  been 
finer.  ‘Was  nothing  good,  then?’  you  be- 
gin to  exclaim;  ‘here  is  desire  of  saying 
something  where  little  is  to  be  said,  and  la- 
mentations are  the  readiest  nonsense  my 
mistress  can  find  to  fill  her  letter  with. 
No,  no ; I would  commend  the  concert,  the 
catch  singers,  for  an  hour,  if  you  would 
hear  me;  the  musick  was  well  selected,  and 
admirably  executed ; nor  did  the  company 
look  much  amiss  when  all  the  dismal  was 


l [A  timber-merchant  in  the  Borough. — Ed.] 


1775. — 2ETAT.  06. 


over,  and  we  walked  round  Ranelagh  a lit- 
tle in  the  old  way; — every  body  being 
dressed  in  white  was  no  advantage  indeed 
to  the  general  appearance. 

****** 

«We  returned  safe  home  about  five  or 
six  o’clock : a new  scene  to  Hester,  who 
behaved  sweetly,  and  had  no  fears  in  the 
crowd,  but  prodigious  surprise  in  finding  it 
broad  day  when  we  came  out.  I might 
have  wondered  too,  for  few  people  have 
frequented  publick  places  less  than  myself ; 
and  for  the  first  six  years  after  my  mar- 
riage, as  you  know,  I never  set  my  foot  in 
any  theatre  or  place  of  entertainment  at  all. 
What  most  amazed  me  about  this  regatta, 
however,  was  the  mixture  of  company, 
when  tickets  were  so  difficult  to  obtain. 
Somebody  talked  at  Ranelagh  of  two  ladies 
that  were  drowned;  but  I have  no  doubt 
that  was  a dream.”] 

Ed.  [In  the  last  days  of  June,  he  removed 

to  Ashbourne  ; and  his  letters  thence 
contain  the  usual  routine  of  his  country 
observations,  with  one  or  two  more  charac- 
teristic circumstances.  He  was  very  anx- 
ious that  an  old  horse  of  Mrs.  Thrale’s 
should  not  be  sold  to  hard  work,  or,  as  he 
called  it,  degraded,  for  five  pounds,  and  was 
willing  to  have  borne  the  expense  of  main- 
taining the  poor  animal. 

For  his  friend  Baretti,  of  some  point  of 
whose  conduct  Mrs.  Thrale  had  complain- 
ed, he  intercedes  with  that  lady  in  a tone  of 
modest  propriety : 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ Ashbourne,  15th  July,  1775. 
Letters,  “Poor  Baretti  ! do  not  quarrel 
278.  P*  with  him ; to  neglect  him  a little  will 
be  sufficient.  He  means  only  to  be 
frank,  and  manly,  and  independent,  and 
perhaps,  as  you  say,  a little  wise.  To  be 
frank,  he  thinks,  is  to  be  cynical,  and  to  be 
independent  to  be  rude.  Forgive  him, 
dearest  lady,  the  rather  because  of  his  mis- 
behaviour ; I am  afraid  he  has  learned  part 
of  me.  I hope  to  set  him  hereafter  a better 
example.” 

Ed  This  coolness  soon  ended,  as  the 
next  letter  informs  us  : 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ Ashbourne,  21st  July,  1775. 
Letters,  « You  and  [Baretti]  are  friends 
p>290,  again.  My  dear  mistress  has  the 
quality  of  being  easily  reconciled,  and  not 
easily  offended.  Kindness  is  a good  thing  in 
itself ; and  there  are  few  things  that  are  wor- 
thy of  anger,  and  still  fewer  that  can  justify 
malignity. 

«* I am  glad  you  read  Boswell’s  Journal. 
You  are  now  sufficiently  informed  of  the 


7 

whole  transaction,  and  need  n jt  regret  that 
you  did  not  make  the  tour  of  the  Hebrides.” 

“ Lichfield,  July  [27],  1775. 

“ 1 have  passed  one  day  at  Birmingham 
with  my  old  friend  Hector — there’s  a name ! 
and  his  sister,  an  old  love.  My  mistress  is 
grown  much  older  than  my  friend. 

c O quid  habes  illius,  illius 
Q.use  spirabat  amores 
duse  me  surpuerat  mihi.’  ” 

Hor.  Od.  13. 1.4. 

He  returned  to  town  about  the  end  Ed 
of  August.] 

After  my  return  to  Scotland,  I wrote 
three  letters  to  him,  from  which  I extract 
the  following  passages : 

“ I have  seen  Lord  Hailes  since  I came 
down.  He  thinks  it  wonderful  that  you 
are  pleased  to  take  so  much  pains  in  revising 
his  ‘Annals.’  I told  him  that  you  said  you 
were  well  rewarded  by  the  entertainment 
which  you  had  in  reading  them.” 

“There  has  been  a numerous  flight  ot 
Hebrideans  in  Edinburgh  this  summer, 
whom  I have  been  happy  to  entertain  at 
my  house.  Mr.  Donald  Macqueen*  and 
Lord  Monboddo  supped  with  me  one  even- 
ing. They  joined  in  controverting  your 
proposition,  that  the  Gaelick  of  the  High- 
lands and  Isles  of  Scotland  was  not  written 
till  of  late.” 

“ My  mind  has  been  somewhat  dark  this 
summer.  I have  need  of  your  warming 
and  vivifying  rays  ; and  I hope  I shall  have 
them  frequently.  I am  going  to  pass  some 
time  with  my  father  at  AucMnleck.” 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ London,  Aug.  27, 1775. 

“Dear  sir, — I am  returned  from  the 
annual  ramble  into  the  middle  counties. 
Having  seen  nothing  I had  not  seen  before 
I have  nothing  to  relate.  Time  has  left 
that  part  of  the  island  few  antiquities ; and 
commerce  has  left  the  people  no  singulari- 
ties. I was  glad  to  go  abroad,  and,  per- 
haps, glad  to  come  home ; which  is  in  other 
words,  I was,  I am  afraid,  weary  of  being 
at  home,  and  weary  of  being  abroad.  Is 
not  this  the  state  of  life  1 But,  if  we  con- 
fess this  weariness,  let  us  not  lament  it ; for 
all  the  wise  and  all  the  good  say,  that  we 
may  cure  it. 

“ For  the  black  fumes  which  rise  in  your 
mind,  I can  prescribe  nothing  but  that  you 
disperse  them  by  honest  business  or  inno- 
cent pleasure,  and  by  reading,  sometimes 
easy  and  sometimes  serious.  Change  of' 


i The  very  learned  minister  in  the  Isle  of  Sky, 
whom  both  Dr.  Johnson  and  I have  mentioned 
with  regard.—  Boswell.  [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p. 
377.— Ed.] 


9 


1775. — iETAT.  66. 


place  is  useful ; and  1 hope  that  your  resi- 
dence at  Auchinleck  will  have  many  good 
effects. 

* * % * * * 

“ That  1 should  have  given  pain  to  Ra- 
say,  1 am  sincerely  sorry ; and  am  therefore 
very  much  pleased  that  he  is  no  longer  un- 
easy. He  still  thinks  that  I have  represent- 
ed him  as  personally  giving  up  the  chief- 
tainship. I meant  only  that  it  was  no  long- 
er contested  between  the  two  houses,  and 
supposed  it  settled,  perhaps,  by  the  cession 
of  some  remote  generation,  in  the  house  of 
Dunvegan.  I am  sorry  the  advertisement 
was  not  continued  for  three  or  four  times  in 
the  paper. 

“That  Lord  Monboddo  and  Mr.  Mac- 
queen  should  controvert  a position  contrary 
to  the  imaginary  interest  of  literary  or  na- 
tional prejudice,  might  be  easily  imagined ; 
but  of  a standing  fact  there  ought  to  be  no 
controversy;  if  there  are  men  with  tails, 
catch  a homo  caudatus ; if  there  was  writing 
of  old  in  the  Highlands  or  Hebrides,  in  the 
Erse  language,  produce  the  manuscripts. 
Where  men  write  they  will  write  to  one  an- 
other, and  some  of  their  letters,  in  families 
studious  of  their  ancestry,  will  be  kept.  In 
Wales  there  are  many  manuscripts. 

“I  have  now  three  parcels  of  Lord 
Hailes’s  history,  which  I purpose  to  return 
all  the  next  week : that  his  respect  for  my 
little  observations  should  keep  his  work  in 
suspense,  makes  one  of  the  evils  of  my  jour- 
ney. It  is  in  our  language,  I think,  a new 
mode  of  history  which  tells  all  that  is  want- 
ed, and,  I suppose,  all  that  is  known,  with- 
out laboured  splendour  of  language,  or  af- 
fected subtilty  of  conjecture.  The  exact- 
ness of  his  dates  raises  my  wonder.  He 
seems  to  have  the  closeness  of  Henault  with- 
out his  constraint. 

“Mrs.  Thrale  was  so  entertained  with 
your  ‘ Journal  V that  she  almost  read  her- 
self blind.  She  has  a great  regard  for  you. 

“ Of  Mrs.  Boswell,  though  she  knows  in 
her  heart  that  she  does  not  love  me,  I am 
always  glad  to  hear  any  good,  and  hope 
that  she  and  the  little  dear  ladies  will  have 
neither  sickness  nor  any  other  affliction. 
But  she  knows  that  she  does  not  care  what 
becomes  of  me,  and  for  that  she  may  be 
sure  that  I think  her  very  much  to  blame. 

“ Never,  my  dear  sir,  do  you  take  it  into 
your  head  to  think  that  I do  not  love  you ; 
you  may  settle  yourself  in  full  confidence 
both  of  my  love  and  esteem  : I love  you  as  a 
kind  man,  I value  you  as  a worthy  man, 
and  hope  in  time  to  reverence  you  as  a man 
of  exemplary  piety.  I hold  you,  as  Hamlet 
has  it,  * in  my  heart  of  hearts,’  and  thore- 


i My  “Journal  of  a Tour  to  the  Hebrides,” 
which  that  lady  read  in  the  original  manuscript. — 

Boswell. 


fore,  it  is  little  to  say,  that  I am,  sir,  your 
affectionate  humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ London,  30th  August,  1775. 

“ Sir, — If  in  these  papers  2 there  is  litt  e 
alteration  attempted,  do  not  suppose  me 
negligent.  I have  read  them  perhaps  more 
closely  than  the  rest ; but  I find  nothing 
worthy  of  an  objection. 

“ Write  to  me  soon,  and  write  often,  and 
tell  me  all  your  honest  heart.  I am,  sir, 
yours  affectionately, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

[“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER. 

“ London,  9th  September,  1775. 

“ Dear  madam, — I have  sent  Pearson 
your  books  by  the  carrier,  and  in  MS. 
Sandys’s  Travels  you  will  find  your  glasses. 

“ I have  written  this  post  to  the  ladies  at 
Stow-hill,  and  you  may,  the  day  after  you 
have  this,  or  at  any  other  time,  send  Mrs. 
Gastrel’s  books. 

“ Be  pleased  to  make  my  compliments  to 
all  my  good  friends. 

“ I hope  the  poor  dear  hand  is  recovered, 
and  you  are  now  able  to  write,  which,  how- 
ever, you  need  not  do,  for  I am  going  to 
Brighthelmstone,  and  when  I come  back 
will  take  care  to  tell  you.  In  the  mean 
time  take  great  care  of  your  health,  and 
drink  as  much  as  you  can.  I am,  dearest 
love,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.”] 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ 14th  Sept.  1775. 

“Mr  dear  sir, — I now  write  to  you, 
lest  in  some  of  your  freaks  and  humours  you 
should  fancy  yourself  neglected.  Such  fan- 
cies I must  entreat  you  never  to  admit,  at 
least  never  to  indulge ; for  my  regard  for 
you  is  so  radicated  and  fixed,  that  it  is 
become  part  of  my  mind,  and  cannot  be 
effaced  but  by  some  cause  uncommonly 
violent ; therefore,  whether  I write  or  not, 
set  your  thoughts  at  rest.  I now  write  to 
tell  you  that  I shall  not  very  soon  write 
again,  for  I am  to  set  out  to-morrow  on 
another  journey. 

* * * * * * 

“ Your  friends  are  all  well  at  Streatham 
and  in  Leicesterfields  3.  Make  my  compli- 
ments to  Mrs.  Boswell,  if  she  is  in  good 
humour  with  me.  I am,  sir,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

What  he  mentions  in  such  light  term* 

2 Another  parcel  of  Lord  Hailes’s  “Annals  of 
Scotland.” — Boswell. 

3 Where  SV  Joshua  Reynolds  lived. — Bos- 
well. 


1775. — iETAT.  66. 


6 


as,  “ I am  to  set  out  to-morrow  on  another 
journey,”  I soon  afterwards  discovered  was 
no  less  than  a tour  to  France  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Tlirale.  This  was  the  only  time  in 
his  life  that  he  went  upon  the  Continent. 

“TO  MR.  ROBERT  LEVET. 

“ Calais,  18th  Sept.  1775. 

« Dear  sir, — W e are  here  in  France, 
after  a very  pleasing  passage  of  no  more 
than  six  hours.  1 know  not  when  I shall 
write  again,  and  therefore  I write  now, 
though  you  cannot  suppose  that  I have 
much  to  say.  You  have  seen  France  your- 
self. From  this  place  we  are  going  to  Rou- 
en, and  from  Rouen  to  Paris,  where  Mr. 
Thrale  designs  to  stay  about  five  or  six 
weeks.  We  have  a regular  recommenda- 
tion to  the  English  resident,  so  we  shall  not 
be  taken  for  vagabonds.  We  think  to  go 
one  way  and  return  another,  and  see  as 
much  as  we  can.  I will  try  to  speak  a little 
French;  I tried  hitherto  but  little,  but  I 
spoke  sometimes.  If  I heard  better,  I sup- 
pose I should  learn  faster.  I am,  sir,  your 
humble  servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“TO  THE  SAME. 

“ Paris,  22d  October,  1775. 

“Dear  sir, — We  are  still  here,  com- 
monly very  busy  in  looking  about  us.  We 
have  been  to  day  at  Versailles.  You  have 
seen  it,  and  1 shall  not  describe  it.  We 
came  yesterday  from  Fontainbleau,  where 
the  court  is  now.  We  went  to  see  the 
king  and  queen  at  dinner,  and  the  queen 
was  so  impressed  by  Miss  i,  that  she  sent 
one  of  the  gentlemen  to  inquire  who  she 
was.  I find  all  true  that  you  have  ever  told 
me  at  Paris.  Mr.  Thrale  is  very  liberal, 
and  keeps  us  two  coaches,  and  a very  fine 
table;  but  I think  our  cookery  very  bad. 
Mrs.  Thrale  got  into  a convent  of  English 
nuns,  and  I talked  with  her  through  the 
grate,  and  I am  very  kindly  used  by  the 
English  Benedictine  friars.  But  upon  the 
whole  I cannot  make  much  acquaintance 
here  ; and  though  the  churches,  palaces, 
and  some  private  houses  are  very  magnifi- 
cent, there  is  no  very  great  pleasure  after 
having  seen  many,  in  seeing  more  ; at  least 
the  pleasure,  whatever  it  be,  must  some 
time  have  an  end,  and  we  are  beginning  to 
think  when  we  shall  come  home.  Mr. 
Thrale  calculates  that  as  we  left  Streatham 
on  the  fifteenth  of  September,  we  shall  see 
it  again  about  the  fifteenth  of  November. 

“ I think  1 had  not  been  on  this  side  of 
the  sea  five  days  before  I found  a sensible 
vmprovement  in  my  health.  I ran  a race 
in  the  rain  this  day,  and  beat  Baretti.  Ba- 
etti  is  a fine  fellow,  and  speaks  French,  I 
think,  quite  as  well  as  English. 


“Make  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams ; and  give  my  love  to  Francis ; and 
tell  my  friends  that  I am  not  lost.  I am, 
dear  sir,  your  affectionate  humble,  &c. 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

“TO  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“ Edinburgh,  24th  October,  1775. 

“My  dear  sir, — If  I had  not  been  in- 
formed that  you  were  at  Paris,  you  should 
have  had  a letter  from  me  by  the  earliest 
opportunity,  announcing  the  birth  of  my 
son,  on  the  9th  instant ; I have  named  him 
Alexander  2,  after  my  father.  I now  write, 
as  I suppose  your  fellow-traveller,  Mr. 
Thrale,  will  return  to  London  this  week,  to 
attend  his  duty  in  parliament,  and  that  you 
will  not  stay  behind  him. 

“ I send  another  parcel  of  Lord  Hailes’s 
‘Annals.’  I have  undertaken  to  solicit  you 
for  a favour  to  him,  which  he  thus  requests 
in  a letter  to  me : ‘I  intend  soon  to  give 
you  ‘The  Life  of  Robert  Bruce,’  which 
you  will  be  pleased  to  transmit  to  Dr.  John- 
son. I wish  that  you  could  assist  me  in  a 
fancy  which  I have  taken,  of  getting  Dr. 
Johnson  to  draw  a character  of  Robert 
Bruce,  from  the  account  that  I give  of  that 
prince.  If  he  finds  materials  for  it  in  m) 
work,  it  will  be  a proof  that  I have  been 
fortunate  in  selecting  the  most  striking  in- 
cidents.’ 

“ I suppose  by  ‘ The  Life  of  Robert 
Bruce,’  his  lordship  means  that  part  of  his 
‘ Annals’  which  relates  the  history  of  that 
prince,  and  not  a separate  work. 

“Shall  we  have  ‘A  Journey  to  Paris,’ 
from  you  in  the  winter1?  You  will,  I hope, 
at  any  rate,  be  kind  enough  to  give  me 
some  account  of  your  French  travels  very 
soon,  for  I am  very  impatient.  What  a 
different  scene  have  you  viewed  this  au- 
tumn, from  that  which  you  viewed  in  au- 
tumn 1773  ! I ever  am,  my  dear  sir,  your 
much  obliged  and  affectionate  humble  ser 
vant,  “James  Boswell.” 

‘TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ 16th  November,  1775. 

“ Dear  sir, — I am  glad  that  the  young 
laird  is  born,  and  an  end,  as  I hope,  put  to 
the  only  difference  that  you  can  ever  have 


2 [TbeEditor  had  the  pleasure  of  his  acquaint- 
ance. He  was  a high-spirited,  clever,  arid 
amiable  gentleman ; and,  like  his  father,  of  a 
frank  and  social  disposition  ; but  it  is  said  that  he 
did  not  relish  the  recollections  of  our  authour’s 
devotion  to  Dr.  Johnson  : like  old  lord  Auchin- 
leck,  he  seemed  to  think  it  a kind  of  derogation. 
He  was  created  a baronet  in  1821,  hut  was  un- 
fortunately killed  in  a duel,  arising  from  a politi- 
cal dispute,  near  Edinburgh,  on  the  26th  March, 
1822,  by  Mr.  Stuart,  of  Dunearn.  He  left  issua 
a son  and  two  daughters. — Ed.] 


1 Miss  Thrale.—  Bos  well. 

vul.  11.  2 


10 


1775. — JE1  AT.  66. 


with  Mrs.  Boswell1 2.  I know  that  she  does 
not  love  me  ; but  I intend  to  persist  in  wish- 
ing her  well  till  I get  the  better  of  her. 

“Paris  is,  indeed,  a place  very  different 
from  the  Hebrides,  but  it  is  to  a hasty  trav- 
eller not  so  fertile  of  novelty,  nor  affords 
so  many  opportunities  of  remark.  I cannot 
pretend  to  tell  the  publick  any  tiling  of  a 
place  better  known  to  many  of  my  readers 
than  to  myself.  We  can  talk  of  it  when 
we  meet. 

“ I shall  go  next  week  to  Streatham,  from 
whence  I purpose  to  send  a parcel  of  the 
‘ History’  every  post.  Concerning  the 
character  of  Bruce,  I-  can  only  say,  that  I 
do  not  see  any  great  reason  for  writing  it ; 
but  I shall  not  easily  deny  what  Lord 
Hailes  and  you  concur  in  desiring. 

“ I have  been  remarkably  healthy  all  the 
journey,  and  hope  you  and  your  family  have 
known  only  that  trouble  and  danger  which 
has  so  happily  terminated.  Among  all  the 
congratulations  that  you  may  receive,  I 
hope  you  believe  none  more  warm  or  sincere 
than  those  of,  dear  sir,  your  most  affection- 
ate, “Sam.  Johnson.” 

“TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER,  IN  LICHFIELD  2. 

“ 16th  November,  1775. 

“ Dear  madam, — Tliis  week  I came 
home  from  Paris.  I have  brought  you  a 
little  box,  which  I thought  pretty ; but  I 
know  not  whether  it  is  properly  a snuff-box, 
or  a box  for  some  other  use.  I will  send 
it,  when  I can  find  an  opportunity.  I have 
been  through  the  whole  journey  remarka- 
bly well.  My  fellow-travellers  were  the 
same  whom  you  saw  at  Lichfield,  only  we 
took  Baretti  with  us.  Paris  is  not  so  fine 
a place  as  you  would  expect.  The  palaces 
and  churches,  however,  are  very  splendid 
and  magnificent;  and  what  would  please 

ou,  there  are  many  very  fine  pictures ; but 

do  not  think  their  way  of  life  commodious 
or  pleasant. 

“ Let  me  know  how  your/  health  has 
been  all  this  while.  I hope  the  fine  summer 
has  given  you  strength  sufficient  to  encoun- 
ter the  winter. 

“ Make  my  compliments  to  all  my 
friends;  and,  if  your  fingers  will  let  you, 
write  to  me,  or  let  your  maid  write,  if  it  be 

1 This  alludes  to  my  old  feudal  principle  of 
preferring  male  to  female  succession. — Boswell. 

2 There  can  be  no  doubt  that  many  years 
previous  to  1775,  he  corresponded  with  this  lady, 
who  was  his  stepdaughter,  but  none  of  his  earlier 
letters  to  her  have  been  preserved. — Boswell. 
Since  the  death  of  the  authour,  several  of  John- 
son’s letters  to  Mrs.  Lucy  Porter,  written  before 
1775,  were  obligingly  communicated  to  me  by 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Vyse,  and  are  printed  in  the  present 
edition. — Malone.  [Several  others,  as  has  been 
already  stated  (ante,  vol.  i.  p.  80),  are  added  to 
this  edition. — Ed.] 


troublesome  to  you.  I am,  dear  madam, 
your  most  affectionate  humble  servant, 
“Sam.  Johnson.” 

“TO  THE  SAME. 

“ December,  1775. 

“ Dear  madam, — Some  weeks  ago  1 
wrote  to  you,  to  tell  you  that  I was  just 
come  home  from  a ramble,  and  hoped  that 
I should  have  heard  from  you.  I am  afraid 
winter  has  laid  hold  on  your  fingers,  and 
hinders  you  from  writing.  However,  let 
somebody  write,  if  you  cannot,  and  tell  me 
how  you  do,  and  a little  of  what  has  hap- 
pened at  Lichfield  among  our  friends.  1 
hope  you  are  all  well. 

“When  I was  in  France,  I thought  my- 
self growing  young,  but  am  afraid  that  cold 
weather  will  take  part  of  my  new  vigour 
from  me.  Let  us,  however,  take  care  oi 
ourselves,  and  lose  no  part  of  our  health  by 
negligence. 

“ I never  knew  whether  you  received  the 
Commentary  on  the  New  Testament,  and 
the  Travels,  and  the  glasses. 

“ Do,  my  dear  love,  write  to  me  ; and  do 
not  let  us  forget  each  other.  This  is  the 
season  of  good  wishes,  and  I wish  you  all 
good.  I have  not  lately  seen  Mr.  Porter  3, 
nor  heard  of  him.  Is  he  with  you  1 

“ Be  pleased  to  make  my  compliments  to 
Mrs.  Adey,  and  Mrs.  Cobb,  and  all  my 
friends ; and  when  I can  do  any  good,  let 
me  know.  I am,  dear  madam,  yours  most 
affectionately,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

It  is  to  be  regretted,  that  he  did  not  write 
an  account  of  his  travels  in  France ; for  as 
he  is  reported  to  have  once  said,  that  “ he 
could  write  the  life  of  a broomstick  4,”  so, 
notwithstanding  so  many  former  travellers 
have  exhausted  almost  every  subject  for  re- 
mark in  that  great  kingdom,  his  very  accu- 
rate observation,  and  peculiar  vigour  of 
thought  and  illustration,  would  have  pro- 
duced a wonderful  work.  During  his  visit 
to  it,  which  lasted  about  two  months, 
he  wrote  notes  or  minutes  of  what  he  saw. 
He  promised  to  show  me  them,  but  I neg- 
lected to  put  him  in  mind  of  it ; and  the 
greatest  part  of  them  has  been  lost,  or  per- 
haps destroyed  in  a precipitate  burning  of 
his  papers  a few  days  before  his  death, 
which  must  ever  be  lamented ; one  small 
paper  book,  however,  entitled,  “ France  II.,” 
has  been  preserved,  and  is  in  my  posses- 
sion. It  is  a diurnal  register  of  his  life  and 
observations,  from  the  10th  of  October 

3 Son  of  Mrs.  Johnson,  by  her  first  husband. 
— Boswell. 

4 It  is  probable  that  the  authour’s  memory  here 
deceived  him,  and  that  he  was  thinking  of  Stel- 
la’s remark,  that  Swift  could  write  finely  upon 
a broomstick. — See  Johnson’s  Life  of  Swift ■ 
J.  Boswell. 


1775.— iETAT.  66. 


TOUR  IN  FRANCE.] 

to  the  4th  of  November,  inclusive,  being 
twenty-six  days,  and  shows  an  extraordina- 
ry attention  to  various  minute  particulars. 
Being  the  only  memorial  of  this  tour  that 


Tour  in  « Tuesday , KM  October. — We 

France.  gaw  ^c0/e  militaire , in  which 
one  hundred  and  fifty  young  boys  are  edu- 
cated for  the  army — They  have  arms  of 
different  sizes,  according  to  the  age — flints 
of  wood — The  building  is  very  large,  but 
nothing  fine  except  the  council-room — The 
French  have  large  squares  in  the  windows 
— They  make  good  iron  palisades  i — Their 
meals  are  gross  2. 

“We  visited  the  Observatory,  a large 
building  of  a great  height — The  upper  stones 
of  the  parapet  very  large,  but  not  cramped 
with  iron  3 — The  flat  on  the  top  is  very  ex- 
tensive ; but  on  the  insulated  part  there  is 
no  parapet — Though  it  was  broad  enough, 
I did  not  care  to  go  upon  it — Maps  were 
printing  in  one  of  the  rooms. 

“We  walked  to  a small  convent  of  the 
Fathers  of  the  Oratory — In  the  reading- 
desk  of  the  refectory  lay  the  Lives  of  the 
Saints. 

“ Wednesday,  11th  October. — We  went 
to  see  Hotel  de  Chatlois  4,  a house  not  very 
large,  but  very  elegant — One  of  the  rooms 
was  gilt  to  a degree  that  I never  saw  before 
—The  upper  part  for  servants  and  their 
masters  was  pretty. 

“ Thence  we  went  to  Mr.  Monville’s,  a 
house  divided  into  small  apartments,  fur- 
nished with  effeminate  and  minute  elegance 
— Porphyry. 

“ Thence  we  went  to  St.  Roque’s  church, 
which  is  very  large — The  lower  part  of  the 
pillars  incrusted  with  marble — Three  chap- 
els behind  the  high  altar ; the  last  a mass  of 
low  arches — Altars,  I believe,  all  round. 

“We  passed  through  Place  de  Vendome , 
a fine  square,  about  as  big  as  Hanover- 
square — Inhabited  by  the  high  families — 
Louis  XIV.  on  horseback  in  the  middles. 

« Monvihe  is  the  son  of  a farmer-general 

1 [Alluding,  probably,  to  the  fine  grilles  so 
frequent  in  France.  He  had,  probably,  just  seen 
that  of  the  Hold  des  lnvalides , which  is  one  of 
the  finest. — Ed.] 

2 [The  contrary  has  been  the  general  opinion ; 
and  Johnson  was  certainly  a bad  judge  in  that 
point,  if  he  believed  that  his  own  taste  was  deli- 
cate.— Ed.] 

3 [There  was  neither  iron  nor  wood  originally 
used  in  any  part  of  the  building.  An  iron  rail 
was  afterwards  added  to  the  great  stairs. — Ed.] 

4 [This  seems  to  be  a mistake ; probably  for 
&e  Hltel  de  Chatelet. — Ed.] 

• [Of  one  block. — Ed.] 


11 

remains,  my  readers,  I am  confident,  wih 
peruse  it  with  pleasure,  though  his  notes 
are  very  short,  and  evidently  written  only 
to  assist  his  own  recollection. 


— In  the  hefuse  of  Chatlois  is  a room  fur- 
nished with  japan,  fitted  up  in  Europe. 

“We  dined  with  Bocage<>,  the  Marquis 
Blanchefti,  and  his  lady — The  sweetmeats 
taken  by  the  Marchioness  Blanchetti,  after 
observing  that  they  were  dear  7 — Mr.  Le 
Roy,  Count  Manucci,  the  abbe,  the  prior, 
and  Father  Wilsons,  who  staid  with  me, 
till  I took  him  home  in  tho  coach. 

“ Bathiani  is  gone. 

“ The  French  have  no  laws  for  the 
maintenance  of  their  poor — Monknot  ne- 
cessarily a priest — Benedictines  rise  at  four ; 
are  at  church  an  hour  and  a half ; at  church 
again  half  an  hour  before,  half  an  hour  after, 
dinner ; and  again  from  half  an  hour  after 
seven  to  eight — They  may  sleep  eight  hours 
— bodily  labour  wanted  in  monasteries. 

“ The  poor  taken  into  hospitals,  and  mis- 
erably kept — Monks  in  the  convent  fifteen : 
accounted  poor. 

“ Thursday , 12 th  October. — We  went  to 
the  Gobelins — Tapestry  makes  a good  pic- 
ture— imitates  flesh  exactly — One  piece  with 
a gold  ground — the  birds  not  exactly  col- 
oured— Thence  we  went  to  the  king’s  cabi- 
net; very  neat,  not,  perhaps,  perfect — Gold 
ore — Candles  of  the  candle  tree — Seeds 
— Woods — Thence  to  Gagnier’s  9 house, 
where  I saw  rooms  nine,  furnished  with  a 
profusion  of  wealth  and  elegance  which  I 
never  had  seen  before — Vases — Pictures — 
The  dragon  china — The  lustre  said  to  be 
of  crystal,  and  to  have  cost  3,500Z. — The 
whole  furniture  said  to  have  cost  125,000Z. 
— Damask  hangings  covered  with  pictures 
— Porphyry — This  house  struck  me — Then 
we  waited  on  the  ladies  to  Monville’s — 
Captain  Irwin  with  us  10 — ,<  Spain — County 
towns  all  beggars — At  Dijon  he  could  not 

6 [Madame  Du.Bocage. — See  post. — Ed.] 

7 [Johnson  seems  to  suggest,  that  it  would  have 
been  better  bred  not  to  have  eaten  what  was 
dear  ; but  the  want  of  good-breeding  (if  any, 
which  would  depend  on  the  context)  was  in  al- 
luding to  the  dearness,  and  not  in  eating  what 
was  on  the  table. — Ed.] 

8 [Who  the  Abb6  was  does  not  appear.  The 
two  latter  gentlemen  were  probably  members  o 
the  English  Benedictine  convent. — Ed.] 

9 [Perhaps  Gagny,  Intendant  des  Finances, who 
had  a fine  house  in  the  Rue  de  Varennes. — Ed  ] 

10  The  rest  of  this  paragraph  appears  to  be  a 
minute  of  what  was  told  by  captain  Irwin. — Bos 
well.  [And  is  therefore  marked  as  quotation 
— Ed.] 


12 


1775.—  ,ETAT.  66. 


[tour  ih 


find  the  way  to  Orleans — Cross  roads  of 
France  very  bad — Five  soldiers — Woman 
—Soldiers  escaped — The  colonel  would  not 
lose  five  men  for  the  death  of  one  woman 

—The  magistrate  cannot  seize  a soldier  but 
by  the  colonel’s  permission — Good  inn  at 
Nismes — Moors  of  Barbary  fond  of  Eng- 
lishmen— Gibraltar  eminently  healthy ; it 
has  beef  from  Barb  ary — There  is  a large 
garden — Soldiers  sometimes  fall  from  the 
rock.’ 

“ Friday , 13 ih  October. — I staid  at  home 
all  day,  only  went  to  find  the  prior,  who 
was  not  at  home — I read  something  in 
(Janus  i — Nec  admiror , nec  multum  laudo. 

Saturday , 14/h  October. — We  went  to 
the  house  of  M.  [D’]  Argenson,  which  was 
almost  wainscotted  with  looking-glasses, 
and  covered  with  gold — The  ladies’  closet 
wainscotted  with  large  squares  of  glass  over 
painted  paper — They  always  place  mirrours 
to  reflect  their  rooms. 

“Then  we  went  to  Julien’s  2,  the  treasu- 
rer of  the  clergy — 30,000/.  a year — The 
house  has  no  very  large  room,  but  is  set 
with  mirrours,  and  covered  with  gold — 
Books  of  wood  here,  and  in  another  library. 

“ At  D********’s  s I looked  into  the 
books  in  the  lady’s  closet,  and  in  contempt 
showed  them  to  Mr.  T[hrale] — ‘Prince 
Titi  4 ; Bibl.  des  Fees,’  and  other  books — 
She  was  offended,  and  shut  up,  as  we  heard 
afterwards,  her  apartment. 

“Then  we  went  to  Julien  le  Roy,  the 
king’s  watch-maker,  a man  of  character  in 
his  business,  who  showed  a small  clock  made 
to  find  the  longitude — A decent  man. 

“ Afterwards  we  saw  the  Palais  March- 
and  s and  the  courts  of  justice,  civil  and 


1 Melchior  Canus,  a celebrated  Spanish  Dom- 
inican, who  died  at  Toledo,  in  1560.  He  wrote 
a treatise  “De  Locis  Theologicis,”  in  twelve 
books. — Boswell.  [He  was  celebrated  for  the 
beauty  of  his  Latinity : “Melchior  Canus  parlait 
Latin  comme  Ciceron.” — Vigneul  Marvilliana , 
v.  i.  p.  161.— Ed.] 

2 [M.  de  St.  Julien , Receveur  general  du 
clerg6. — J\Um.  de  Bachaumont , v.  viii.  p.  180. 
—Ed.] 

3 [D’Argenson’s. — Ed.] 

4 [The  history  of  Prince  Titi  was  said  to  be 

the  auto-biography  of  Frederick,  Prince  of 
Wales,  but  was  probably  written  by  Ralph,  his 
secretary.  See  Park’s  Roy.  and  Nob.  Auth. 
vol.i.  p.  171. — Ed.]  [A  ludicrous  error  of  the 

Editor’s,  illustrative  of  the  vice  of  annotators, 
whose  optics  are  too  apt  to  behold  mysteries  in 
very  plain  matters.  The  History  of  Prince  Titi 
was  a child’s  book  with  that  title.—  F.  J.] 

5 [Dr.  Johnson  is  in  error  in  applying,  as  he 
always  does,  the  name  of  Palais-Marchand  to 
the  whole  of  that  vast  building  called  gmerally 
the  Palais,  which  from  being  the  old  palace  of  the 
kings  of  France  had  (like  our  own  palace  of 
Westminster)  become  appropriated  to  the  sittings 
of  the  parliament  and  the  courts  of  justice ; and 


criminal — Queries  on  the  Selettee — This 
building  has  the  old  Gothic  passages,  and 
a great  appearance  of  antiquity — Three 
hundred  prisoners  sometimes  in  the  gaol. 

“ Much  disturbed ; hope  no  ill  will  be  7. 

“In  the  afternoon  I visited  Mr.  Freron 
the  journalist — He  spoke  Latin  very  scant- 
ily, but  seemed  to  understand  me — His 
house  not  splendid,  but  of  commodious 
size — His  family,  wife,  son,  and  daughter, 
not  elevated,  but  decent — I was  pleased 
with  my  reception — He  is  to  translate  my 
books,  which  I am  to  send  him  with  notes. 

“ Sunday , 15 ih  October. — At  Choisi,  a 
royal  palace  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine, 
about  7m.  from  Paris — The  terrace  noble 
along  the  river — The  rooms  numerous  and 
grand,  but  not  discriminated  from  other 
palaces — The  chapel  beautiful,  but  small — 
China  globes — Inlaid  tables — Labyrinth — 
Sinking  table  8 — Toilet  tables. 

“ Monday , lftih  October. — The  Palais 
Royal  very  grand,  large,  and  lofty — A very 
great  collection  of  pictures — Three  of  Ra- 
phael— Two  Holy  Family — One  small  piece 
of  M.  Angelo — One  room  of  Rubens — I 
thought  the  pictures  of  Raphael  fine. 

“ The  Thuilleries — Statues — Venus- 
JE  n.  and  Anchises  in  his  arms — Nilus- 
Many  more — The  walks  not  open  to  mean 
persons — Chairs  at  night  hired  for  two  sous 
a piece — Pont  toumant  9. 

“Austin  Nuns  10 — Grate — Mrs.  Fermor, 
Abbess — She  knew  Pope,  and  thought  him 

disagreeable — Mrs. has  many  books — 

has  seen  life — Their  frontlet  disagreeable — 
Their  hood — Their  life  easy — Rise  about 
five  ; hour  and  half  in  chapel — Dine  at  ten 
— Another  hour  and  half  in  chapel ; half  an 


the  Conciergerie  of  that  palace  (like  the  Gate- 
house of  ours)  became  a prison.  The  Palais 
Marc  hand  was  only  the  stalls  (like  what  are  now 
called  bazars ) which  were  placed  along  some  of 
the  galleries  and  corridors  of  the  Palais. — Ed.] 

6 "[The  selette  was  a stool  on  which  the  crimi 
nal  sat  while  he  was  interrogated — questioned 
by  the  court.  This  is  what  Johnson  means  by 
“ queries .” — Ed.] 

7 This  passage,  which  so  many  think  supersti- 
tious, reminds  me  of  “ Archbishop  Laud’s  Dia- 
ry.”— Boswell.  [It,  perhaps,  had  no  supersti- 
tious meaning.  He  felt,  it  would  seem,  his  mind 
disturbed,  and  may  naturally  have  been  appre- 
hensive of  becoming  worse. — Ed.] 

8 [A  round  table,  the  centre  of  which  descend- 
ed by  machinery  to  a lower  floor;  so  that  supper 
might  be  served  and  removed  without  the  pres- 
ence of  servants.  It  was  invented  by  Louis  XV. 
during  the  favour  of  Madame  du  Barri. — Ed.] 

9 [Before  the  revolution,  the  passage  from  the 
garden  of  the  Thuilleries  into  the  Place  Louis 
XV.  was  over  apont  toumant , a kind  ol  draw- 
bridge.— Ed.] 

10  [The  English  convent  of  Notre  Dame  a 
Sion,  of  the  order  of  St.  Augustine,  situated  ji 
the  R ue  des  Fosses  St.  Victor. — Ed.] 


1775. — iETAT.  66. 


13 


FRANCE.] 

hour  about  three,  and  half  an  hour  more  at 
seven — four  hours  in  chapel — A large  garden 
— Thirteen  pensioners  i — Teachers  com- 
plained. 

« At  the  Boulevards  saw  nothing,  yet  was 
glad  to  be  there — Rope-dancing  and  farce — 
Egg  dance. 

“N.  [Note.] — Near  Paris,  whether  on 
week-days  or  Sundays,  the  roads  empty. 

« Tuesday , 17 th  October . — At  the  Palais 
Marchand  I bought 
A snuff  box,  24  Livres 

6 

Table  book,  15 

Scissors  3 p [pair]  18 

[Livres]  63 — 21, 12s.  6d.  ster. 

“We  heard  the  lawyers  plead — N.  As 
many  killed  at  Paris  as  there  are  days  in  the 
year — Chambre  de  question  2 — Tournelle  at 
the  Palais  Marchand  3 — An  old  venerable 
building. 

« The  Palais  Bourbon,  belonging  to  the 
Prince  of  Conde — Only  one  small  wing 
shown — lofty — splendid — gold  and  glass — 
The  battles  of  the  great  Cond  are  painted 
in  one  of  the  rooms — The  present  prince  a 
grandsire  at  thirty-nine  *. 

« The  sight  of  palaces,  and  other  great 
buildings,  leaves  no  very  distinct  images,  un- 
less to  those  who  talk  of  them — As  I enter- 
ed, my  wife  was  in  my  minds:  she  would 
have  been  pleased.  Having  now  nobody  to 
please,  I am  little  pleased. 

“ N.  In  France  there  is  no  middle  rank  6. 


1 [Young  ladies,  who  paid  for  their  educa- 
tion. Before  the  revolution,  there  were  no 
boarding  schools,  and  all  young  ladies  were 
educated  in  the  convents. — Ed.] 

2 [This  was  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  Conci- 
ergerie,  where  la  question — torture — was  ap- 
plied.— Ed.] 

3 [Again  he  mistakes,  by  introducing  the 
word  Marchand.  The  word  Tournelle  designa- 
ted that  portion  of  the  parliament  of  Paris 
which  tried  criminal  causes,  and  that  part  of 
the  Palais  in  which  they  sat. — Ed.] 

4 [The  Prince  de  Condi  was  born  in  1736,  and 
died  in  1818.  The  grandson  was  the  celebrated 
and  unfortunate  Duke  d’Enghein,  born  in  1755, 
murdered  in  1804.  The  father,  “ restes  infortu- 
nes du  plus  beau  sang  du  monde,”  still  lives  un- 
der his  former  title  of  Due  de  Bourbon. — Ed.] 

5 His  tender  affection  for  his  departed  wife,  of 
which  there  are  many  evidences  in  his  “ Prayers 
and  Meditations,”  appears  very  feelingly  in  this 
passage. — Boswell. 

6 [This  observation,  which  Johnson  afterwards 
repeats,  was  unfounded  in  the  sense  in  which  he 
appears  to  have  understood  it.  France  was  in 
theory  divided  (as  England  is)  into  the  clergy,  the 
nobles,  and  the  commons,  and  so  it  might  be  said 
that  there  was  no  middle  rank;  but  not  only  did 
the  theoretical  constitution  of  society  thus  resem- 
ble that  of  England,  but  so  did  its  practical  de- 
tails. There  were  first  the  veers  of  France,  who 


“So  many  shops  open,  that  Sunday  is 
little  distinguished  at  Paris. — The  palaces 
of  Louvre  and  rhuiUeries  granted  out  in 
lodgings. 

“ In  the  Palais  de  Bourbon , gilt  globes  o 
metal  at  the  fireplace. 

“ The  French  beds  commended — Much  o ; 
the  marble  only  paste. 

“ The  colosseum  7 a mere  wooden  build, 
ing,  at  least  much  of  it. 

“ Wednesday , 18 th  October. — We  went  tc 
Fontainbleau,  which  we  found  a large  mean 
town,  crowded  with  people — The  forest 
thick  with  woods,  very  extensive — Manucci 
secured  us  lodgings — The  appearance  of  the 
country  pleasant — No  hills,  few  streams, 
only  one  hedge — I remember  no  chapels  noi 
crosses  on  the  road — Pavement  still,  and 
rows  of  trees. 

“N.  Nobody  but  mean  people  walk  in 
Paris. 

“ Thursday , 19 th  October. — At  court  we 
saw  the  apartments — The  king’s  bed-cham- 
ber and  council-chamber  extremely  splendid 
— Persons  of  all  ranks  in  the  external  rooms 
through  which  the  family  passes — servants 
and  masters — Brunets  with  us  the  second 
time. 

“The  introductor  came  to  us — civil  tc 
me — Presenting — I had  scruples  9 — Not  ne* 


had  seats  and  voices  in  the  parliament,  but  were 
of  little  weight  as  a political  body,  from  the 
smallness  of  their  numbers,  and  because  theii 
‘parliament  had  only  continued  to  be,  what  we 
still  call  ours,  a high  court,  and  had  lost  its  legist 
lative  functions  ; — next  came  the  noblesse — the 
gentilhommes — answering  to  our  gentry ; — then 
the  middle  classes  of  society,  composed  of  the 
poorer  gentry,  lawyers,  medical  men,  inferioi 
clergy,  literary  men,  merchants,  artists,  manu- 
facturers, notaries,  shopkeepers,  in  short,  all 
those  who  in  every  country  constitute  the  middle 
classes,  and  they  undoubtedly  existed  in  France 
in  their  due  proportion  to  the  gentry  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  working  classes  on  the  other. 
Johnson’s  remark  is  the  stranger,  because  it 
would  seem  that  his  intercourse  while  in  Paris 
was  almost  exclusively  with  persons  of  this 
middle  class  ; but  it  must  be  observed,  that  his 
intercourse  and  his  consequent  sources  of  infor- 
mation were  not  extensive.  Mrs.  Piozzi  says  to 
him,  talking  of  the  progress  of  refinement  ol 
manners  in  England,  “ I much  wonder  whether 
this  refinement  has  spread  all  over  the  conti- 
nent, or  whether  it  is  confined  to  our  own  island  : 
when  we  were  in  France  we  could  form  little  judg- 
ment, as  our  time  roas  chiefly  passed  among  the 
English .” — Lett. — Ed.] 

7 [This  building,  which  stood  in  the  Faubourg 
St.  Honors,  was  a kind  of  Ranelagh,  and  was 
destroyed  a few  years  after.  The  “ Memoires 
de  Bachaumont”  call  it  “ monument  monstreux 
de  la  folie  Parisienne.” — V.  i.  p.  311. — Ed.] 

8 [Perhaps  M.  J.  L.  Brunet,  a celebrated  ad 
vocate  of  the  parliament  of  Paris,  author  of  se 
veral  distinguished  professional  works. — Ed.] 

9 [It  was  the  custom  previous  to  court  present 


14 


1775.— jETAT.  66. 


Cfcssarv — W e went  and  saw  the  king  and 
queen  at  dinner — We  saw  the  other  ladies 
at  dinner — Madame  Elizabeth,  with  the 
Princess  of  Guimene — At  night  we  went  to 
a comedy — I neither  saw  nor  heard — 
Drunkei?  women — Mrs.  Th[rale]  preferred 
one  to  the  other. 

“ Friday , 20 ih  October. — We  saw  the 
queen  mount  in  the  forest — Brown  habit ; 
rode  aside : one  lady  rode  aside 1 — The 
uueen’s  horse  light  gray — martingale — She 
galloped — We  then  w7ent  to  the  apartments, 
and  admired  them — Then  wandered  through 
the  palace — In  the  passages,  stalls  and  shops 
— Painting  in  fresco  by  a great  master, 
worn  out — We  saw  the  king’s  horses  and 
dogs — The  dogs  almost  all  English — Dege- 
nerate. 

“ The  horses  not  much  commended — The 
stables  cool ; the  kennel  filthy. 

« At  night  the  ladies  went  to  the  opera — 
I refused,  but  should  have  been  welcome. 

“ The  king  fed  himself  with  his  left  hand 
as  we. 

“ Saturday , 21  si  October. — In  the  night 
I got  round — We  came  home  to  Paris — I 
think  we  did  not  see  the  chapel — Tree  bro- 
ken by  the  wind — The  French  chairs  made 
all  of  boards  painted  2 . 

“ N.  Soldiers  at  the  court  of  justice  3 — 
Soldiers  not  amenable  to  the  magistrates — 
Dijon  women  4. 

“ Faggots  in  the  palace — Every  thing  slo- 
venly, except  in  the  chief  rooms — Trees  in 
the  roads,  some  tall,  none  old,  many  very 
young  and  small. 

“ Women’s  saddles  seem  ill  made — 
Queen’s  bridle  woven  with  silver — Tags  to 
strike  the  horse. 


ations,  that  an  officer  waited  on  the  person  to  be 
introduced,  to  instruct  them  in  the  forms.  John- 
son’s scruples  probably  arose  from  this — it  was 
an  etiquette  generally  insisted  on  to  present  at  fo- 
reign courts  those  only  who  had  been  presented  to 
their  own  sovereign  at  home.  Johnson  had  ne- 
ver been  publickly  presented  to  the  king,  though 
he  had  had  that  honour  in  private,  and  may,  there- 
fore, have  entertained  scruples  whether  he  was 
entitled  to  be  presented  to  the  king  of  France ; 
but  it  would  seem  that  those  scruples  were  not 
necessary,  the  rule  perhaps  extending  only  to  for- 
mal presentations  at  court,  and  not  to  admission 
to  see  the  king  dine. — ED.j 

1 [This  probably  means  that  the  queen  was 
attended  by  only  one  lady,  who  also  rode  aside, 
and  not  that  one  female  attendant  rode  so,  while 
other  ladies  rode  astride. — Ed.] 

2 [Meaning,  no  doubt,  that  they  were  not  of 
cedar,  ebony,  or  mahogany,  but  of  some  meaner 
wood  coloured  over,  a fashion  which  had  not  yet 
reached  England. — Ed.] 

3 [The  marecliaussde  was  posted  at  the  gates 
of  the  courts  of  justice  ; but  the  interior  disci- 
pline was  maintained  by  huissiers,  ushers,  the 
servants  of  the  court. — Ed.] 

4 See  ante,  p 12. — Boswell. 


[tour  im 

“ Sunday , 22 d October. — To  Versailles,  a 
mean  5 town — Carriages  of  business  pass, 
ing — Mean  shops  against  the  wall — Our 
way  lay  through  Seve,  where  the  China 
manufacture — Wooden  bridge  at  S6ve,  in 
the  way  to  Versailles — The  palace  of  great 
extent — The  front  long ; I saw  it  not  per- 
fectly— The  Menagerie — Cygnets  dark ; 
their  black  feet ; on  the  ground ; tame — 
Halcyons,  or  gulls — Stag  and  hind,  young 
— Aviary,  very  large  ; the  net,  wire — Black 
stag  of  China,  small — Rhinoceros,  the  horn 
broken  and  pared  away,  which,  I suppose, 
will  grow;  the  basis,  I think,  four  inches 
across  ; the  skin  folds  like  loose  cloth  doubled 
over  his  body,  and  cross  his  hips  ; a vast  ani- 
mal, though  young ; as  big,  perhaps,  as  four 
oxen — The  young  elephant,  with  his  tusks 
just  appearing — The  brown  bear  put  out  his 
paws — all  very  tame — The  lion — The  tigers 
I did  not  well  view — The  camel,  or  drome- 
dary, with  two  bunches  called  the  Huguins, 
taller  than  any  horse — Two  camels  with 
one  bunch — Among  the  birds  was  a pelican, 
who  being  let  out,  went  to  a fountain,  and 
swam  about  to  catch  fish — His  feet  well 
webbed ; he  dipped  his  head,  and  turned  his 
long  bill  sidewise — He  caught  two  or  three 
fish,  but  did  not  eat  them. 

“ Trianon  is  a kind  of  retreat  appendant 
to  Versailles — It  has  an  open  portico;  the 
pavement,  and,  I think,  the  pillars,  of  mar- 
ble— There  are  many  rooms,  which  I do  not 
distinctly  remember — A table  of  porphyry, 
about  five  feet  long,  and  between  two  and 
three  broad,  given  to  Louis  XIV.  by  the 
Venetian  state — In  the  council-room  almost 
all  that  was  not  door  or  window  was,  I think, 
looking-glass — Little  Trianon  is  a small  pa- 
lace like  a gentleman’s  house — The  upper 
floor  paved  with  brick  7 — Little  Vienne — 
The  court  is  ill  paved — The  rooms  at  the 
top  are  small,  fit  to  soothe  the  imagination 
with  privacy — In  the  front  of  Versailles  are 
small  basins  of  water  on  the  terrace,  and 
other  basins,  I think,  below  them — There 
are  little  courts — The  great  gallery  is  wain- 
scotted  with  mirrours  not  very  large,  but 
joined  by  frames — I suppose  the  large  plates 
were  not  yet  made — The  playhouse  was 
very  large  s — The  chapel  I do  not  remember 


5 [There  must  be  some  mistake.  Versailles 
is  a remarkably  stately  town. — Ed.] 

6 This  epithet  should  be  applied  to  the  ani- 
mal with  one  bunch.— -Boswell. 

7 [The  upper  floors  of  most  houses  in  France 
are  tiled. — Ed.] 

8 [That  magnificent  building,  which  was  both  a 
theatre  and  a bali-iutnn.  It  was  rarely  used  ; the 
lighting  and  other  expenses  fora  single  night  be- 
ing 100,000  francs.  It  is  celebrated  in  the  History 
of  the  Revolution  as  the  scene  of  the  entertain- 
ment given  by  the  Gardes  du  Corps,  on  the  1st 
October,  1789  ; of  which  innocent  and,  indeed, 
laudable  testimony  of  attachment  between  them 


1775. — iETAT.  66. 


16 


FRANCE. 


if  we  saw  i — We  saw  one  chapel,  bu;  I am 
not  certain  whether  there  or  at  Trianon — 
The  foreign  office  paved  with  bricks  2 — The 
dinner  half  a louis  each,  and,  I think,  a louis 
over — Money  given  at  menagerie,  three  li- 
vres  ; at  palace,  six  livres. 

“ Monday , 23 d October. — Last  night  I 
wrote  to  Levets — We  went  to  see  the  look- 
ing-glasses wrought — They  come  from  Nor- 
mandy in  cast  plates,  perhaps  the  third  of 
an  inch  thick — At  Paris  they  are  ground 
upon  a marble  table,  by  rubbing  one  plate 
upon  another  with  grit  between  them — The 
various  sands,  of  which  there  are  said  to  be 
five,  I could  not  learn — The  handle,  by 
which  the  upper  glass  is  moved,  has  the 
form  of  a wheel,  which  may  be  moved  in  all 
directions — The  plates  are  sent  up  with 
their  surfaces  ground,  but  not  polished,  and 
so  continue  till  they  are  bespoken,  lest  time 
should  spoil  the  surface,  as  we  were  told — 
Those  that  are  to  be  polished  are  laid  on  a 
table  covered  with  several  thick  cloths,  hard 
strained,  that  the  resistance  may  be  equal : 
they  are  then  rubbed  with  a hand  rubber, 
held  down  hard  by  a contrivance  which  I 
did  not  well  understand — The  powder  which 
is  used  last  seemed  to  me  to  be  iron  dis- 
solved in  aquafortis ; they  called  it,  as  Bar- 
etti  said,  marc  de  Veau  forte , which  he 
thought  was  dregs — They  mentioned  vitriol 
and  saltpetre — The  cannon-ball  swam  in  the 
quicksilver — To  silver  them,  a leaf  of  beaten 
tin  is  laid,  and  rubbed  with  quicksilver,  to 
which  it  unites — Then  more  quicksilver  is 
poured  upon  it,  which,  by  its  mutual  [at- 
traction] rises  very  high — Then  a paper  is 
laid  at  the  nearest  end  of  the  plate,  over 
which  the  glass  is  slided  till  it  lies  upon  the 
plate,  having  driven  much  of  the  quicksilver 
before  it — It  is  then,  I think,  pressed  upon 
cloth,  and  then  set  sloping  to  drop  the  su- 
perfluous mercury : the  slope  is  daily  height- 
ened towards  a perpendicular. 

“ In  the  way  I saw  the  Greve,  the  mayor’s 
house  4,  and  the  Bastile. 

“We  then  went  to  Sans-terre,  a brewers 
— He  brews  with  about  as  much  malt  as 
Mr.  Thrale,  and  sells  his  beer  at  the  same 
price,  though  he  pays  no  duty  for  malt,  and 
little  more  than  half  as  much  for  beer — 
Beer  is  sold  retail  at  sixpence  a bottle — He 


and  their  unhappy  sovereigns,  the  rebels,  by  mis- 
representations and  calumnies,  made  so  serious 
an  affair. — Ed.] 

1 [It  is  surprising  how  this  should  have  escaped 
Johnson’s  observations.  It  is,  both  externally  and 
internally,  one  of  the  most  remarkable  objects  of 
V ersailles. — Ed.] 

2 [Tiles. — Ed.]  3 [Ante,  p.  9. — Ed.] 

4 [The  Hotel  de  Ville.— Ed.] 

5 [Santerre.]  The  detestable  ruffian  who 
afterwards  conducted  Louis  the  Sixteenth  to  the 
scaffold,  and  commanded  the  troops  that  guarded 
it  during  his  murder. — Malone. 


brews  4,000  barrels  a year — There  are  sev- 
enteen brewers  in  Paris,  of  whom  none  is 
supposed  to  brew  more  than  he — Reckoning 
them  at  3,000  each,  they  make  51,000  a year 
—They  make  their  malt,  for  malting  is  here 
no  trade. 

“ The  moat  of  the  Bastile  is  dry. 

“ Tuesday , 24 th  October. — We  visited 
the  king’s  library — I saw  the  Speculum  hu- 
mane Salvationis,  rudely  printed,  with  ink, 
sometimes  pale,  sometimes  black ; part  sup- 
posed to  be  with  wooden  types,  and  part 
with  pages  cut  in  boards.  The  Bible,  sup- 
posed to  be  older  than  that  of  Mentz,  in 
1462;  it  has  no  date;  it  is  supposed  to 
have  been  printed  with  wooden  types — I am 
in  doubt  ; the  print  is  large  and  fair,  in  two 
folios — Another  book  was  shown  me,  sup- 
posed to  have  been  printed  with  wooden 
types — I think,  Durandi  Sanctuarium  in 
1458 — This  is  inferred  from  the  difference 
of  form  sometimes  seen  in  the  same  letter, 
which  might  be  struck  with  different  pun- 
cheons— The  regular  similitude  of  most  let- 
ters proves  better  that  they  are  metal — I saw 
nothing  but  the  Speculum , which  I had  not 
seen,  I think,  before. 

“Thence  to  the  Sorbonne— The  library 
very  large,  not  in  lattices  like  the  king’s — 
Marbone  and  Durandi , q.  collection  14  vol. 
Scriptores  de  rebus  Gallicis , many  folios — 
Hisioire  Genealogique  of  France , 9 vol. — 
Gallia  Christiana,  the  first  edition,  4to.  the 
last,  f.  12  vol. — The  prior  and  librarian 
dined  with  us — I waited  on  them  home — 
Their  garden  pretty,  with  covered  walks, 
but  small ; yet  may  hold  many  students — 
The  doctors  of  the  Sorbonne  are  all  equal— 
choose  those  who  succeed  to  vacancies — 
Profit  little. 

“ Wednesday,  25 th  October. — I went 
with  the  prior  to  St.  Cloud,  to  see  Dr. 
Hooke  e — We  walked  round  the  palace,  and 
had  some  talk — I dined  with  our  whole  com- 
pany at  the  monastery — In  the  library,  Be- 
roald — Cymon — Titus,  from  Boccace — 
Oratio  Proverbialis  to  the  Virgin,  from 
Petrarch;  Falkland  to  Sandys — Dryden’s 
Preface  to  the  third  vol.  of  Miscellanies  7. 

“ Thursday,  26th  October. — We  saw  the 
china  at  Seve,  cut,  glazed,  painted — Bel- 
levue s,  a pleasing  house,  not  great : fine 
prospect — Meudon,  an  old  palace — Alexan- 
der, in  porphyry  : hollow  between  eyes  and 
nose,  thin  cheeks — Plato  and  Aristotle — 
Noble  terrace  overlooks  the  town.  St. 
Cloud — Gallery  not  very  high,  nor  grand, 
but  pleasing — In  the  rooms,  Michael  Ange- 

6 [Second  son  of  Hooke,  the  historian,  a doc- 
tor of  the  Sorbonne. — Ed.] 

7 He  means,  I suppose,  that  he  read  these  dif 
ferent  pieces  while  he  remained  in  the  library.— 
Boswell. 

8 [At  that  period  inhabited  by  the  king’s  aunt#. 
—Ed  \ 


16 


1775.— iETAT.  66. 


io,  drawn  by  himself,  Sir  Thomas  More, 
Des  Cartes,  Bochart,  Naudaeus,  Mazarine 
— Gilded  wainscot,  so  common  that  it  is  .not 
minded — Gough  and  Keene — Hooke  came 
to  us  at  the  inn — A message  from  Drum- 
gould. 

“ Friday , 27 th  October. — I staid  at  home 

— Gough  and  Keene,  and  Mrs.  S ’s  i 

friend  dined  with  us — This  day  we  began 
to  have  a fire — The  weather  is  grown  very 
cold,  and,  I fear,  has  a bad  effect  upon 
my  breath,  which  has  grown  much  more 
free  and  easy  in  this  country. 

“ Saturday , '28th  October. — I visited  the 
Grand  Chartreux  2,  built  by  St.  Louis — It 
is  built  for  forty,  but  contains  only  twenty- 
four,  and  will  not  maintain  more — The  friar 
that  spoke  to  us  had  a pretty  apartment — 
Mr.  Baretti  says  four  rooms  ; I remember 
but  three — His  books  seemed  to  be  French 
—His  garden  was  neat ; he  gave  me  grapes 
— We  saw  the  Place  de  Victoire,  with  the 
statues  of  the  king,  and  the  captive  nations. 

“We  saw  the  palace  and  gardens  of 
Luxembourg,  but  the  gallery  was  shut — 
W e climbed  to  the  top  stairs — I dined  with 
Colebrooke  3,  who  had  much  company — 
Foote,  Sir  George  Rodney  4,  Motteux,  Ud- 
son,  Taaf — Called  on  the  prior,  and  found 
him  in  bed. 

“ Hotel— a guinea  a day — Coach,  three 
guineas  a week — Valet  de  place,  three  1.  a 
day — Avant-coureur  5,  a guinea  a week — 
Ordinary  dinner,  six  1.  a head — Our  ordi- 


1 [Mrs.  Strickland,  the  sister  of  Mr.  Charles 
Tovvnley,  who  happened  to  meet  the  party  at 
Dieppe,  and  accompanied  them  to  Paris.  She 
introduced  them  to  Madame  du  Bocage. — Rey- 
nolds's Recollections. — Ed.] 

2 [There  was  in  France  but  one  Grand  Char- 
treux, the  monastery  near  Grenoble,  founded  by 
St.  Bruno,  to  the  13th  prior  of  which  St.  Louis 
applied  for  an  off-set  of  the  order  to  be  established 
in  Paris,  where  he  placed  them  in  his  chateau  de 
Vauvert,  which  stood  in  the  Rue  d’Enfer.  The 
good  people  of  Paris  believed  that  the  chateau  of 
Vauvert,  before  St.  Louis  had  fixed  the  Carthu- 
sians there,  was  haunted,  and  thence  the  street 
was  called  Rue  d’Enfer. — Ed.] 

3 [Sir  George  Colebrooke,  see  ante,  v.  i.  p. 
262.— Ed.] 

4 [The  celebrated  Admiral,  afterwards  Lord 
Rodney  : he  was  residing  abroad  on  account  of 
pecuniary  embarrassments,  and,  on  the  breaking 
out  of  the  war  in  1778,  the  Marshal  Due  de  Biron 
generously  offered  him  a loan  of  a thousand  loui? 
d’ors,  to  enable  him  to  return  to  take  his  part  in 
the  service  of  his  country.  See  a letter  of  the 
Baron  D’Holbach  to  Miss  Wilkes,  in  Wilkes's 
Correspondence,  vol.  iv.  p.  270. — Ed.] 

5 [There  is  a slight  mistake  here.  Princes, 
ambassadors,  marshals,  and  a few  of  the  higher 
nobility,  had  coureurs , that  is,  running  footmen. 
The  word  avant-coureur  was  commonly  used  in 
a moral  sense.  Johnson,  no  doubt,  meant  a 
courier  who  rode  post. — Ed.] 


[tour  IN 

nary  seems  to  be  about  five  guineas  a day — 
Our  extraordinary  expenses,  as  diversions, 
gratuities,  clothes,  I cannot  reckon — Our 
travelling  is  ten  guineas  a day. 

“ White  stockings,  18  1.  e Wig — Hat. 

“ Sunday,  29 th  October. — We  saw  the 
boarding-school — The  Enfans  trouvds — A 
room  with  about  eighty-six  children  in  cra- 
dles, as  sweet  as  a parlour — They  lose  a 
third  ; take  in  to  perhaps  more  than  seven 
[years  old]  ; put  them  to  trades;  pin  to 
them  the  papers  sent  with  them — Want 
nurses — Saw  their  chapel. 

“Went  to  St.  Eustatia7;  saw  an  innu- 
merable company  of  girls  catechised,  in 
many  bodies,  perhaps  100  to  a catechist — 
Boys  taught  at  one  time,  girls  at  another — 
The  sermon : the  preacher  wears  a cap, 
which  he  takes  off  at  the  name — his  action 
uniform,  not  very  violent. 

“ Monday , 30 th  October. — We  saw  the 
library  of  St.  Germains — A very  noble 
collection — Codex  Divinorum  Officiorum , 
1459 — a letter,  square  like  that  of  the  Offi- 
ces, perhaps  the  same — The  Codex , by 
Fust  and  Gemsheym — Meursius,  12  v.  fol. 
— Amadis,  in  French,  3 vol.  fol. — Cathol- 
icon  sine  colophone,  but  of  1460 — Two 

other  editions  9,  one  by Augustin,  de 

Civitate  Dei,  without  name,  date,  or  place, 
but  of  Fust’s  square  letter  as  it  seems. 

“ I dined  with  Col.  Drumgould ; had  a 
pleasing  afternoon. 

“ Some  of  the  books  of  St.  Germain’s 
stand  in  presses  from  the  wall,  like  those  at 
Oxford. 

“ Tuesday,  31  st  October. — I lived  at  the 
Benedictines  ; meagre  day ; soup  meagre, 
herrings,  eels,  both  with  sauce ; fried  fish ; 
lentils,  tasteless  in  themselves — In  the  libra- 
ry ; where  I found  Maffeus’s  de  Historic 
Indica  : Promonloriumjlectere,  to  double  the 
Cape — I parted  very  tenderly  from  the  prior 
and  Father  Wilkes. 

“ Maitre  des  Arts,  2 y. — Bacc.  Theol. 
3.y. — Licentiate,  2 y. — Doctor  Th.  2 y.  in 


6 i.  e.  18  livres.  Two  pair  of  white  silk  stock- 
ings were  probably  purchased. — Malone. 

7 [No  doubt  an  error  for  Eustatius.  He 
means  the  well-known  parish  church  of  St.  Eu - 
stache. — Ed.] 

8 [St.  Germain  des  Pr&s,  the  too  celebrated 
abbaye.  Its  library  was  said — after  the  king’s 
library  in  Paris,  and  that  of  the  Vatican — to  be 
the  richest  in  Europe  in  manuscripts. — Ed.] 

9 I have  looked  in  vain  into  De  Bure,  Meer- 
man,  Mattaire,  and  other  typographical  books, 
for  the  two  editions  of  the  “ Catholicon,"  which 
Dr.  Johnson  mentions  here,  with  names  which  I 
cannot  make  out.  I read  “one  by  Lalinius, 
one  by  Boedinus."  I have  deposited  the  origi- 
nal MS.  in  the  British  Museum, where  the  curious 
may  see  it.  My  grateful  acknowledgments  are 
due  to  Mr.  Planta  for  the  trouble  he  was  pleased 
to  take  in  aiding  my  researches.— Boswell, 


1775.— JET  AT.  66. 


FRANCE.] 

all  9 years — For  the  Doctorate  three  dispu- 
tations, Major,  Minor , Sorbonica — Several 
colleges  suppressed,  and  transferred  to  that 
which  was  the  Jesuit’s  College. 

“ Wednesday , 1st  November. — We  left 
Paris — St.  Denis,  a large  town : the  church 
not  very  large,  but  the  middle  aisle  is  very 
lofty  and  awful — On  the  left  are  chapels 
built  beyond  the  line  of  the  wall,  which  de- 
stroyed the  symmetry  of  the  sides — The 
organ  is  higher  above  the  pavement  than  I 
have  ever  seen — The  gates  are  of  brass — 
On  the  middle  gate  is  the  history  of  our 
Lord — The  painted  windows  are  historical, 
and  said  to  be  eminently  beautiful — We 
were  at  another  church  belonging  to  a con- 
vent, of  which  the  portal  is  a dome ; we 
could  not  enter  further,  and  it  was  almost 
dark. 

“ Thursday , 2d  November. — We  came 
this  day  to  Chantilly,  a seat  belonging  to 
the  Prince  of  Conde — This  place  is  eminent- 
ly beatified  by  all  varieties  of  waters  start- 
ing up  in  fountains,  falling  in  cascades,  run- 
ning in  streams,  and  spread  in  lakes — The 
water  seems  to  be  too  near  the  house — All 
this  water  is  brought  from  a source  or  river 
three  leagues  off,  by  an  artificial  canal, 
which  for  one  league  is  carried  under 
ground — The  house  is  magnificent — The 
cabinet  seems  well  stocked ; what  I remem- 
ber was,  \he  jaws  of  a hippopotamus,  and 
a young  hippopotamus  preserved,  which, 
however,  is  so  small,  that  I doubt  its  reali- 
ty— It  seems  too  hairy  for  an  abortion,  and 
too  small  for  a mature  birth — Nothing  was 
[preserved]  in  spirits  ; all  was  dry — The  dog : 


J/ 

the  deer  ; the  ant-bear  wit  i long  snout — The 
toucan,  long  broad  beak — The  stables  were 
of  very  great  length — The  kennel  h*id  no 
scents — There  was  a mockery  oi  a village 
— The  menagerie  had  few  animals  i — Two 
faussans  2,  or  Brasilian  weasels,  spotted, 
very  wild — There  is  a forest,  and.  I think, 
a park — I walked  till  I was  very  weary,  aim 
next  morning  felt  my  feet  battered,  and  with 
pains  in  the  toes. 

“ Friday,  3 d November. — We  came  to 
Compeigne,  a very  large  town,  with  a royal 
palace  built  round  a pentagonal  court — The 
court  is  raised  upon  vaults,  and  has,  I sup- 
pose, an  entry  on  one  side  by  a gentle  rise — 
Talk  of  painting — The  church  is  not  very 
large,  but  very  elegant  and  splendid — I had 
at  first  great  difficulty  to  walk,  but  motion 
grew  continually  easier — At  night  we  came 
to  Noyon,  an  episcopal  city — The  cathe- 
dral is  very  beautiful,  the  pillars  alternately 
Gothick  and  Corinthian — We  entered  a 
very  noble  parochial  church — Noyon  is 
walled,  and  is  said  to  be  three  miles  round. 

“ Saturday,  4 th  November. — We  rose 
very  early,  and  came  through  St.  Quintin 
to  Cambray,  not  long  after  three — We 
went  to  an  English  nunnery,  to  give  a let- 
ter to  Father  Welch,  the  confessor,  wno 
came  to  visit  us  in  the  evening. 

“ Sunday,  5th  November. — We  saw  the 
Cathedral — It  is  very  beautiful,  with  chan- 
els  on  each  side — The  choir  splendid — The 
balustrade  in  one  part  brass — The  Nej) 
very  high  and  grand — The  altar  silver  as 
far  as  it  is  seen — The  vestments  very  splen- 
did— At  the  Benedictines’  church ” 


Here  his  Journal  3 ends  abruptly.  Wheth- 
er he  wrote  any  more  after  this  time,  I 
know  not;  but  probably  not  much,  as  he 

1 The  writing  is  so  bad  here,  that  the  names  of 
several  of  the  animals  could  not  be  deciphered 
without  much  more  acquaintance  with  natural 
history  than  I possess.  Dr.  Blagden,  with  his 
usual  politeness,  most  obligingly  examined  the 
MS.  To  that  gentleman,  and  to  Dr.  Gray,  of  the 
British  Museum,  who  also  very  readily  assisted 
me,  I beg  leave  to  express  my  best  thanks. — 
Boswell. 

2 It  is  thus  written  by  Johnson, from  the  French 
pronunciation  of fossane.  It  should  be  observed, 
that  the  person  who  showed  this  menagerie  was 
mistaken  in  supposing  the  fossane  and  the  Bra- 
silian weasel  to  be  the  same,  the  fossane  being  a 
different  animal,  and  a native  of  Madagascar.  I 
find  them,  however,  upon  one  plate  in  Pennant’s 
“ Synopsis  of  Quadrupeds.” — Boswell. 

s My  worthy  and  ingenious  friend, Mr.  Andrew 
Lumisden,  by  his  accurate  acquaintance  with 
France,  enabled  me  to  make  out  many  proper 
names  which  Dr.  Johnson  had  written  indistinct- 
ly, and  sometimes  spelt  erroneously. — BoSwell. 

VOL.  II.  3 


arrived  in  England  about  the  12th  of  No- 
vember. These  short  notes  of  his  tour, 
though  they  may  seem  minute  taken  singly 
make  together  a considerable  mass  of  infor- 
mation, and  exhibit  such  an  ardour  of  in- 
quiry and  acuteness  of  examination,  as  1 
believe,  are  found  in  but  few  travellers,  es- 
pecially at  an  advanced  age.  They  com- 
pletely refute  the  idle  notion  which  has 
been  propagated,  that  he  could  not  see*; 
and,  if  he  had  taken  the  trouble  to  revise 


4 [Miss  Reynolds,  who  knew  him  longer,  and 
saw  him  more  constantly  than  Mr.  Boswell,  says, 
“Dr.  Johnson’s  sight  was  so  very  defective , that 
he  could  scarcely  distinguish  the  face  of  his  most 
intimate  acquaintance  at  half  a yard,  and  in  ge- 
neral it  was  observable,  that  his  critical  remarks 
on  dress,  &c.  were  the  result  of  very  close  in- 
spection of  the  object,  partly  from  curiosity,  and 
partly  from  a desire  of  exciting  admiration  of  lus 
perspicuity,  of  which  he  was  not  a little  ambi- 
tious.”— Recollections.  And  if  we  may  believe 
Baretti’s  account  to  her,  on  their  return,  his  defect 
of  sight  led  him  into  many  inaccuracies. — Ed.] 


i8 


1775.— ^ETAT.  66. 


and  digest  them,  he  undoubtedly  could  have 
expanded  them  into  a very  entertaining  nar- 
rative. 

[Mrs.  Piozzi  has  preserved  a few 
anecdotes  of  this  tour.  “ Mr.  Thrale 
p'  1 2 3 ’ loved  prospects,  and  was  mortified 
that  his  friend  could  not  enjoy  the  sight  of 
those  different  dispositions  of  wood  and  wa- 
ter, hill  and  valley,  that  travelling  through 
England  and  France  affords  a man.  But 
when  he  wished  to  point  them  out  to  his 
companion,  ‘Never  heed  such  nonsense,’, 
would  be  the  reply : ‘ a blade  of  grass  is 
always  a blade  of  grass,  whether  in  one 
country  or  another.  Let  us,  if  we  do  tall?, 
talk  about  something : men  and  women  are 
my  subjects  of  inquiry ; let  us  see  how  these 
differ  from  those  we  have  left  behind.’ 

“ When  we  were  at  Rouen  together,  he 
took  a great  fancy  to  the  Abbe  Roffette, 
with  whom  he  conversed  about  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  order  of  jesuits,  and  condemned 
it  loudly,  as  a blow  to  the  general  power  of 
the  church,  and  likely  to  be  followed  with 
many  and  dangerous  innovations,  which 
might  at  length  become  fatal  to  religion  it- 
self, and  shake  even  the  foundation  of  Chris- 
tianity. The  gentleman  seemed  to  wonder 
and  delight  in  his  conversation ; the  talk 
was  all  in  Latin,  which  both  spoke  fluently, 
and  Dr.  Johnson  pronounced  a long  eulogi- 
um  upon  Milton  with  so  much  ardour,  elo- 
quence, and  ingenuity,  that  the  abbe  rose 
from  his  seat  and  embraced  him.  My  hus- 
band seeing  them  apparently  so  charmed 
with  the  company  of  each  other,  politely 
invited  the  abbe  to  England,  intending  to 
oblige  his  friend ; who,  instead  of  thanking, 
reprimanded  him  severely  before  the  man, 
for  such  a sudden  burst  of  tenderness  to- 
wards a person  he  could  know  nothing  at 
all  of ; and  thus  put  a sudden  finish  to  all  his 
own  and  Mr.  Thrale’s  entertainment,  from 
the  company  of  the  Abbe  Roffette. 

“ When  at  Versailles  the  people  showed 
us  the  theatre.  As  we  stood  on  the  stage 
looking  at  some  machinery  for  playhouse 
purposes — ‘Now  we  are  here,  what  shall 
we  act,  Dr.  Johnson? — The  Englishman 
at  Paris?’  ‘No,  no,’  replied  he;  ‘.we  will 
try  to  act  Harry  the  Fifth.’  His  dislike  of 
the  French  was  well  known  to  botli  nations, 
I believe ; but  he  applauded  the  number  of 
their  books  and  the  graces  of  their  style. 
‘They  have  few  sentiments,’  said  he,  ‘but 
they  express  them  neatly ; they  have  little 
meat  too,  but  they  dress  it  well.’  ”] 

When  I met  him  in  London  the  following 
year,  the  account  which  he  gave  me  of  his 
French  tour,  was,  “ Sir,  I have  seen  all  the 
visibilities  of  Paris,  and  around  it ; but  to 
have  formed  an  acquaintance  with  the  peo- 
ple there  would  have  required  more  time 
:han  I could  stay.  I was  just  beginning  to 
creep  into  acquaintance  by  means  of  Colonel 
Drumgould,  a very  high  man,  sir,  head  of 


UEcole  Militaire.  a most  complete  charac- 
ter, for  he  had  first  been  a professor  of  rhet- 
orick,  and  then  became  a soldier.  And. 
sir,  I was  very  kindly  treated  by  the  Eng- 
lish Benedictines,  and  have  a cell  appropri- 
ated to  me  in  their  convent.” 

He  observed,  “ The  great  in  France  live 
very  magnificently,  but  the  rest  very  miser- 
ably. There  is  no  happy  middle  state  as 
in  England^  The  shops  of  Paris  are 
mean ; the  meat  in  the  market  is  such  as 
would^re  sent  to  a gaol  in  England ; and 
Mr.  Thrale  justly  observed,  that  the  cook- 
ery of  the  French  was  forced  upon  them  by 
necessity ; for  they  could  not  eat  their  meat, 
unless  they  added  some  taste  to  it.  The 
French  are  an  indelicate  people ; they  will 
spit  upon  any  place.  At  Madame  [Du 
Bocage’s,]  a literary  lady  of  rank,  the  foot- 
man took  the  sugar  in  his  fingers,  and 
threw  it  into  my  coffee.  I was  going  to  put 
it  aside ; but  hearing  it  was  made  on  pur- 
pose for  me,  I e’en  tasted  Tom’s  fingers. 
The  same  lady  would  needs  make  tea  h 
VAngloise.  The  spout  of  the  teapot  did 
not  pour  freely ; she  bade  the  footman  blow 
into  it  2.  France  is  worse  than  Scotland 
in  every  thing  but  climate.  Nature  has 
done  more  for  the  French ; but  they  have 
done  less  for  themselves  than  the  Scotch 
have  done  3.” 


1 [See  ante,  p.  13. — Ed.] 

2 [Nay,  she  actually  performed  the  operation 

herself.  Mrs.  Piozzi  says,  “I  recollect  one  fine 
lady  in  France,  who  entertained  us  very  splendid- 
ly, put  her  mouth  to  the  teapot,  and  blew  in  the 
spout  when  it  would  not  pour  freely.  My  maid 
Peggy  would  not  have  touched  the  tea  after  such 
an  operation.” — Letters , v.  ii.  p.  247.  Miss 
Reynolds’s  “ Recollections ” preserve  this  story 
as  told  her  by  Baretti,  who  was  of  the  party: 
“ Going  one  day  to  drink  tea  with  Madame  du 
Bocage,  she  happened  to  produce  ar  old  china 
teapot,  which  Mrs.  Strickland,  who  made  the  tea, 
could  not  make  pour:  lSoujjlez,  souJP.ez,  mad - 
ame,  dedans ,’  cried  Madame  du  Bocage,  lil  se 
rectifie  immediatement ; essayez,  je  vous  en 
prie .’  The  servant  then  thinking  that  Mrs. 
Strickland  did  not  understand  what  his  lady  said, 
took  up  the  teapot  to  rectify  it,  and  Mrs.  Strick- 
land had  quite  a struggle  to  prevent  his  blowing 
into  the  spout.  Madame  du  Bocage  all  this  while 
had  not  the  least  idea  of  its  being  any  impropriety, 
and  wondered  at  Mrs.  Strickland’s  stupidity.  She 
came  over  to  the  latter,  caught  up  the  teapot 
and  blew  into  the  spout  with  allher  might ; then 
finding  it  pour,  she  held  it  up  in  triumph,  and  re- 
peatedly exclaimed,  ‘ Voilh,  toilet,  fai  regagni 
Phonneur  de  ma  theitr.'1  She  had  no  sugar-tongs, 
and  said  something  that  showed  she  expect- 
ed Mrs.  Strickland  to  use  her  fingers  to  sweeten 
the  cups.  ‘ Jtladame , je  idostrois.  Oh  mon 

Dieu ! quel  grand  quan-quan  les  Jin  Hois  font 
de  peu  de  chose.” — Ed.] 

3 In  a letter  to  a friend,  written  a few  days 
after  his  return  from  France,  he  ss/s,  ‘‘Thf 


1775.— tETAT.  6b. 


It  happened  that  Foote  was  at  Paris  at 
the  same  time  with  Dr.  Johnson,  and  his 
description  of  my  friend  while  there  was 
abundantly  ludicrous.  He  told  me,  that  the 
French  were  quite  astonished  at  his  figure 
and  manner,  and  at  his  dress,  which  he  ob- 
stinately continued  exactly  as  in  London*  1 ; 
— his  brown  clothes,  black  stockings,  and 
plain  shirt.  He  mentioned,  that  an  Irish 
gentleman  said  to  Johnson,  “ Sir,  you  have 
not  seen  the  best  French  players.”  John- 
son. “ Players,  sir ! I look  on  them  as  no 
better  than  creatures  set  upon  tables  and 
joint  stools,  to  make  faces  and  produce 
laughter,  like  dancing  dogs.”  “But,  sir, 
you  will  allow  that  some  players  are  better 
than  others'?”  Johnson.  “Yes,  sir,  as 
some  dogs  dance  better  than  others.” 

Reyn.  [In  the  same  spirit,  but  of  more 
Recoil,  vehemence  and  greater  injustice, 
were  his  statements  to  Sir  Joshua  and  Miss 
Reynolds,  who  has  noted  them  in  her  Re- 
collections. 

Johnson.  “ The  French,  sir,  are  a very 
silly  people.  They  have  no  common  life. 
Nothing  but  the  two  ends,  beggary  and  no- 
bility. Sir,  they  are  made  up  in  every 
thing  of  two  extremes.  They  have  no 
common  sense,  they  have  no  common  man- 
ners, no  common  learning — gross  ignorance, 
or  les  belles  leltres .”  A Lad®-.  [Mrs. 

Thrale].  “Indeed,  even  in  their  dress — 
their  frippery  finery,  and  their  beggarly 
coarse  linen.  They  had,  I thought,  no 
politeness;  their  civilities  never  indicated 
more  good-will  than  the  talk  of  a parrot, 
indiscriminately  using  the  same  set  of  su- 
perlative phrases,  “ a la  merveille  /”  to  eve- 
ryone alike.  They  really  seemed  to  have 
no  expressions  for  sincerity  and  truth.” 
Johnson.  “They  are  much  behind-hand, 
stupid,  ignorant  creatures.  At  Fontain- 
bleau  I saw  a horse-race — every  thing  was 
wrong ; the  heaviest  weight  was  put  upon 
the  weakest  horse,  and  all  the  jockeys  wore 

French  have  a clear  air  and  a fruitful  soil ; but 
their  mode  of  common  life  is  gross  and  incommo- 
dious, and  disgusting.  I am  come  home  con- 
vinced that  no  improvement  of  general  use  is  to 
De  found  among  them.” — Malone. 

i  Mr.  Foote  seems  to  have  embellished  a little 
in  saying  that  Johnson  did  not  alter  his  dress  at 
Paris ; as  in  his  journal  is  a memorandum  about 
white  stockings,  wig,  and  hat.  In  another  place 
we  are  told  that  “ during  his  travels  in  France  he 
was  furnished  with  a French-made  wig  of  hand- 
some construction.”  That  Johnson  was  not  inat- 
tentive to  his  appearance  is  certain,  from  a cir- 
cumstance related  by  Mr.  Steevens,  and  inserted 
bv  Mr.  Boswell,  between  June  15  and  June  22, 
1734. — J.  Blakeway.  Mr.  Blakeway’s  ob- 
servation is  further  confirmed  by  a note  in  John- 
son’s diary  (quoted  by  Sir  John  Hawkins,  “ Life 
of  Johnson,”  p.  517),  by  which  it  appears  that 
he  had  laid  out  thirty  pounds  in  clothes  for  his 
French  journey. — Malone. 


lb 

the  same  colour  coat  2.”  A Gentleman. 
“Had  you  any  acquaintance  in  Paris?” 
Johnson.  “No,  I did  not  stay  long  enough 
to  make  any  3.  I spoke  only  Latin,  and  I 
could  not  have  much  conversation.  There 
is  no  good  in  letting  the  French  have  a 
superiority  over  you  every  word  you  speak. 
Baretti  was  sometimes  displeased  with  us 
for  not  liking  the  French.”  Miss  Rey- 
nolds. “Perhaps  he  had  a kind  of  partiali- 
ty for  that  country,  because  it  was  in  the 
way  to  Italy,  and  perhaps  their  manners  re- 
sembled the  Italians.”  Johnson.  “No. 
He  was  the  showman,  and  we  did  not  like 
his  show  ; that  was  all.”] 

While  Johnson  was  in  France,  he  was 
generally  very  resolute  in  speaking  Latin. 
It  was  a maxim  with  him  that  a man  should 
not  let  himself  down  by  speaking  a lan- 
guage which  he  speaks  imperfectly.  In- 
deed, we  must  have  often  observed  how  in- 


2 [“On  telling  Mr.  Baretti  of  the  proof  that 
Johnson  gave  of  the  stupidity  of  the  French  in  the 
management  of  their  horse-races  ; that  all  the 
jockeys  wore  the  same  colour  coat,  &c.,  he  said 
that  was  ‘ like  Johnson’s  remarks — He  could  not 
see.’ — But  it  was  observed  that  he  could  inquire  • 
— ‘ yes,’  and  it  was  by  the  answers  he  received 
that  he  was  misled,  for  he  asked  what  did  the  first 
jockey  wear?  answer,  green ; what  the  second? 
green  ; what  the  third?  green,  which  was  true  ; 
but,  then,  the  greens  were  all  different  greens, and 
very  easily  distinguished. — Johnson  was  per- 
petually making  mistakes  ; so,  on  going  toFon- 
tainbleau,  when  we  were  about  three-fourths  of 
the  way,  he  exclaimed  with  amazement,  that  now 
we  were  between  Paris  and  the  King  ofFrance’s 
court,  and  yet  we  had  not  met  one  carriage 
coming  from  thence,  or  even  one  going  thither ! 
On  which  all  the  company  in  the  coach  burst  out 
a laughing,  and  immediately  cried  out,  ‘ Look, 
look,  there  is  a coach  gone  by,  there  is  a chariot, 
there  is  a postchaise  I”  I dare  say  we  saw  a 
hundred  carriages,  at  least,  that  were  going  to  or 
coming  from  Fontainbleau.” — Baretti  in  Miss 
Reynolds's  Recollections.  It  should  be  added, 
however, that  Miss  Reynolds  thought  that  Baretti 
returned  from  this  tour  with  some  dislike  of  John- 
son, and  Johnson  not  without  some  coolness  to- 
wards Baretti,  op.  account,  as  Baretti  said,  of 
Madame  du  Bocage  having  paid  more  attention 
to  him  than  to  Johnson  ; but  this  latter  assertion 
could  not  be  true,  for  Johnson,  in  his  letter  to  Mr. 
Levet  (ante,  p.  9),  speaks  highly  mid  cor- 
dially of  Baretti  many  days  after  the  supposed 
offence.  Miss  Reynolds  adds  that  the  final  rup- 
ture between  Johnson  and  Baretti  was  occasion- 
ed by  “ a most  audacious  falsehood  that  the  latter 
told  Johnson,  that  he  had  beaten  Omiah  at  chess, 
at  Sir  Joshua’s;  for  the  reverse  was  the  fact.” 
This  produced  contradiction,  dispute,  and  a vio- 
lent quarrel,  which  never  was  completely  made 
up.— Ed.] 

3 [This  accounts  (not  quite  satisfactorily,  per- 
haps, in  a moral  view)  for  the  violent  prejudices 
and  consequent  misrepresentations  which  his 
conversation  on  his  return  exhibited.  — Er.] 


20 


1775.— ^TAT.  66 


feriour,  how  ir.uch  like  a child  a man  ap- 
pears, who  speaks  a broken  tongue.  When 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  at  one  of  the  dinners 
of  the  royal  academy,  presented  him  to  a 
Frenchman  of  great  distinction,  he  would 
not  deign  to  speak  French,  but  talked  Latin, 
though  his  excellency  did  not  understand 
it,  owing,  perhaps,  to  Johnson’s  English 
pronunciation:  yet  upon  another  occasion 
he  was  observed  to  speak  French  to  a 
Frenchman  of  high  rank,  who  spoke  Eng- 
lish ; and  being  asked  the  reason,  with 
some  expression  of  surprise,  he  answered, 
“ because  1 think  my  French  is  as  good  as 
his  English.”  Though  Johnson  under- 
stood French  perfectly,  he  could  not  speak 
it  readily,  as  I have  observed  at  his  first  in- 
terview with  General  Paoli,  in  1769;  yet 
he  wrote  it,  I imagine,  pretty  well,  as  ap- 
pears from  some  of  his  letters  in  Mrs.  Pi- 
ozzi’s  collection,  of  which  I shall  transcribe 
one: 

“A  MADAME  LA  COMTESSE  DE  1 2 3. 

“ 16th  May,  1771. 

“ Oui,  madame,  le  moment  est  arrive,  et 
il  faut  que  je  parte.  Mais  pourquoi  faut 
il  partir  ? Est  ce  que  je  m’ennuye  ? Je 
m’ennuyerai  ailleurs.  Est  ce  que  je  cherche 
ou  quelque  plaisir , ou  quelque  soulagement  1 
Je  ne  cherche  rien , je  n’espere  rien.  Alter 
voir  ce  quej’aj,  vu,  etre  un  peu  rejoui  2,  un 
peu  degoutt , me  resouvenir  que  la  vie  se 
passe,  et  qu’eTle  se  passe  en  vain , me  plain- 
dre  de  moi , m’endurcir  aux  dehors;  void 
le  tout  de  ce  qu'on  compte  pour  les  delices 
de  Vannle.  Que  Dieu  vous  donne,  madame, 
tous  les  agrimens  de  la  vie,  avec  un  esprit 
quipeut  enjour  sans  s’y  livrer  trop  3.” 

He  spoke  Latin  with  wonderful  fluency 
and  elegance.  When  Pere  Boscovich  4 was 


1 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  44,  where  it  is  conjec- 
tured that  this  note  was  addressed  to  Madame  de 
Boufflers,  which  the  editor  now  sees  reason  to 
doubt.  The  date  in  Mrs.  Piozzi’s  collection, 
where  it  first  appeared,  was  16th  May,  1771. 
In  Mr.  Boswell’s  first  edition  it  became  16th  July, 
1771  ; and  in  all  the  later  editions,  by  a more 
elaborate  error,  16th  July,  1775.  These  two 
latter  dates  are  manifest  mistakes.  Madame  de 
Boufflers’  visit  was  in  1769,  and  in  the  May  of 
1771  Johnson  was  in  London,  without  any  in- 
tention of  leaving  it — so  that  the  editor  is  wholly 
at  a loss  to  guess  to  whom  or  on  what  occasion 
.he  letter  was  written.  Perhaps  it  was  an  exer- 
cise.— Ed.] 

2 [This  letter,  notwithstanding  some  faults,  is 
very  tolerable  French ; rejoui  is  probably  a 
printer’s  error  for  rejoui,  and  peut  should  be 
puisse. — Ed.] 

3 [Here  followed  the  anecdote  relative  to 
Madame  de  Boufflers,  transferred  to  v.  i.  p.  88. 

-Ed.] 

* [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  170.  Boscovich  was  a 


m England,  Johnson  dined  in  company  with 
him  at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s,  and  at  Hr. 
Douglas’s,  now  Bishop  of  Salisbury.  Upon 
both  occasions  that  celebrated  foreigner  =x 
pressed  his  astonishment  at  Johnson’s  Latin 
conversation.  [The  conversation  at  Mur 
Dr.  Douglas’s  was  at  first  mostly  in  Lifejp 
French.  Johnson,  though  thorough-  9L 
ly  versed  in  that  language,  and  a professed 
admirer  of  Boileau  and  La  Bruyere,  did  not 
understand  its  pronunciation,  nor  could  he 
speak  it  himself  with  propriety.  For  the  rest 
of  the  evening  the  talk  was  in  Latin.  Bosco- 
vich had  a ready  current  flow  of  that  flimsy 
phraseology  with  which  a priest  may  travel 
through  Italy,  Spain,  and  Germany.  J ohn- 
son  scorned  what  he  called  colloquial  bar- 
barisms. It  was  his  pride  to  speak  his  best. 
He  went  on,  after  a little  practice,  with  as 
much  facility  as  if  it  was  his  native  tongue. 
One  sentence  Mr.  Murphy  remembered. 
Observing  that  Fontenelle  at  first  opposed 
the  Newtonian  philosophy,  and  embraced 
it  afterwards,  his  words  were  : Fontinellus , 
ni  fallor , in  extrema,  senectute,  fnit  trans- 
fuga  ad  castra  Newtoniana ».]  When  at 
Paris,  Johnson  thus  characterised  Voltaire 
to  Freron  the  journalist : “ Vir  est  acerri - 
mi  ingenii  et  paucarum  literarum.” 

“TO  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“ Edinburgh,  5th  Dec.  1775. 

“My  dear  sir, — Mr.  Alexander  Mac 
lean,  the  young  laud  of  Col,  being  to  set  out 
to-morrow  for  London,  I give  him  this  letter 
to  introduce  him  to  your  acquaintance.  The 
kindness  which  you  and  I experienced  from 
his  brother,  whose  unfortunate  death  we 
sincerely  lament,  will  make  us  always  de- 
sirous to  show  attention  to  any  branch  of 
the  family.  Indeed,  you  have  so  much  ol 
the  true  Highland  cordiality,  that  I am  sure 
you  would  have  thought  me  to  blame  if  1 


jesuit,  born  atRagusain  1711,  who  first  introdu- 
ced the  Newtonian  philosophy  into  Italy.  He  vis- 
ited London  in  1760,  and  was  there  elected  into 
the  Royal  Society.  He  died  in  1787. — Ed.] 

5 [This  phrase  seems  rather  too  pompous  for 
the  occasion.  Johnson  had  probably  in  his  mind 
a passage  in  Seneca,  quoted  in  Menagiana  (v. 
ii.  p.  46),  “ Sonique  voulant  dire  qu’il  profitait 
de  ce  qu’il  y avait  de  bon  dans  les  auteurs  dit, 
‘Solon  saepe  in  aliena  castra  transire;  non  tan- 
quam  transfuga,  sed  tanquam  explorator  and 
this  is  rendered  the  more  probable  because  in  the 
same  volume  of  the  Menagiana,  and  within  a 
few  pages  of  each  other,  are  found  two  othei 
Latin  quotations,  which  Johnson  has  made  use 
of,  the  one  from  Thuanus,  “ Fami  non  famce 
scribere  existitnatus  Xvlandrus.”  See  ante , vol. 
i.  p.  83,  n.  The  other  from  J.  C.  Scaliger,  “ Ho- 
mo ex  alieno  ingenio  poeta,  ex  suo  tantum  ver 
sificator which  is  the  motto  Johnson  prefixed  t« 
fiis  version  of  the  Messiah:  ante , v.  i-  p.  21 
Ed.] 


1775. — iETAT.  66. 


21 


had  neglected  to  recommend  to  you  this  He- 
bridean prince,  in  whose  island  we  were  hos- 
pitably entertained.  I ever  am,  with  re- 
spectful attachment,  my  dear  sir,  your  most 
obliged  and  most  humble  servant, 

“ James  Boswell.” 

Mr.  Maclean  returned  with  the  most 
agreeable  accounts  of  the  polite  attention 
with  which  he  was  received  by  Dr.  John- 
son. 

In  the  course  of  the  year  Dr.  Burney  in- 
forms me  that  “ he  very  frequently  met  Dr. 
Johnson  at  Mr.  Thrale’s,  at  Streatham, 
where  they  had  many  long  conversations, 
often  sitting  up  as  long  as  the  fire  and  can- 
dles lasted,  and  much  longer  than  the  pa- 
tience of  the  servants  subsisted.” 

A few  of  Johnson’s  sayings,  which  that 
gentleman  recollects,  shall  here  be  inserted. 

“I  never  take  a nap  after  dinner 
urney’  but  when  I have  had  a bad  night, 
and  then  the  nap  takes  me.” 

“ The  writer  of  an  epitaph  should  not  be 
considered  as  saying  nothing  but  what  is 
strictly  true.  Allowance  must  be  made  for 
some  degree  of  exaggerated  praise.  In  la- 
pidary inscriptions  a man  is  not  upon  oath.” 
“ There  is  now  less  flogging  in  our  great 
schools  than  formerly,  but  then  less  is 
learned  there ; so  that  what  the  boys  get  at 
one  end  they  lose  at  the  other.” 
u More  is  learned  in  publick  than  in  pri- 
vate schools,  from  emulation ; there  is  the 
collision  of  mind  with  mind,  or  the  radia- 
tion of  many  minds  pointing  to  one  centre. 
Though  few  boys  make  their  own  exer- 
cises, yet  if  a good  exercise  is  given  up,  out 
of  a great  number  of  boys,  it  is  made  by 
somebody.” 

“I  hate  by-roads  in  education.  Educa- 
tion is  as  well  known,  and  has  long  been  as 
well  known  as  ever  it  can  be.  Endeavour- 
ing to  make  children  prematurely  wise  is 
useless  labour.  Suppose  they  have  more 
knowledge  at  five  or  six  years  old  than  oth- 
er children,  what  use  can  be  made  of  it! 
It  will  be  lost  before  it  is  wanted,  and  the 
waste  of  so  much  time  and  labour  of  the 
teacher  can  never  be  repaid.  Too  much  is 
expected  from  precocity,  and  too  little  per- 
formed. Miss — 1 was  an  instance  of 

early  cultivation,  but  in  what  did  it  termi- 
nate? In  marrying  a little  presbyterian 
parson,  who  keeps  an  infant  boarding- 
school,  so  that  all  her  employment  now  is, 

‘ To  suckle  fools,  and  chronicle  small  beer.’ 

She  tells  the  children,  ‘ This  is  a cat,  and 
that  is  a dog,  with  four  legs,  and  a tail ; see 
there  ! you  are  much  better  than  a cat  or  a 

l [Miss  Letitia  Aiken,  who  married  Mr.  Bar- 
%auld,  and  published  “ Easy  Lessons  for  Chil- 
dren.— Ed.] 


dog,  tor  you  can  speak.’  If  I hid  bestowed 
such  an  education  on  a daughter,  and  had 
discovered  that  she  thought  of  marrying 
such  a fellow,  I would  have  sent  her  to  the 
Congress .” 

« After  having  talked  slightingly  of  mu- 
sick,  he  was  observed  to  listen  very  atten- 
tively while  Miss  Thrale  played  on  the 
harpsichord ; and  with  eagerness  he  called 
to  her,  ‘ Why  don’t  you  dash  away  like 
Burney?’  Dr.  Burney  upon  this  said  to 
him,  ‘ I believe,  sir,  we  shall  make  a musi- 
cian of  you  at  last.’  Johnson  with  candid 
complacency  replied,  ‘ Sir,  I shall  be  glad  to 
have  a new  sense  given  to  me.’  ” 

“ He  had  come  down  one  morning  to  the 
breakfast-room,  and  been  a considerable 
time  by  himself  before  any  body  appeared. 
When  on  a subsequent  day  he  was  twitted 
by  Mrs.  Thrale  for  being  very  late,  which 
he  generally  was,  he  defended  himself  by 
alluding  to  the  extraordinary  morning, 
when  he  had  been  too  early.  ‘ Madam,  I do 
not  like  to  come  down  to  vacuity.’  ” 

“ Dr.  Burney  having  remarked  that  Mr. 
Garrick  was  beginning  to  look  old,  he  said, 
‘ Why,  sir,  you  are  not  to  wonder  at  that ; 
no  man’s  face  has  had  more  wear  and 
tear.’  ” 

[Mrs.  Montagu’s  recent  kindness  Eu 
to  Miss  Williams  was  not  lost  on  u' 
Johnson.  His  letters  to  that  lady  became 
more  elaborately  respectful,  and  his  subse- 
quent mention  of  her  took,  as  we  shall  see, 
a high  tone  of  panegyric  2.] 

[“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  MONTAGU. 

“ 15th  Dec.  1775 

“ Madam, — Having,  after  my  re-  Montag 
turn  from  a little  ramble  to  France,  MSS. 
passed  some  time  in  the  country,  I did  not 
hear,  till  I was  told  by  Miss  Reynolds,  that 
you  were  in  town  ; and  when  I did  hear  it, 
I heard  likewise  that  you  were  ill.  To 
have  you  detained  among  us  by  sickness  is 
to  enjoy  your  presence  at  too  dear  a rate. 
I suffer  myself  to  be  flattered  with  hope 
that  only  half  the  intelligence  is  now  true, 
and  that  you  are  now  so  well  as  to  be  able 
to  leave  us,  and  so  kind  as  not  to  be  willing. 
— I am,  madam,  your  most  humble  servant, 
“ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

[“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  MONTAG1T. 

“ 17th  Dec.  1775. 

“ Madam, — All  that  the  esteem  Moutag 
and  reverence  of  mankind  can  give  mss.  ° 
you  has  been  long  in  your  possession,  and 
the  little  that  I can  add  to  the  voice  of  na- 
tions will  not  much  exalt;  of  that  litt.e, 
however,  you  are,  I hope,  very  certain. 

“1  wonder,  madam,  if  you  remembei 

2 [See  ante.  v.  i.  p.  152,  and  vol.  i.  p.  405, 
n.  and  pos£,  sub  26th  April,  1776. — Fd.] 


22 


1775.—JETAT.  67. 


Col  in  Lie  Hebrides?  The  brother  and 
heir  of  poor  Col  has  just  been  to  visit  me, 
and  I have  engaged  to  dine  with  him  on 
Thursday.  I do  not  know  his  lodging,  and 
cannot  send  him  a message,  and  must  there- 
fore suspend  the  honour  which  you  are 
pleased  to  offer  to,  madam,  your  most  hum- 
ble servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

[“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.'  MONTAGU. 

“ Thursday,  21st  Dec.  1775. 

Montag.  “ Madam, — I know  not  when  any 

MSS.  letter  has  given  me  so  much  pleasure 
or  vexation  as  that  which  I had  yesterday 
the  honour  of  receiving.  That  you,  ma- 
dam, should  wish  for  my  company  is  surely 
a sufficient  reason  for  being  pleased ; — that 
I should  delay  twice,  what  I had  so  little 
right  to  expect  even  once,  has  so  bad  an 
appearance,  that  I can  only  hope  to  have  it 
thought  that  I am  ashamed. 

“ You  have  kindly  allowed  me  to  name  a 
day.  Will  you  be  pleased,  madam,  to  ac- 
cept of  me  any  day  after  Tuesday  ? Till  I 
am  favoured  with  your  answer,  or  despair 
of  so  much  condescension,  I shall  suffer  no 
engagement  to  fasten  itself  upon  me. — I 
am,  madam,  your  most  obliged  and  most 
humble  servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

Not  having  heard  from  him  for  a longer 
time  than  I supposed  he  would  be  silent,  I 
wrote  to  him  Dec.  18,  not  in  good  spirits : 

“ Sometimes  I have  been  afraid  that  the 
cold  which  has  gone  over  Europe  this  year 
like  a sort  of  pestilence  has  seized  you  se- 
verely : sometimes  my  imagination,  which 
is  upon  occasions  prolifick  of  evil,  hath  fig- 
ured that  you  may  have  somehow  taken 
offence  at  some  part  of  my  conduct.” 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ 23d  Dec.  1775. 

“Dear  sir, — Never  dream  of  any  of- 
fence. How  should  you  offend  me  ? I 
cotisider  your  friendship  as  a possession, 
w uch  I intend  to  hold  till  you  take  it  from 
me,-  and  to  lament  if  ever  by  my  fault  I 
should  lose  it.  However,  when  such  sus- 
picions find  their  way  into  your  mind,  al- 
ways give  them  vent ; I shall  make  haste 
to  disperse  them  ; but  hinder  their  first  in- 
gress if  you  can.  Consider  such  thoughts 
as  morbid. 

“ Such  illness  as  may  excuse  my  omis- 
sion to  Lord  Hailes,  I cannot  honestly 
plead.  I have  been  hindered,  I know  not 
how,  by  a succession  of  petty  obstructions. 
I hope  to  mend  immediately,  and  to  send 
next  post  to  his  lordship.  Mr.  Thrale 
would  have  written  to  you  if  I had  omitted ; 
he  sends  his  compliments,  and  wishes  to  see 
you. 

“You  and  your  lady  will  now  have  no 
more  wrangling  about  feudal  inheritance. 


How  does  the  young  Laird  cf  Auchinleck  * 

I suppose  Miss  Veronica  is  grown  a reader 
and  discourser. 

“ I have  just  now  got  a cough,  but  it  has 
never  yet  hindered  me  from  sleeping;  i 
have  had  quieter  nights  than  are  common 
with  me. 

“I  cannot  but  rejoice  that  Joseph i has 
had  the  wit  to  find  the  way  back.  He  is  a 
fine  fellow,  and  one  of  the  best  travellers  in 
the  world. 

“ Young  Col  brought  me  your  letter. 
He  is  a very  pleasing  youth.  I took  him 
two  days  ago  to  the  Mitre,  and  we  dined 
together.  I was  as  civil  as  I had  the  means 
of  being. 

“I  have  had  a letter  from  Rasay , ac- 
knowledging, with  great  appearance  of  sat- 
isfaction, the  insertion  in  the  Edinburg  pa- 
per. I am  very  glad  that  it  was  done. 

“ My  compliments  to  Mrs.  Boswell,  who 
does  not  love  me  ; and  of  all  the  rest,  I need 
only  send  them  to  those  that  do  ; and  I am 
afraid  it  will  give  you  very  little  trouble  to 
distribute  them. — I am,  my  dear,  dear  sir, 
your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

[“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MR.  GRANGER1  2. 

(About  1775,  but  has  no  date.; 

“ Sir, — When  I returned  from  the  coun- 
try I found  your  letter ; and  would  very 
gladly  have  done  what  you  desire,  had  it 
been  in  my  power.  Mr.  Farmer  is,  I am 
confident,  mistaken  in  supposing  that  he 
gave  me  any  such  pamphlet  or  cut. 
should  as  soon  have  suspected  myself,  as 
Mr.  Farmer,  of  forgetfulness  ; but  that  I do 
not  know,  except  from  your  letter,  the 
name  of  Arthur  O’Toole,  nor  recollect  that 
I ever  heard  of  it  before.  I think  it  impos- 
sible that  I should  have  suffered  such  a to- 
tal obliteration  from  my  mind  of  any  thing 
which  was  ever  there.  This  at  least  is 
certain ; that  I do  not  know  of  any  such 
pamphlet ; and  equally  certain  I desire  you 
to  think  it,  that  if  I had  it,  you  should  im- 
mediately receive  it  from,  sir,  your  most 
humble  servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

In  1776,  Johnson  wrote,  so  far  as  I can 
discover,  nothing  for  the  publick  : but  that 
his  mind  was  still  ardent,  and  fraught  writh 
generous  wishes  to  attain  to  still  higher  de- 
grees of  literary  excellence,  is  proved  by 
his  private  notes  of  this  year,  which  I shal 
insert  in  their  proper  place. 


1 Joseph  Ritter,  a Bohemian,  who  was  in  my 
service  many  years,  and  attended  Dr.  Johnson 
and  me  in  our  tour  to  the  Hebrides.  After  hav- 
ing left  me  for  some  time,  he  had  now  returned 
to  me.— Boswell. 

2 [The  author  of  the  “ Biographical  History 
1 of  England.” — Ed.] 


1776. — iETAT.  67. 


23 


**  TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ 10th  January,  1776. 

4*  Dear  sir, — I have  at  last  sent  you  all 
Lord  Hailes’s  papers.  While  I was  in. 
France,  I looked  very  often  into  Henault ; 
out  Lord  Hailes,  in  my  opinion,  leases  him 
far  and  far  behind.  Why  I did  not  despatch 
so  short  a perusal  sooner,  when  I look  back, 
I am  utterly  unable  to  discover ; but  human 
moments  are  stolen  away  by  a thousand 
petty  impediments  which  leave  no  trace  be- 
hind them.  I have  been  afflicted,  through 
the  whole  Christmas,  with  the  general  dis- 
order, of  which  the  worst  effect  was  a cough, 
which  is  now  much  mitigated,  though  the 
country,  on  which  I look  from  a window  at 
Streatham,  is  now  covered  with  a deep 
snow.  Mrs.  Williams  is  very  ill : every  body 
else  is  as  usual. 

“Among  the  papers  I found  a letter  to 
you,  which  I think  you  had  not  opened ; and 
\ paper  i for  ‘ The  Chronicle,’  which  I sup- 
pose it  not  necessary  now  to  insert.  I re- 
turn them  both. 

“ 1 have,  within  these  few  days,  had  the 
honour  of  receiving  Lord  Hailes’s  first  vo- 
lume, for  which  I return  my  most  respectful 
thanks. 

“ I wish  you,  my  dearest  friend,  and  your 
haughty  lady,  (for  I know  she  does  not  love 
me),  and  the  young  ladies,  and  the  young 
laird,  all  happiness.  Teach  the  young  gen- 
tleman, in  spite  of  his  mamma,  to  think 
and  speak  well  of,  sir,  your  affectionate 
humble  servant,  “Sam.  Johnson.” 

At  this  time  was  in  agitation  a matter  of 
great  consequence  to  me  and  my  family, 
which  I should  not  obtrude  upon  the  world, 
were  it  not  that  the  part  which  Dr.  John- 
son’s friendship  for  me  made  him  take  in  it 
was  the  occasion  of  an  exertion  of  his  abili- 
ties, which  it  would  be  injustice  to  conceal. 
That  what  he  wrote  upon  the  subject  may 
fee  understood,  it  is  necessary  to  give  a state 
of  the  question,  which  I shall  do  as  briefly 
as  I can. 

In  the  year  1504,  the  barony  or  manour 
of  Auchinleck  (pronounced  Ajjtick)  in  Ayr- 
shire, which  belonged  to  a family  of  the 
same  name  with  the  lands,  having  fallen  to 
the  crown  by  forfeiture,  James  the  Fourth, 
King  of  Scotland,  granted  it  to  Thomas 
Boswell,  a branch  of  an  ancient  family  in 
the  county  of  Fife,  styling  him  in  the  char- 
ter, “ dilecto  familiar i nostro and  assign- 
ing as  the  cause  of  the  grant,  “ pro  bono  et 
fideli  servitio  nobis  prccstito.”  Thomas  Bos- 
well was  slain  in  battle,  fighting  along  with 
his  sovereign,  at  the  fatal  field  of  Flodden, 
in  1513. 

From  this  very  honourable  founder  of 


i  [No  doubt  an  advertisement  of  apology  to 

Rasatj. — Ed.] 


our  family,  the  estate  was  transmitted,  in  a 
direct  series  of  heirs-male,  to  David  Bos- 
well, my  father’s  great-grand  uncle,  who  had 
no  sons,  but  four  daughters,  who  were  all 
respectably  married,  the  eldest  to  Lord 
Cathcart. 

David  Boswell,  being  resolute  in  the  mili- 
tary feudal  principle  of  continuing  the  male 
succession,  passed  by  his  daughters,  and 
settled  the  estate  on  his  nephew  by  his  next 
brother,  who  approved  of  the  deed,  and  re- 
nounced any  pretensions  which  he  might 
possibly  have,  in  preference  to  his  son.  But 
the  estate  having  been  burthened  with  large 
portions  to  the  daughters,  and  other  debts, 
it  was  necessary  for  the  nephew  to  sell  a 
considerable  part  of  it,  and  what  remained 
was  still  much  encumbered. 

The  frugality  of  the  nephew  preserved, 
and,  in  some  degree,  relieved  the  estate. 
His  son,  my  grand-father,  an  eminent  law- 
yer, not  only  re-purchased  a great  part  of 
what  had  been  sold,  but  acquired  other 
lands ; and  my  father,  who  was  one  of  the 
judges  of  Scotland,  and  had  added  conside- 
rably to  the  estate,  now  signified  his  inclina- 
tion to  take  the  privilege  allowed  by  our 
law  2,  to  secure  it  to  his  family  in  perpetuity 
by  an  entail,  which,  on  account  of  his  mar 
riage  articles,  could  not  be  done  without  my 
consent. 

In  the  plan  of  entailing  the  estate,  I 
heartily  concurred  with  him,  though  I was 
the  first  to  be  restrained  by  it ; but  we  un- 
happily differed  as  to  the  series  of  heirs  which 
should  be  established,  or,  in  the  language 
of  our  law,  called  to  the  succession.  My 
father  had  declared  a predilection  for  heirs- 
general,  that  is,  males  and  females  indis- 
criminately. He  was  willing,  however,  that 
all  males  descending  from  his  grand-father 
should  be  preferred  to  females  ; but  would 
not  extend  that  privilege  to  males  deriv- 
ing their  descent  from  a higher  source.  I, 
on  the  other  hand,  had  a zealous  partiality 
for  heirs-male,  however  remote,  jvhich  I 
maintained  by  arguments,  which  appeared 
to  me  to  have  considerable  weight  3.  And 


2 Acts  of  Parliament  of  Scotland,  1685,  cap. 
22. — Boswell. 

3 As  first,  the  opinion  of  some  distinguished 
naturalists, that  our  species  is  transmitted  Through 
males  only,  the  female  being  all  along  no  m(Tre 
than  a nidus , or  nurse,  as  Mother  Earth  is  to 
plants  of  every  sort;  which  notion  seems  to  be 
confirmed  by  that  text  of  Scripture,  “He  was 
yet  in  the  loin d of  his  father,  when  Melchise- 
deck  met  him”  (Heb.  vii.  10),  and  consequent 
ly,  that  a man’s  grandson  by  a daughter,  instead 
of  being  his  surest  descendant,  as  is  vulgarly 
said,  has,  in  reality,  no  connexion  whatever  with 
his  blood.  And,  secondly,  independent  of  this 
theory  (which,  if  true,  should  completely  exclude 
heirs-general),  that  if  the  preference  of  a male  to 
a female,  without  regard  to  primogeniture)  as  a 


24 


1776. — iETAT.  67. 


in  the  particular  case  of  our  family,  1 appre- 
hended that  we  were  under  an  implied  ob- 
ligation, in  honour  and  good  faith,  to  trans- 
mit the  estate  by  the  same  tenure  which  he 
held  it,  which  was  as  heirs-male,  excluding 
nearer  females.  I therefore,  as  I thought 
conscientiously,  objected  to  my  father’s 
scheme. 

My  opposition  was  very  displeasing  to  my 
father,  who  was  entitled  to  great  respect 
and  deference ; and  I had  reason  to  appre- 
hend disagreeable  consequences  from  my 
non-compliance  with  his  wishes.  After 
much  perplexity  and  uneasiness,  I wrote  to 
Dr.  Johnson,  stating  the  case,  with  all  its 
difficulties,  at  full  length,  and  earnestly  re- 
questing that  he  would  consider  it  at  leisure, 
and  favour  me  with  his  friendly  opinion  and 
advice. 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ London,  15th  January,  1776. 

“Dear  sir, — I was  much  impressed  by 
your  letter,  and  if  I can  form  upon  your 
case  any  resolution  satisfactory  to  myself, 
will  very  gladly  impart  it : but  whether  I 
am  equal  to  it,  I do  not  know.  It  is  a case 
compounded  of  law  and  justice,  and  requires 
a mind  versed  in  juridical  disquisitions. 
Could  not  you  tell  your  whole  mind  to  Lord 
Hailes  1 He  is,  you  know,  both  a Christian 
and  a lawyer.  I suppose  he  is  above  par- 
tiality, and  above  loquacity,  and,  I believe, 
he  will  not  think  the  time  lost  in  which  he 
may  quiet  a disturbed,  or  settle  a wavering 
mind.  Write  to  me  as  any  thing  occurs 
to  you  ; and  if  I find  myself  stopped  by  want 


son,  though  much  younger,  nay  even  a grandson 
by  a son,  to  a daughter),  be  once  admitted,  as  it 
universally  is,  it  must  be  equally  reasonable  and 
proper  in  the  most  remote  degree  of  descent  from 
an  original  proprietor  of  an  estate,  as  in  the  near- 
est ; because,  however  distant  from  the  repre- 
sentative at  the  time,  that  remote  heir-male,  upon 
the  failure  of  those  nearer  to  the  original  propri- 
etor than  he  is,  becomes  in  fact  the  nearest  male 
to  him,  and  is,  therefore,  preferable  as  his  repre- 
sentative, to  a female  descendant.  A little  exten- 
sion of  mind  will  enable  us  easily  to  perceive  that 
a son’s  son,  in  continuation  to  whatever  length  of 
time,  is  preferable  to  a son’s  daughter,  in  the  suc- 
cession to  an  ancient  inheritance  ; in  which  re- 
gard should  be  had  to  the  representation  of  the 
original  proprietor,  and  not  to  that  of  one  of  his 
descendants.  I am  aware  of  Biackstone’s  admi- 
rable demonstration  of  the  reasonableness  of  the 
legal  succession,  upon  the  principle  of  there  being 
the  greatest  probability  that  the  nearest  heir  of 
the  person  who  last  dies  proprietor  of  an  estate  is 
of  the  blood  of  the  first  purchaser.  But  supposing 
a pedigree  to  be  carefully  authenticated  through 
all  its  branches,  instead  of  mere  probability  there 
will  be  a certainty  that  the  nearest  heir-male , 
at  whatever  period , has  the  same  right  of  blood 
with  the  first  heir-male,  namely,  the  original 
purchaser's  eldest  son. — Boswell. 


of  facts  necessary  to  be  known,  I will  make 
inquiries  of  you  as  my  doubts  arise. 

“If  your  former  resolutions  should  be 
found  only  fanciful,  you  decide  rightly  in 
judging  that  your  father’s  fancies  may  claim 
the  preference ; but  whether  they  are  fanci- 
ful or  rational  is  the  question.  I really  think 
Lord  Hailes  could  help  us. 

“Make  my  compliments  to  dear  Mrs. 
Boswell;  and  tell  her,  that  I hope  to  be 
wanting  in  nothing  that  I can  contribute  to 
bring  you  all  out  of  your  troubles.  I am, 
dear  sir,  most  affectionately,  your  humble 
servant,  ,“Sam.  Johnson.” 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

« 3d  Feb.  1776. 

“ Dear  sir, — I am  going  to  write  upon 
a question  which  requires  more  knowledge 
of  local  law,  and  more  acquaintance  with 
the  general  rules  of  inheritance,  than  I can 
claim ; but  I write,  because  you  request  it. 

“ Land  is,  like  any  other  possession,  by 
natural  right  wholly  in  the  power  of  its  pre- 
sent owner  ; and  may  be  sold,  given,  or  be- 
queathed, absolutely  or  conditionally,  as 
judgment  shall  direct  or  passion  incite. 

“ But  natural  right  would  avail  little  with- 
out the  protection  of  law  ; and  the  primary 
notion  of  law  is  restraint  in  the  exercise  of 
natural  right.  A man  is  therefore  in  society 
not  fully  master  of  what  be  calls  his  own, 
but  he  still  retains  all  the  power  which  law 
does  not  take  from  him. 

“ In  the  exercise  of  the  right  which  law 
either  leaves  or  gives,  regard  is  to  be  paid  to 
moral  obligations. 

“ Of  the  estate  which  we  are  now  consi- 
dering, your  father  still  retains  such  posses- 
sion, with  such  power  over  it,  that  he  can 
sell  it,  and  do  with  the  money  what  he  will, 
without  any  legal  impediment.  But  when 
he  extends  his  power  beyond  his  own  life, 
by  settling  the  order  of  succession,  the  law 
makes  your  consent  necessary. 

“ Let  us  suppose  that  he  sells  the  land  to 
risk  the  money  in  some  specious  adventure, 
and  in  that  adventure  loses  the  whole  ; his 
posterity  would  be  disappointed ; but  they 
could  not  think  themselves  injured  or  rob- 
bed. If  he  spent  it  upon  vice  or  pleasure, 
his  successors  could  only  call  him  vicious 
and  voluptuous;  they  could  not  say  that 
he  was  injurious  or  unjust. 

“ He  that  may  do  more  may  do  less.  He 
that  by  selling  or  squandering  may  disinhe- 
rit a whole  family,  may  certainly  disinherit 
part  by  a partial  settlement. 

“ Laws  are  formed  by  the  manners  and 
exigencies  of  particular  times,  and  it  is  bm 
accidental  that  they  last  longer  than  theii 
causes  : the  limitation  of  feudal  succession 
to  the  male  arose  from  the  obligation  of  tli€ 
tenant  to  attend  his  chief  in  war. 

“ As  times  and  opinions  are  always  chang- 
ing, I know  not  whether  it  be  not  usurpation 


1776. — JETAT.  67. 


25 


to  prescribe  rules  to  posterity,  by  presuming 
to  judge  of  what  we  cannot  know ; and  I 
know  not  whether  I fully  approve  either 
your  design  or  your  father’s,  to  limit  that 
succession  which  descended  to  you  unlimit- 
ed. If  we  are  to  leave  sartum  tectum  to 
posterity,  what  we  have  without  any  merit 
of  our  own  received  from  our  ancestors, 
should  not  choice  and  free-will  be  kept  un- 
violated 1 Is  land  to  be  treated  with  more 
reverence  than  liberty  ? If  this  considera- 
tion should  restrain  your  father  from  disin- 
heriting some  of  the  males,  does  it  leave  you 
the  power  of  disinheriting  all  the  females  1 

“Can  the  possessor  of  a feudal  estate 
make  any  will  1 Can  he  appoint,  out  of  the 
inheritance,  any  portion  to  his  daughters'? 
There  seems  to  be  a very  shadowy  differ- 
ence between  the  power  of  leaving  land,  and 
of  leaving  money  to  be  raised  from  land  ; 
between  leaving  an  estate  to  females,  and 
leaving  the  male  heir,  in  effect,  only  their 
steward. 

“ Suppose  at  one  time  a law  that  allowed 
only  males  to  inherit,  and  during  the  con- 
tinuance of  this  law  many  estates  to  have 
descended,  passing  by  the  females,  to  re- 
moter heirs.  Suppose  afterwards  the  law 
repealed  in  correspondence  with  a change 
of  manners,  and  women  made  capable  of 
inheritance  ; would  not  then  the 'tenure  of 
estates  be  chafed  ? Could  the  women  have 
no  benefit  from  a law  made  in  their  favour  ? 
Must  they  be  passed  by  upon  moral  princi- 
ples forever,  because  they  were  once  ex- 
cluded by  a legal  prohibition?  Or  may 
that  which  passed  only  to  males  by  one  law, 
pass  likewise  to  females  by  another? 

“You  mention  your  resolution  to  main- 
tain the  right  of  your  brothers  i : I do  not 
see  how  any  of  their  rights  are  invaded. 

“ As  your  whole  difficulty  arises  from  the 
act  of  your  ancestor,  who  diverted  the  suc- 
cession from  the  females,  you  inquire,  very 
properly,  what  were  his  motives,  and  what 
was  his  intention  : for  you  certainly  are  not 
bound  by  his  act  more  than  he  intended  to 
bind  you,  nor  hold  your  land  on  harder  or 
stricter  terms  than  those  on  which  it  was 
granted. 

“ Intentions  must  be  gathered  from  acts. 
When  he  left  the  estate  to  his  nephew,  by 
excluding  his  daughters,  was  it,  or  was  it 
not  in  his  power  to  have  perpetuated  the 
succession  to  the  males  ? If  he  could  have 
done  it,  he  seems  to  have  shown  by  omit- 
ting it,  that  he  did  not  desire  it  to  be  done, 
and,  upon  your  own  principles,  you  will  not 
easily  prove  your  right  to  destroy  that  ca- 
pacity of  succession  which  your  ancestors 
have  left. 

“ Tf  your  ancestor  had  not  the  power  of 

i Which  term  I applied  to  all  the  heirs  male. 

—Boswell. 

vol.  IT.  4 


' making  a perpetual  settlement;  and  i£ 
therefore,  we  cannot  judge  distinctly  of  his 
intentions,  yet  his  act  can  only  be  considered 
as  an  example ; it  makes  not  an  obligation. 
And,  as  you  observe,  he  set  no  example  of 
rigorous  adherence  to  the  line  of  succession. 
He  that  overlooked  a brother,  would  not 
wonder  that  little  regard  is  shown  to  remote 
relations. 

“ As  the  rules  of  succession  are,  in  a great 
part,  purely  legal,  no  man  can  be  supposed 
to  bequeath  any  thing,  but  upon  legal  terms : 
he  can  grant  no  power  which  the  law 
denies ; and  if  he  makes  no  special  and  de- 
finite limitation,  he  confers  all  the  power 
which  the  law  allows. 

“ Your  ancestor,  for  some  reason,  disin- 
herited his  daughters ; but  it  no  more  fol- 
lows that  he  intended  this  act  as  a rule  for 
posterity,  than  the  disinheriting  of  his 
brother. 

“If,  therefore,  you  ask  by  what  right 
your  father  admits  daughters  to  inheritance, 
ask  yourself,  first,  by  what  right  you  require 
them  to  be  excluded  ? 

“It  appears,  upon  reflection,  that  your 
father  excludes  nobody ; he  only  admits 
nearer  females  to  inherit  before  males  more 
remote ; and  the  exclusion  is  purely  conse- 
quential. 

“ These,  dear  sir,  are  my  thoughts,  un- 
methodical and  deliberative;  but,  perhaps, 
you  may  find  in  them  some  glimmering  of 
evidence. 

“ I cannot,  however,  but  again  recom- 
mend to  you  a conference  with  Lord  Hailes, 
whom  you  know  to  be  both  a lawyer  and  a 
Christian. 

“ Make  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Boswell, 
though  she  does  not  love  me.  I am,  sir, 
your  affectionate  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

I had  followed  his  recommendation  and 
consulted  Lord  Hailes,  who  upon  this  sub- 
ject had  a firm  opinion  contrary  to  mine. 
His  lordship  obligingly  took  the  trouble  to 
write  me  a letter,  in  which  he  discussed,  with 
legal  and  historical  learning,  the  points  in 
which  I saw  much  difficulty,  maintaining 
that  “the  succession  of  heirs-general  was 
the  succession,  by  the  law -of  Scotland,  from 
the  throne  to  the  cottage,  as  far  as  we  can 
learn  it  by  record  ;”  observing  that  the  es- 
tate of  our  family  had  not  been  limited  to 
heirs-male ; _ and  that  though  an  heir-male 
had  in  one  instance  been  chosen  in  prefer- 
ence to  nearer  females,  that  had  been  an  ar 
bitrary  act,  which  had  seemed  to  be  best  in 
the  embarrassed  state  of  affairs  at  that  time : 
and  the  fact  was,  that  upon  a fair  computa- 
tion of  the  value  of  land  and  money  at  the 
time,  applied  to  the  estate  and  the  burthens 
upon  it,  there  was  nothing  given  the  heirs 
male  but  the  skeleton  of  an  estate.  “ Tb 


26 


1776,—iETAl . 67. 


plea  of  coi^cience,”  said  his  lordship,  “ which 
you  pu«,  is  a most  respectable  one,  especially 
when  conscience  and  self  are  on  different 
sides.  But  I think  that  conscience  is  not 
well  informed,  and  that  self  and  she  ought 
on  this  occasion  to  be  of  a side.” 

This  letter,  which  had  considerable  in- 
fluence upon  my  mind,  I sent  to  Dr.  John- 
son, begging  to  hear  from  him  again  upon 
this  interesting  question. 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ 9th  February,  1776. 

“Dear  sir, — Having  not  any  acquaint- 
ance with  the  laws  or  customs  of  Scotland, 
I endeavoured  to  consider  your  question 
upon  general  principles,  and  found  nothing 
of  much  validity  that  I could  oppose  to  this 
position  : ‘ He  who  inherits  a fief  unlimited 
by  his  ancestors  inherits  the  power  of  limit- 
ing it  according  to  his  own  judgment  or 
opinion.’  If  this  be  true,  you  may  join  with 
your  father. 

“Further  consideration  produces  another 
conclusion : ‘ He  who  receives  a fief  unlim- 
ited by  his  ancestors  gives  his  heirs  some 
reason  to  complain  if  he  does  not  transmit 
it  unlimited  to  posterity.  For  why  should 
he  make  the  state  of  others  worse  than  his 
own,  without  a reason!’  If  this  be  true, 
though  neither  you  nor  your  father  are 
about  to  do  what  is  quite  right,  but  as  your 
father  violates  (I  think,)  the  legal  succession 
least,  he  seems  to  be  nearer  the  right  than 
yourself. 

“It  cannot  but  occur  that  ‘Women  have 
natural  and  equitable  claims  as  well  as  men, 
and  these  claims  are  not  to  be  capriciously 
or  lightly  superseded  or  infringed.’  When 
fiefs  implied  military  service,  it  is  easily  dis- 
cerned why  females  could  not  inherit  them, 
but  that  reason  is  now  at  an  end.  As  man- 
ners make  laws,  manners  likewise  repeal 
them. 

“ These  are  the  general  conclusions  which 
I have  attained.  None  of  them  are  very 
favourable  to  your  scheme  of  entail,  nor 
perhaps  to  any  scheme.  My  observation, 
that  only  he  who  acquires  an  estate  may  be- 
queath it  capriciously  i,  if  it  contains  any 
conviction,  includes  this  position  likewise, 
that  only  he  who  acquires  an  estate  may 
entail  it  capriciously.  But  I think  it  may 
be  safely  presumed,  that  ‘he  who  inherits 
an  estate,  inherits  all  the  power  legally  con- 
comitant and  that  ‘ He  who  gives  or 
leaves  unlimited  an  estate  legally  limitable, 
must  be  presumed  to  give  that  power  of 
limitation  which  he  omitted  to  take  away, 
and  to  commit  future  contingencies  to  fu- 
ture prudence.’  In  these  two  positions  I 
believe  Lord  Hailes  will  advise  you  to  rest ; 


i I had  reminded  him  of  his  obse"vation,  men- 
tioned, vo » i.  p.  321. — Boswell. 


| every  other  notion  of  possession  3eems  to 
me  full  of  difficulties,  and  embarrassed  with 
scruples. 

“If  these  axioms  be  allowed,  you  have 
arrived  now  at  full  liberty  without  the  help 
of  particular  circumstances,  which,  how- 
ever, have  in  your  case  great  weight.  You 
very  rightly  observe,  that  he  who  passing 
by  Ins  brother  gave  the  inheritance  to  his 
nephew,  could  limit  no  more  than  he  gave  ; 
and  by  Lord  Hailes’s  estimate  of  fourteen 
years’  purchase,  what  he  gave  was  no  more 
than  you  may  easily  entail  according  to 
your  own  opinion,  if  that  opinion  should  fi- 
nally prevail. 

“ Lord  Hailes’s  suspicion  that  entails  are 
encroachments  on  the  dominion  of  Provi- 
dence, may  be  extended  to  all  hereditary 
privileges  and  all  permanent  institutions ; 1 
do  not  see  why  it  may  not  be  extended  to 
any  provision  for  the  present  hour,  since  all 
care  about  futurity  proceeds  upon  a suppo- 
sition, that  we  know  at  least  in  some  degree 
what  will  be  future.  Of  the  future  we  cer- 
tainly know  nothing ; but  we  may  form 
conjectures  from  the  past  ; and  the  power 
of  forming  conjectures  includes,  in  my 
opinion,  the  duty  of  acting  in  conformity  to 
that  probability,  which  we  discover.  Provi- 
dence gives  the  power,  of  which  reason 
teaches  the  use.  I am,  dear  sir,  your  most 
faithful  servant,  “Sa|j.  Johnson. 

“ I hope  I shall  get  some  ground  now 
with  Mrs.  Boswell : make  my  compliments 
to  her,  and  to  the  little  people. 

“ Don’t  bum  papers ; they  may  be  safe 
enough  in  your  own  box ; you  will  wish  to 
see  them  hereafter.” 

‘•TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ 15th  February,  1776. 

“Dear  sir, — To  the  letters  which  I 
have  written  about  your  great  question  I 
have  nothing  to  add.  If  your  conscience 
is  satisfied,  you  have  now  only  your  pru- 
dence to  consult.  I long  for  a letter,  that 
I may  know  how  this  troublesome  and  vex- 
atious question  is  at  last  decided  2.  I hope 
that  it  will  at  last  end  well.  Lord  Hailes’s 
letter  was  very  friendly,  and  very  seasona- 
ble, but  I think  his  aversion  from  entails 


2 The  entail  framed  by  my  father  with  various 
judicious  clauses  was  settled  by  him  and  me,  set- 
tling the  estate  upon  the  heirs  male  of  his  grand- 
father, which  I found  had  been  already  done  by 
my  grandfather,  imperfectly,  but  so  as  to  be  de- 
feated only  by  selling  the  lands.  I was  freed  by 
Dr.  Johnson  from  scruples  of  conscientious  obli- 
gation, and  could,  therefore,  gratify  my  father. 
But  my  opinion  and  partiality  for  male  succession, 
in  its  full  extent,  remained  unshaken.  Y et  let  me 
not  be  thought  harsh  or  unkind  to  daughters ; for 
my  notion  is,  that  they  should  be  treated  with 
great  affection  and  tenderness,  and  always  parti 
cipate  of  the  prosperity  of  the  family. — Boswell. 


1776. — JET  AT.  6?. 


has  something  m it  like  superstition.  Provi- 
dence is  not  counteracted  by  any  means 
which  Providence  puts  into  our  power. 
The  continuance  and  propagation  of  fami- 
lies makes  a greaf  part  of  the  Jewish  law, 
and  is  by  no  means  prohibited  in  the  Chris- 
tian institution,  though  the  necessity  of  it 
continues  no  longer.  Hereditary  tenures 
are  established  in  all  civilized  countries,  and 
are  accompanied  in  most  with  hereditary 
authority.  Sir  William  Temple  considers 
our  constitution  as  defective,  that  there  is 
not  an  unalienable  estate  in  land  connected 
with  a peerage  : and  Lord  Bacon  mentions 
as  a proof  that  the  Turks  are  barbarians, 
their  want  of  stirjpes , as  he  calls  them,  or 
hereditary  rank.  Do  not  let  your  mind, 
when  it  is  freed  from  the  supposed  necessity 
of  a rigorous  entail,  be  entangled  with  con- 
trary objections,  and  think  all  entails  un- 
lawful, till  you  have  cogent  arguments,  which 
I believe  you  will  never  find.  I am  afraid 
of  scruples. 

“ I have  now  sent  all  Lord  Hailes’s  pa- 
pers ; part  I found  hidden  in  a drawer  in 
which  1 had  laid  them  for  security,  and  had 
forgotten  them.  Part  of  these  are  written 
twice  ; I have  returned  both  the  copies. 
Part  I had  read  before. 

“ Be  so  kind  as  to  return  Lord  Hailes 
my  most  respectful  thanks  for  his  first  vo- 
lume : his  accuracy  strikes  me  with  wonder ; 
his  narrative  is  far  superior  to  that  of  He- 
nault,  as  I have  formerly  mentioned. 

“ I am  afraid  that  the  trouble  which  my 
irregularity  and  delay  has  cost  him  is  great- 
er, far  greater,  than  any  good  that  I can  do 
him  will  ever  recompense  ; but  if  I have  any 
more  copy,  I will  try  to  do  better. 

“ Pray  let  me  know  if  Mrs.  Boswell  is 
friends  with  me,  and  pay  my  respects  to  Ve- 
ronica, and  Euphemia,  and  Alexander.  I 
am,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ MR.  ROSWELL  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“ Edinburgh,  20th  Feb.  1776. 

fs  % * * * % 

“You  have  illuminated  my  mind,  and  re- 
lieved me  from  imaginary  shackles  of  con- 
scientious obligation.  Were  it  necessary,  I 
could  immediately  join  in  an  entail  upon  the 
series  of  heirs  approved  by  my  father  ; but  it 
is  better  not  to  act  too  suddenly.” 

“ DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MR.  BOSWELL. 

“24th  February,  1776. 

Dear  sir, — I am  glad  that  what  I 
could  think  or  say  has  at  all  contributed  to 
quiet  your  thoughts.  Your  resolution  not 
to  act,  till  your  opinion  is  confirmed  by 
more  deliberation,  is  very  just.  If  you  have 
oeen  scrupulous,  do  not  be  rash.  I hope 
that  as  you  think  more,  and  take  opportu- 
nities of  talking  with  men  intelligent  in 


27 

questions  of  property,  you  will  be  able  to 
free  yourself  from  every  difficulty. 

“ When  I wrote  last,  I sent,  I think,  ten 
packets.  Did  you  receive  them  all  ? 

“ You  must  tell  Mrs.  Boswell  that  I sus- 
pected her  to  have  written  without  your 
knowledge  i,  and  therefore  did  not  return 
any  answer,  lest  a clandestine  correspond- 
ence should  have  been  perniciously  discover- 
ed. I will  write  to  her  soon.  * * 

I am,  dear  sir,  most  affectionately  yours, 
“Sam.  Johnson.’ 

Having  communicated  to  Lord  Hailes 
what  Dr.  Johnson  wrote  concerning  the 
question  which  perplexed  me  so  much,  his 
lordship  wrote  to  me  : “ Your  scruples  have 
produced  more  fruit  than  I ever  expected 
from  them ; an  excellent  dissertation  on  ge- 
neral principles  of  morals  and  law.” 

I wrote  to  Dr.  Johnson  on  the  20th  ol 
February,  complaining  of  melancholy,  and 
expressing  a strong  desire  to  be  with  him  ; 
informing  him  that  the  ten  packets  came  ah 
safe  ; that  Lord  Hailes  was  much  obliged  to 
him,  and  said  he  had  almost  wholly  removed 
his  scruples  against  entails. 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“5th  March,  1776. 

“ Dear  sir, — I have  not  had  your  letter 
half  an  hour ; as  you  lay  so  much  weight 
upon  my  notions,  I should  think  it  not  just 
to  delay  my  answer. 

“ I am  very  sorry  that  your  melancholy 
should  return,  and  should  be  sorry  likewise 
if  it  could  have  no  relief  but  from  my  com- 
pany. My  counsel  you  may  have  when  you 
are  pleased  to  require  it ; but  of  my  compa- 
ny you  cannot  in  the  next  month  have  much, 
for  Mr.  Thrale  will  take  me  to  Italy,  he  says, 
on  the  1st  of  April. 

“Let  me  warn  you  very  earnestly  against 
scruples.  I am  glad  that  you  are  reconciled 
to  your  settlement,  and  think  it  a great 
honour  to  have  shaken  Lord  Hailes’s  opi- 
nion of  entails.  Do  not,  however,  hope 
wholly  to  reason  away  your  troubles  ; do 
not  feed  them  with  attention,  and  they  will 
die  imperceptibly  away.  Fix  your  thoughts 
upon  your  business,  fill  your  intervals  with 
company,  and  sunshine  will  again  break  in 
upon  your  mind.  If  you  will  come  to  me, 
you  must  come  very  quickly;  and  even 
then  I know  not  but  we  may  scour  the 
country  together,  for  I have  a mind  to  see 
Oxford  and  Lichfield  before  I set  out  on 
this  long  journey..  To  this  I can  only  add 
that  I am,  dear  sir,  your  most  affectionate 
humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 


t A letter  to  him  on  the  interesting  subject  oj 
the  family  settlement,  which  I had  read.— P.os 

WELL. 


29 


1776.— 2ETAT.  67, 


“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ 12th  March,  1776. 

*'  Dear  sir, — Very  early  in  April  we 
^eave  England,  and  in  the  beginning  of  the 
w^xt  week  I shall  leave  London  for  a short 
time ; of  this  I think  it  necessary  to  inform 
you,  that  you  may  not  be  disappointed  in 
any  of  your  enterprises.  I had  not  fully 
resolved  to  go  into  the  country  before  this 
day. 

“ Please  to  make  my  compliments  to  Lord 
Hailes,  and  mention  very  particularly  to 
Mrs.  Boswell  my  hope  that  she  is  reconciled 
to,  sir,  your  faithful  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

| “ DR.  JOHNSON  TO  THE  REV.  JOHN  WESLEY. 

“ 6th  Feb.  1776. 

Gent.  Mag.  “ Sir, — When  I received  your 
1797,  p.  455.  t Commentary  on  the  Bible,’  I 
durst  not  at  first  flatter  myself  that  I was  to 
keep  it,  having  so  little  claim  to  so  valuable 
a present;  and  when  Mrs.  Hall  i informed 
me  of  your  kindness,  was  hindered  from 
time  to  time  from  returning  you  those 
thanks,  which  I now  entreat  you  to  accept. 

“ I have  thanks  likewise  to  return  you  for 
the  addition  of  your  important  suffrage  to 
my  argument . on  the  American  question. 
To  have  gained  such  a mind  as  yours  may 
justly  confirm  me  in  my  own  opinion.  What 
effect  my  paper  has  upon  the  publick,  I 
know  not ; but  I have  no  reason  to  be  dis- 
couraged. The  lecturer  was  surely  in  the 
right,  who,  though  he  saw  his  audience 
slinking  away,  refused  to  quit  the  chair, 
while  Plato  staid. — I am,  reverend  sir,  your 
most  humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.”] 

Above  thirty  years  ago,  the  heirs  of  Lord 
Chancellor  Clarendon  presented  the  univer- 
sity of  Oxford  with  the  continuation  of  his 
“ History,”  and  such  other  of  his  lordship’s 
manuscripts  as  had  not  been  published,  on 
condition  that  the  profits  arising  from  their 
publication  should  be  applied  to  the  esta- 
blishment of  a manege  in  the  university  2. 
The  gift  was  accepted  in  full  convocation. 
A person  3 being  now  recommended  to  Dr. 
Johnson,  as  fit  to  superintend  this  proposed 
riding-school,  he  exerted  himself  with  that 
zeal  for  which  he  was  remarkable  upon 


1 [Mr.  Wesley’s  sister. — Ed.] 

2 [The  Clarendon  MSS.,  and  any  money 
which  might  arise  from  the  sale  or  publication  of 
them,  were  given  by  Catherine,  Duchess  Dowa- 
ger of  Glueensbury,  as  a beginning  of  a fund  for 
supporting  a manege  or  academy  for  riding,  and 
other  useful  exercises  in  Oxford,  pursuant  to, 
and  in  confirmation  of,  the  last  will  of  Henry 
Lord  Hyde,  bearing  date  the  10th  day  of  August, 
1751.— Hall.] 

3 T A.  Mr.  Carter.  See  ante,  3d  of  March, 
1773.— Ed.] 


every  similar  occasion.  But,  on  inquiry  into 
the  matter,  he  found  that  the  scheme  was 
not  likely  to  be  soon  carried  into  execution ; 
the  profits  arising  from  the  Clarendon  press 
being,  from  some  mismanagement,  very 
scanty.  This  having  been  explained  to  him 
by  a respectable  dignitary  of  the  church, 
who  had  good  means  of  knowing  it,  he 
wrote  a letter  upon  the  subject,  which  at 
once  exhibits  his  extraordinary  precision  and 
acuteness,  and  his  warm  attachment  to  his 
alma  mater. 

“ TO  THE  REV.  DR.  WETHERELL,  MASTER 
OF  UNIVERSITY  COLLEGE,  OXFORD. 

“ 12th  March,  1776. 

“ Dear  sir, — Few  things  are  more  un- 
pleasant than  the  transaction  of  business 
with  men  who  are  above  knowing  or  caring 
what  they  have  to  do  ; such  as  the  trustees 
for  Lord  Cornbury’s  institution  will,  perhaps, 
appear,  when  you  have  read  Dr.  *****’$ 
letter. 

“The  last  part  of  the  Doctor’s  letter 
is  of  great  importance.  The  complaint  4 
which  he  makes  I have  heard  long  ago,  and 
did  not  know  but  it  was  redressed.  It  is 
unhappy  that  a practice  so  erroneous  has 
not  been  altered ; for  altered  it  must  be,  or 
our  press  will  be  useless  with  all  its  privi- 
leges. The  booksellers,  who,  like  all  other 
men,  have  strong  prejudices  in  their  own 
favour,  are  enough  inclined  to  think  the 
practice  of  printing  and  selling  books  by 
any  but  themselves  an  encroachment  on 
the  rights  of  their  fraternity ; and  have  need 
of  stronger  inducements  to  circulate  aca- 
demical publications  than  those  of  anotner , 
for,  of  that  mutual  co-operation  by  which 
the  general  trade  is  carried  on,  the  univer- 
sity can  bear  no  part.  Of  those  whom  he 
neither  loves  nor  fears,  and  from  whom  he 
expects  no  reciprocation  of  good  offices, 
why  should  any  man  promote  the  interest 
but  for  profit  1 I suppose,  with  all  our 
scholastick  ignorance  of  mankind,  we  are 
still  too  knowing  to  expect  that  the  book- 
sellers will  erect  themselves  into  patrons, 
and  buy  and  sell  under  the  influence  of  a 
disinterested  zeal  for  the  promotion  ol 
learning. 

« To  the  booksellers,  if  we  look  for  either 
honour  or  profjt  from  our  press,  no*  only 
their  common  profit,  but  something  more 
must  be  allowed ; and  if  books,  printed  at 
Oxford,  are  expected  to  be  rated  at  a high 
price,  that  price  must  be  levied  on  the  pub- 
lick,  and  paid  by  the  ultimate  purchaser, 
not  by  the  intermediate  agents.  What 
price  shall  be  set  upon  the  book  is,  tc 
the  booksellers,  wholly  indifferent,  provided 


4  I suppose  the  complaint  was,  that  the  trus- 
tees of  the  Oxford  press  did  notallow  the  London 
booksellers  a sufficient  profit  upon  vending  their 
publications. — Bos  w lll. 


1776. — iETAT.  67. 


2U 


that  they  gain  a proportionate  profit  by 
negotiating  the  sale. 

“ WhyH books  printed  at  Oxford  should 
be  particularly  dear,  I am,  however,  unable 
to  find.  We  pay  no  rent ; we  inherit  many 
of  our  instruments  and  materials  ; lodging 
and  victuals  are  cheaper  than  at  London; 
and,  therefore,  workmanship  ought,  at  least, 
not  to  be  dearer.  Our  expenses  are  natu- 
rally less  than  those  of  booksellers  ; and  in 
most  cases,  communities  are  content  with 
less  profit  than  individuals. 

« It  is,  perhaps,  not  considered  through 
how  many  hands  a book  often  passes,  before 
it  comes  into  those  of  the  reader ; or  what 
part  of  the  profit  each  hand  must  re- 
tain, as  a motive  for  transmitting  it  to  the 
next. 

“We  will  call  our  primary  agent  in  Lon- 
ion,  Mr.  Cadell,  who  receives  our  books 
from  us,  gives  them  room  in  his  warehouse, 
and  issues  them  on  demand ; by  him  they 
are  sold  to  Mr.  Dilly,  a wholesale  booksel- 
ler, who  sends  them  into  tlje  country  ; and 
the  last  seller  is  the  country  bookseller. 
Here  are  three  profits  to  be  paid  between 
the  printer  and  the  reader,  or,  in  the  style 
of  commerce,  between  the  manufacturer 
and  the  consumer;  and  if  any  of  these 
profits  is  too  penuriously  distributed,  the 
process  of  commerce  is  interrupted. 

“ We  are  now  come  to  the  practical 
question,  what  is  to  be  done?  You  will 
tell  me,  with  reason,  that  I have  said  no- 
thing, till  I declare  how  much,  according  to 
my  opinion,  of  the  ultimate  price  ought  to  be 
distributed  through  the  whole  succession  of 
sale. 

“ The  deduction,  I am  afraid,  will  appear 
very  great ; but  let  it  be  considered  before 
it  is  refused.  We  must  allow,  for  profit, 
between  thirty  and  thirty-five  per  cent,  be- 
tween six  and  seven  shillings  in  the  pound  ; 
that  is,  for  every  book  which  costs  the  last 
buyer  twenty  shillings,  we  must  charge  Mr. 
Cadell  with  something  less  than  fourteen: 
We  must  set  the  copies  at  fourteen  shillings 
<kcb,  and  superadd  what  is  called  the  quar- 
terly book,  or  for  every  hundred  books  so 
charged  we  must  deliver  an  hundred  and 
lour. 

“ The  profits  will  then  stand  thus  : 

“ Mr.  Cadell,  who  runs  no  hazard,  and 
gives  no  credit,  will  be  paid  for  warehouse 
loom  and  attendance  by  a shilling  profit  on 
each  book,  and  his  chance  of  the  quarterly 
book. 

“ Mr.  Dilly,  who  buys  the  book  for  fif- 
teen shillings,  and  who  will  expect  the 
quarterly-book  if  he  takes  five  and  twenty, 
will  send  it  to  his  country  customer  at  six- 
teen and  sixpence,  by  which,  at  the  hazard 
of  loss,  and  the  certainty  of  long  credit,  he 
gains  the  regular  profit  of  ten  per  cent, 
which  is  expected  in  the  wholesale  trade. 


“ The  country  bookseller,  buying  at  six* 
teen  and  sixpence,  and  commonly  trusting 
a considerable  time,  gains  but  three  and 
sixpence,  and  if  he  trusts  a year,  not  much 
more  than  two  and  sixpence;  otherwise 
than  as  he  may,  perhaps,  take  as  long  credit 
as  he  gives. 

“ With  less  profit  than  this,  and  more 
you  see  he  cannot  have,  the  country  book- 
seller cannot  live  ; for  his  receipts  are  small, 
and  his  debts  sometimes  bad. 

“ Thus,  dear  sir,  I have  been  incited  by 
Dr.  ****** ’s  letter  to  give  you  a detail  of  the 
circulation  of  books,  which,  perhaps,  every 
man  has  not  had  opportunity  of  knowing ; 
and  which  those  who  know  it,  do  not,  per- 
haps, always  distinctly  consider. — I am,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson  K ” 

Having  arrived  in  London  late  on  Fri- 
day, the  15th  of  March,  I hastened  next 
morning  to  wait  on  Dr.  Johnson,  at  his 
house ; but  found  he  was  removed  from 
Johnson’s-court,  No.  7,  to  Bolt-court,  No. 
8,  still  keeping  to  his  favourite  Fleet-street. 
My  reflection  at  the  time  upon  this  change, 
as  marked  in  my  journal,  is  as  follows  : “ 1 
felt  a foolish  regret  that  he  had  left  a court 
which  bore  his  name  2 ; but  it  was  not  fool- 
ish to  be  affected  with  some  tenderness  of 
regard  for  a place  in  which  I had  seen  him 
a great  deal,  from  whence  I had  often  issu- 
ed a better  and  a happier  man  than  when  I 
went  in,  and  which  had  often  appeared  to 
my  imagination  while  I trod  its  pavement, 
in  the  solemn  darkness  of  the  night,  to  be 
sacred  to  wisdom  and  piety.”  Being  in- 
formed that  he  was  at  Mr.  Thrale’s  in  the 
borough,  I hastened  thither,  and  found 
Mrs.  Tlirale  and  him  at  breakfast.  I was 
kindly  welcomed.  In  a moment  he  was  in 
a full  glow  of  conversation,  and  I felt  my- 
self elevated  as  if  brought  into  another  state 
of  being.  Mrs.  Tlirale  and  I looked  to 
each  other  while  he  talked,  and  our  looks 
expressed  our  congenial  admiration  and  af- 
fection for  him.  I shall  ever  recollect  this 
scene  with  great  pleasure.  I exclaimed  to 
her,  “ I am  now,  intellectually,  Hermippus 
redivivus  3,  1 am  quite  restored  by  him,  by 
transfusion  of  mind.”  « There  are  many,” 
she  replied,  “ who  admire  and  respect  Mr 
Johnson ; but  you  and  I love  him.” 


1 I atn  happy  in  giving  this  full  and  clea 
statement  to  the  publick,  to  vindicate,  by  the  au 
thority  of  the  greatest  author  of  his  age,  that  rea. 
pectable  body  of  men,  the  booksellers  of  London, 
from  vulgar  reflections,  as  if  their  profits  were 
exorbitant,  when,  in  truth,  Dr.  Johnson  has  here 
allowed  them  more  than  they  usually  demand. — 
Boswell. 

2 He  said,  when  in  Scotland,  that  he  was  John- 
son of  that  Ilk. — Boswell. 

3 See  vol.  i.  p.  189. — Boswell. 


80 


1776. — iETAT.  67. 


He  seemed  very  happy  in  the  near  pros- 
pect of  going  to  Italy  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Thrale.  “ But,”  said  he,  “ before  leaving 
England  I am  to  take  a jaunt  to  Oxford, 
Birmingham,  my  native  city  Lichfield,  and 
my  old  friend  Dr.  Taylor’s,  at  Ashbourne, 
in  Derbyshire.  I shall  go  in  a few  days, 
and  you,  Boswell,  shall  go  with  me.”  I 
was  ready  to  accompany  him ; being  willing 
even  to  leave  London  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  his  conversation. 

I mentioned  with  much  regret  the  ex- 
travagance of  the  representative  of  a great 
family  in  Scotland,  by  which  there  was  dan- 
ger of  its  being  ruined  ; and  as  Johnson  re- 
spected it  for  its  antiquity,  he  joined  with 
me  in  thinking  it  would  be  happy  if  this 
person  should  die.  Mrs.  Thrale  seemed 
shocked  at  this,  as  feudal  barbarity,  and 
said,  “ I do  not  understand  this  preference 
of  the  estate  to  its  owner ; of  the  land  to 
the  man  who  walks  upon  that  land.”  John- 
son. “ Nay,  madam,  it  is  not  a preference 
of  the  land  to  its  owner ; it  is  the  prefer- 
ence of  a family  to  an  individual.  Here  is 
an  establishment  in  a country,  which  is  of 
importance  for  ages,  not  only  to  the  chief 
but  to  his  people ; an  establishment  which 
extends  upwards  and  downwards ; that  this 
should  be  destroyed  by  one  idle  fellow  is  a 
sad  thing.” 

He  said,  “ Entails  are  good,  because  it 
is  good  to  preserve  in  a country  series  of 
men,  to  whom  the  people  are  accustomed 
to  look  up  as  to  their  leaders.  But  I am 
for  leaving  a quantity  of  land  in  commerce, 
to  excite  industry,  and  keep  money  in  the 
country ; for  if  no  land  were  to  be  bought 
in  the  country,  there  would  be  no  encour- 
agement to  acquire  wealth,  because  a fam- 
ily could  not  be  founded  there ; or  if  it  were 
acquired,  it  must  be  carried  away  to  anoth- 
er country  where  land  may  be  bought. 
And  although  the  land  in  every  country 
will  remain  the  same,  and  be  as  fertile  where 
there  is  no  money,  as  where  there  is,  yet 
all  that  portion  of  the  happiness  of  civil  life, 
which  is  produced  by  money  circulating  in 
a country,  would  be  lost.”  Boswell. 
“ Then,  sir,  would  it  be  for  the  advantage 
of  a country  that  all  its  lands  were  sold  at 
once Johnson.  “ So  far,  sir,  as  money 
produces  good,  it  would  be  an  advantage ; 
for  then  that  country  would  have  as  much 
money  circulating  in  it  as  it  is  worth.  But 
to  be  sure  this  would  be  counterbalanced  by 
disadvantages  attending  a total  change  of 
proprietors.” 

I expressed  my  opinion  that  the  power 
of  entailing  should  be  limited  thus : “ That 
there  should  be  one-third,  or  perhaps  one 
half  of  the  land  of  a country  kept  free  for 
commerce;  that  the  proportion  allowed  to 
be  entailed  should  be  parcelled  out  so  that 
no  family  could  entail  above  a certain  quan- 


tity. Let  a family,  according  to  the  abih. 
ties  of  its  representatives,  be  richer  or  poor- 
er in  different  generations,  or  always  rich 
if  its  representatives  be  always  wise : but 
let  its  absolute  permanency  be  moderate. 
In  this  way  we  should  be  certain  of  there 
being  always  a number  of  established  roots ; 
and  as,  in  the  course  of  nature,  there  is  in 
every  age  an  extinction  of  some  families, 
there  would  be  continual  openings  for  men 
ambitious  of  perpetuity,  to  plant  a stock  in 
the  entail  ground i.”  Johnson.  “Why, 
sir,  mankind  will  be  better  able  to  regulate 
the  system  of  entails,  when  the  evil  of  too 
much  land  being  locked  up  by  them  is  felt, 
than  we  can  do  at  present  when  it  is  not 
felt.” 

I mentioned  Dr.  Adam  Smith’s  book  on 
“The  Wealth  of  Nations,”  which  was  just 
published,  and  that  Sir  John  Pringle  had 
observed  to  me,  that  Dr.  Smith,  who  had 
never  been  in  trade,  could  not  be  expected 
to  write  well  on  that  subject  any  more  than 
a lawyer  upon  . physick.  Johnson.  “He 
is  mistaken,  sir  ; a man  who  has  never  been 
engaged  in  trade  himself  may  undoubtedly 
write  well  upon  trade,  and  there  is  nothing 
which  requires  more  to  be  illustrated  by 
philosophy  than  trade  does.  As  to  mere 
wealth,  that  is  to  say,  money,  it  is  clear 
that  one  nation  or  one  individual  cannot 
increase  its  store  but  by  making  another 
poorer:  but  trade  procures  what  is  more 
valuable,  the  reciprocation  of  the  peculiai 
advantages  of  different  countries.  A mer- 
chant seldom  thinks  but  of  his  own  particu- 
lar trade.  To  write  a good  book  upon  it, 
a man  must  have  extensive  views.  It  is 
not  necessary  to  have  practised,  to  write 
well  upon  a subject.”  I mentioned  law  as 
a subject  on  which  no  man  could  write  well 
without  practice.  Johnson.  “Why,  sir, 
in  England,  where  so  much  money  is  to  be 
got  by  the  practice  of  the  law,  most  of  out 
writers  upon  it  have  been  in  practice , 
though  Blackstone  had  not  been  much  -in 
practice  when  he  published  his  ‘ Commen- 
taries.’ But  upon  the  continent,  the  great 
writers  on  law  have  not  all  been  in  practice : 
Grotius,  indeed,  was ; but  Puffendorf  was 
not ; Burlamaqui  was  not  2.” 


1 The  privilege  of  perpetuating  in  a family  an 
estate  and  arms  indeftasibly  from  generation  to 
generation  is  enjoyed  by  none  of  his  majesty’s 
subjects  except  in  Scotland,  where  the  legal  fic- 
tion of  fine  and  recovery  is  unknown.  It  is  a 
privilege  so  proud,  that  I should  think  it  would 
be  proper  to  have  the  exercise  of  it  dependent  on 
the  royal  prerogative.  It  seems  absurd  to  permit 
the  power  of  perpetuating  their  representation  to 
men,  who,  having  had  no  eminent  merit,  have 
truly  no  name.  The  king,  as  the  impartial  father 
of  his  people,  would  never  refuse  to  grant  the 
privilege  to  those  who  deserved  it. — Boswell. 

2 [NeTther  Grotius,  Puffendorf,  nor  Burlamaqui. 


1776. — iETAT.  67. 


W hen  we  had  talked  of  the  great  conse- 
quence which  a man  acquired  by  being  em- 
nloyed  in  his  profession,  I suggested  a doubt 
of  the  justice  of  the  general  opinion,  that  it 
is  improper  in  a lawyer  to  solicit  employ- 
ment, for  why,  I urged,  should  it  not  be 
equally  allowable  to  solicit  that  as  the 
means  of  consequence,  as  it  is  to  solicit 
votes  to  be  elected  a member  of  parliament  1 
Mr.  Strahan  had  told  me  that  a country- 
man of  his  and  mine1,  who  had  risen  to 
eminence  in  the  law,  had,  when  first  making 
his  way,  solicited  him  to  get  him  employed 
ki  city  causes.  Johnson.  “ Sir,  it  is  wrong 
to  stir  up  lawsuits  ; but  when  once  it  is  cer- 
tain that  a lawsuit  is  to  go  on,  there  is  no- 
thing wrong  in  a lawyer’s  endeavouring 
that  he  shall  have  the  benefit,  rather  than 
another.”  Boswell.  “You  would  not 
solicit  employment,  sir,  if  you  were  a law- 
yer.” Johnson.  “No,  sir;  but  not  because 
I should  think  it  wrong,  but  because  I 
should  disdain  it.”  This  was  a good  dis- 
tinction, which  will  be  felt  by  men  of  just 
pride.  He  proceeded  : “However,  I would 
not  have  a lawyer  to  be  wanting  to  himself 
in  using  fair  means.  I would  have  him  to 
inject  a little  hint  now  and  then,  to  prevent 
his  being  overlooked.” 

Lord  Mountstuart’s  bill  for  a Scotch 
militia,  in  supporting  which  his  lordship 
had  made  an  able  speech  2 in  the  house  of 
commons,  was  now  a pretty  general  topick 
of  conversation.  Johnson.  “ As  Scot- 
land contributes  so  little  land-tax  towards 
the  general  support  of  the  nation,  it  ought 
not  to  have  a militia  paid  out  of  the  general 
fund,  unless  it  should  be  thought  for  the 
general  interest  that  Scotland  should  be 
protected  from  an  invasion,  which  no  man 
can  think  will  happen ; for  what  enemy 
would  invade  Scotland,  where  there  is  no- 
thing to  be  got  ? No,  sir  ; now  that  the 
Scotch  have  not  the  pay  of  English  soldiers 
spent  among  them,  as  so  many  troops  are 
sent  abroad,  they  are  trying  to  get  money 
another  way,  by  having  a militia  paid.  If 
they  are  afraid,  and  seriously  desire  to  have 
an  armed  force  to  defend  them,  the}  should 
pay  for  it.  Your  scheme  is  to  retain  a part 


were  writers  op.  what  can  be  strictly  called  prac- 
tical law  ; and  the  great  writers  on  practical 
law,  in  all  countries,  have  been  practical  law- 
yers.— Ed.] 

1 [Probably  Mr<  Wedderburn. — Ed.] 

2 [Boswell  writes  to  Mr.  Wilkes  on  this  sub- 
ject, 20th  April,  1776 : “ I am  delighted  to  find 
that  my  honoured  friend  and  JSleccenas,  my  Lord 
Mountstuart,  made  an  excellent  speech  on  the 
Scotch  militia  bill.” — Wilkes’s  Correspondence , 
vol.  iv.  p.  319.  Mr.  Boswell’s  Meccenas  disap- 
pointed his  hopes,  and  hence,  perhaps,  some  of 
those  observations  about  “courting  the  great ” 
and  “ apathy  of  patrons ” which  Mr.  Boswell 
occasionally  makes. — Ed.] 


81 

of  your  land-tax,  by  making  us  pay  and 
clothe  your  militia.”  Boswell.  “ You 
should  not  talk  of  we  and  you , sir ; there  is 
now  an  union.”  Johnson.  “ There  must 
be  a distinction  of  interest,  while  the  pro- 
portions of  land-tax  are  so  unequal.  If 
Yorkshire  should  say,  ‘ Instead  of  paying 
our  land-tax,  we  will  keep  a greater  num- 
ber of  militia,’  it  would  be  unreasonable.” 
In  this  argument  my  friend  was  certainly 
in  the  wrong.  The  land-tax  is  as  unequally 
proportioned  between  different  parts  of  Eng- 
land, as  between  England  and  Scotland; 
nay,  it  is  considerably  unequal  in  Scotland 
itself.  But  the  land-tax  is  but  a small 
part  of  the  numerous  branches  of  publick 
revenue,  all  of  which  Scotland  pays  precisely 
as  England  does.  A French  invasion  made 
in  Scotland  would  soon  penetrate  into 
England. 

He  thus  discoursed  upon  supposed  obli- 
gation in  settling  estates  : « Where  a man 
gets  the  unlimited  property  of  an  estate, 
there  is  no  obligation  upon  him  in  justice 
to  leave  it  to  one  person  rather  than  to  an- 
other. There  is  a motive  or  preference 
from  kindness,  and  this  kindness  is  general- 
ly entertained  for  the  nearest  relation.  If 
I owe  a particular  man  a sum  of  money,  I 
am  obliged,  to  let  that  man  have  the  next 
money  I get,  and  cannot  in  justice  let  an- 
other have  it ; but  if  I owe  money  to  no 
man,  I may  dispose  of  what  I get  as  I please 
There  is  not  a debitum  justitice  to  a man’s 
next  heir  ; there  is  only  a debitum  caritatis. 
It  is  plain,  then,  that  I have  morally  a 
choice  according  to  my  liking.  If  I have  a 
brother  in  want,  he  has  a claim  from  affec- 
tion to  my  assistance ; but  if  I have  also  a 
brother  in  want,  whom  I like  better,  he  has 
a preferable  claim.  The  right  of  an  heir  at 
law  is  only  this,  that  he  is  to  have  the  suc- 
cession to  an  estate,  in  case  no  other  per- 
son is  appointed  to  it  by  the  owner.  His 
right  is  merely  preferable  to  that  of  the 
king.” 

We  got  into  a boat  to  cross  over  to 
Blackfriars ; and  as  we  moved  along  the 
Thames,  I talked  to  him  of  a little  volume, 
which,  altogether  unknown  to  him,  was  ad- 
vertised to  be  published  in  a few  days,  un- 
der the  title  of  “ Johnsoniana,  or  Bon  Mots 
of  Dr.  Johnson.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  it  is 
a mighty  impudent  thing  3.”  Boswell. 
“ Pray,  sir,  could  you  have  no  redress  if  you 
were  to  prosecute  a publisher  for  bringing 
out,  under  your  name,  what  you  never  said, 
and  ascribing  to  you  dull  stupid  nonsense,  or 
making  you  swear  profanely,  as  many  igno- 

3 [This  was  a contemptible  jest-book  full  of 
indecencies,  and  with  very  little  of  Johnson  in  it. 
Mr.  Boswell’s  work  is  the  true  Johnsoniana,  ana 
a judicious  and  entertaining  selection  from  Bos- 
well, under  this  title,  has  been  lately  published. 
— Ed,] 


32 


1776. — iETAT.  67 


rant  relaters  of  your  bon  mots  do  ? ” John- 
son. “ No,  sir,  there  will  always  be  some 
truth  mixed  with  the  falsehood,  and  how 
can  it  be  ascertained  how  much  is  true  and 
how  much  is  false  7 Besides,  sir,  what  dam- 
ages would  a jury  give  me  for  having  been 
represented  as  swearing  7”  Boswell.  “I 
think,  sir,  you  should  at  least  disavow  such 
a publication,  because  the  world  and  poster- 
ity might  with  much  plausible  foundation 
say,  ‘ Here  is  a volume  which  was  publick- 
ly  advertised  and  came  out  in  Dr.  John- 
son’s own  name,  and,  by  his  silence,  was 
admitted  by  him  to  be  genuine.’  ” John- 
son. “ I shall  give  myself  no  trouble  about 
the  matter.” 

He  was,  perhaps,  above  suffering  from 
such  spurious  publications  ; but  I could  not 
help  thinking,  that  many  men  would  be 
much  injured  in  their  reputation,  by  having 
absurd  and  vicious  sayings  imputed  to  them  ; 
and  that  redress  ought  in  such  cases  to  be 
given. 

He  said,  “ The  value  of  every  story  de- 
pends on  its  being  true.  A story  is  a pic- 
ture either  of  an  individual  or  of  human  na- 
ture in  general : if  it  be  false,  it  is  a picture 
of  nothing.  For  instance : suppose  a man 
should  teS  that  Johnson,  before  setting  out 
for  Italy,  as  he  had  to  cross  the  Alps,  sat  down 
to  make  himself  wings.  This  many  peo- 
ple would  believe  : but  it  would  be  a picture 
of  nothing.  *******  i (naming  a worthy 
friend  of  ours),  used  to  think  a story,  a sto- 
ry, till  I showed  him  that  truth  was  essen- 
. tial  to  it.”  [On  another  occasion 
p1  gg^1’  he  said,  “ A story  is  a specimen  of 
human  manners,  and  derives  its  sole 
value  from  its  truth.  When  Foote  has 
told  me  something,  I dismiss  it  from  my 
mind,  like  a passing  shadow ; when  Rey- 
nolds tells  me  something,  I consider  myself 
as  possessed  of  an  idea  the  more.”]  I ob- 
served, that  Foote  entertained  us  with  sto- 
ries which  were  not  true  ; but  that,  indeed, 
it  was  properly  not  as  narratives  that  Foote’s 
stories  pleased  us,  but  as  collections  of  ludi- 
crous images.  Johnson.  “ Foote  is  quite 
impartial,  for  he  tells  lies  of  every  body.” 
Crad.  [Mr.  Cradock  2 relates  that  a gen- 
Mem.  tleman  sitting  next  to  Johnson  at  a 
p'  ' table  where  Foote  was  entertaining 
the  company  with  some  exaggerated  reci- 
tals, whispered  his  neighbour,  “ Why,  Dr. 


1 [Although  Mr.  Langton  was  a man  of  strict 
and  accurate  veracity,  the  Editor  suspects,  from 
the  term  woj-thy  friend,  which  Boswell  generally 
appropriates  to  Mr.  Langton,  as  well  as  the  num- 
ber of  asterisks  (See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  522,  n.), 
that  he  was  here  meant;  if  so,  the  opinion 
which  Johnson  corrected  was  probably  one  sta- 
ted by  Mr.  Langton  in  very  early  life,  for  he 
knew  Johnson  when  he  was  only  fifteen  years 
or*  age. — Ed.] 

* [See  post,  12  April,  1776  —Ed.] 


Johnson,  it  is  impossible  that  this  impudent 
fellow  should  know  the  truth  of  half  what 
he  has  told  us.”  “Nay,  sir,”  replied  John- 
son, hastily,  “ if  we  venture  to  come  into 
company  with  Foote,  we  have  no  right,  I 
think,  to  look  for  truth.”] 

The  importance  of  strict  and  scrupulous 
veracity  cannot  be  too  often  inculcated. 
Johnson  was  known  to  be  so  rigidly  atten- 
tive to  it,  that  even  in  his  common  conver- 
sation, the  slightest  circumstance  was  men- 
tioned with  exact  precision.  [In- 
deed one  reason  why  his  memory  yzzi> 
was  so  particularly  exact  might  be  p‘  • 
derived  from  his  rigid  attention  to  veracity ; 
being  always  resolved  to  relate  every  fact 
as  it  stood,  he  looked  even  on  the  smaller 
parts  of  life  with  minute  attention,  and  re- 
membered such  passages  as  escape 
cursory  and  common  observers.  His  p-  234. 
veracity  was  indeed,  from  the  most 
trivial  to  the  most  solemn  occasions,  strict 
even  to  severity ; he  scorned  to  embellish  a 
story  with  fictitious  circumstances,  which 
(he  used  to  say)  took  off  from  its  real  value. 
“A  story,”  said  Johnson,  “should  be  a 
specimen  of  life  and  manners ; but  if  the 
surrounding  circumstances  are  false,  as  it 
is  no  more  a representation  of  reality,  it 
is  no  longer  worthy  our  attention.”]  The 
knowledge  of  his  having  such  a principle 
and  habit  made  his  friends  have  a perfect 
reliance  on  the  truth  of  every  thing  that  he 
told,  however  it  might  have  been  doubted 
if  told  by  many  others.  As  an  instance  of 
this,  I may  mention  an  odd  incident  which 
he  related  as  having  happened  to  him  one 
night  in  Fleet-street.  “A  gentlewoman,” 
said  he,  « begged  I would  give  her  my  arm 
to  assist  her  in  crossing  the  street,  which  I 
accordingly  did;  upon  which  she  offered 
me  a shilling,  supposing  me  to  be  the  watch- 
man. I perceived  that  she  was  somewhat 
in  liquor.”  This,  if  told  by  most  people, 
would  have  been  thought  an  invention; 
when  told  by  Johnson,  it  was  believed 
by  his  friends  as  much  as  if  they  had  seen 
what  passed  3. 

[Mrs.  Piozzi  relates  some  very 
similar  instances,  which  he  himself 
told  her.  As  he  was  walking  along 
the  Strand,  a gentleman  stepped  out  of  some 
neighbouring  tavern,  with  his  napkin  in 
his  hand  and  no  hat,  and  stopping  him  as 
civilly  as  he  could  : “ I beg  your  pardon,  sir, 
but  you  are  Dr.  Johnson,  I believe.”  “ Yes, 
sir.”  “We  have  a wager  depending  on 
your  reply : pray,  sir,  is  it  irreparable,  or 
irrepairable  that  one  should  say!”  “The 
last , I think,  sir,”  answered  Dr.  Johnson, 

1 [Miss  Reynolds  says,  in  her  Recollections , 
that  she  wonders  why  Mr.  Boswell  should  think 
this  anecdote  so  surprising ; for  John son’d  dress 
was  so  mean  (until  his  pension)  that  he  might 
have  been  easily  mistaken  for  a beggar.— -Ed J 


1776  -yETAT.  67. 


33 


4<  for  the  adverb  [adjective]  ought  to  follow 
the  verb;  but  you  had  better  consult  my 
Dictionary  than  me,  for  that  was  the  result 
of  more  thought  than  you  will  now  give 
me  time  for.”  “No,  no,”  replied  the  gen- 
tleman, gaily,  “ the  book  I have  no  cer- 
tainty at  all  of;  but  here  is  the  author , to 
whom  I referred:  I have  won  my  twenty 
guineas  quite  fairly,  and  am  much  obliged 
to  you,  sir ; ” so  shaking  Dr.  Johnson 
kindly  by  the  hand,  he  went  back  to  finish 
his  dinner  or  dessei  t. 

He  also  once  told  Mrs.  Piozzi  that  a 
young  gentleman  called  on  him  one  morn- 
ing, and  told  him  that,  having  dropped  sud- 
denly into  an  ample  fortune,  he  was  willing 
to  qualify  himself  for  genteel  society  by  add- 
ing some  literature  to  his  other  endowments, 
and  wished  to  be  put  in  an  easy  way  of 
obtaining  it.  Johnson  recommended  the 
University;  “for  you  read  Latin,  sir,  with 
facility .”  “ I read  it  a little,  to  be  sure, 

sir.”  “ But  do  you  read  it  with  facility, 
Isay?”  “Upon  my  word,  sir,  I do  not 
very  well  know,  but  I rather  believe  not.” 
Dr.  Johnson  now  began  to  recommend 
other  branches  of  science  ; and,  advising 
him  to  study  natural  history,  there  arose 
some  talk  about  animals,  and  their  divisions 
into  oviparous  and  viviparous:  “And  the 
cat  here,  sir,”  said  the  youth  who  wished 
for  instruction,  “ pray  in  which  class  is 
she?”  The  Doctor’s  patience  and  desire 
of  doing  good  began  now  to  give  way. 
“You  would  do  well,”  said  he,  “ to  look 
for  some  person  to  be  always  about  you, 
sir,  who  is  capable  of  explaining  such  mat- 
ters, and  not  come  to  us  to  know  whether 
the  cat  lays  eggs  or  not : get  a discreet  man 
to  keep  you  company-;  there  are  many  who 
would  be  glad  of  your  table  and  fifty  pounds 
a year.”  The  young  gentleman  retired, 
and  in  less  than  a week  informed  his  friends, 
that  he  had  fixed  on  a preceptor  to  whom 
no  objections  could  be  made;  but  when  he 
named  as  such  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
characters 1 in  our  age  or  nation,  Dr.  John- 
son fairly  gave  himself  up  to  an  honest  "burst 
of  laughter,  at  seeing  this  youth  at  such  a 
surprising  distance  from  common  knowledge 
of  the  world. 

We  landed  at  the  Temple-stairs,  where 
we  parted. 

I found  him  in  the  evening  in  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams’§  room.  We  talked  of  religious  or- 
ders. He  said,  “ It  is  as  unreasonable  for  a 
man  to  go  into  a Carthusian  convent  for 
fear  of  being  immoral,  as  for  a man  to  cut 
off  his  hands  for  fear  he  should  steal. 
There  is,  indeed,  great  resolution  in  the 
immediate  act  of  dismembering  himself; 
but  when  that  is  once  done,  he  has  no  lon- 
ger any  merit:  for  though  it  is  out  of  his 


1 [Mr.  Burke. — Malone  MS. — Ed.] 
vol.  n.  a 


power  to  steal,  yet  he  may  all  ms  life  be 
thief  in  his  heart.  So  when  a man  has 
once  become  a Carthusian,  he  is  obliged  to 
continue  so,  whether  he  chooses  it  or  not. 
Their  silence,  too,  is  afbsurd.  We  read  in 
the  Gospel  of  the  apostles  being  sent  to 
preach,  but  not  to  hold  their  tongues.  All 
severity  that  does  not  tend  to  increase  good, 
or  prevent  evil,  is  idle.  I said  to  the  Lady 
Abbess  of  a convent,  c Madam,  you  are 
here,  not  for  the  love  of  virtue,  but  the  fear 
of  vice.’  She  said,  ‘ She  should  remember 
this  as  long  as  she  lived.’  ” I thought  it 
hard  to  give  her  this  view  of  her  situation 
when  she  could  not  help  it;  and,  indeed, 
I wondered  at  the  whole  of  what  he  now 
said;  because,  both  in  his  “ Rambler”  and 
“ Idler,”  he  treats  religious  austerities  with 
much  solemnity  of  respect. 

Finding  him  still  persevering  in  his  ab- 
stinence from  wine,  I ventured  to  speak  tc 
him  of  it.  Johnson.  “ Sir,  I have  no  ob- 
jection to  a man’s  drinking  wine,  if  he  can 
do  it  in  moderation.  I found  myself  apt  to 
go  to  excess  in  it,  and  therefore,  after  hav- 
ing been  for  some  time  without  it,  on  ac- 
count of  illness,  I thought  it  better  not  to 
return  to  it.  Every  man  is  to  judge  for 
himself,  according  to  the  effects  which  he 
experiences.  One  of  the  fathers  tells  us, 
he  found  fasting  made  him  so  peevish  thal 
he  did  not  practise  it.” 

Though  he  often  enlarged  upon  the  evil 
of  intoxication,  he  was  by  no  means  harsh 
and  unforgiving  to  those  who  indulged  in 
occasional  excess  in  wine.  One  of  his 
friends  2,  I w«  li  remember,  came  to  sup  at 
a tavern  with  him  and  some  other  gentle- 
men, and  too  plainly  discovered  that  he  had 
drunk  too  much  at  dinner.  When  one 
who  loved  mischief,  thinking  to  produce  a 
severe  censure,  asked  Johnson,  a few  days 
afterwards,  “ W ell,  sir,  what  did  your  friend 
say  to  you,  as  an  apology  for  being  in  such 
a situation?”  Johnson  answered,  “Sir, 
he  said  all  that  a man  should  say  he  said 
he  was  sorry  for  it.” 

I heard  him  once  give  a very  judicious 
practical  advice  upon  the  subject:  “ A man 
who  has  been  drinking  wine  at  all  freely 
should  never  go  into  a new  company 
With  those  who  have  partaken  of  wine 
with  him,  he  may  be  pretty  well  in  unison; 
but  he  will  probably  be  offensive,  or  appear 
ridiculous,  to  other  people.’ 

He  allowed  very  great  influence  to  edu- 
cation. “ I do  not  deny,  sir,  but  there  is 
some  original  difference  in  minds;  but  it  is 
nothing  in  comparison  of  what  is  formed  by 
education.  "We  may  instance  the  science 
of  numbers,  which  all  minds  are  equally  ca- 
pable of  attaining3:  yet  we  find  a prodj- 


2 [Probably  Mr.  Boswell  himself. — E»  ] 

3 [This  appears  to  be  an  ill-chosen  illustration 


1776.— vETAT.  67. 


M 

gioas  difference  in  the  powers  of  different 
men,  in  that  respect,  after  they  are  grown 
up,  because  their  minds  have  been  more  or 
less  exercised  in  it:  and  I think  the  same 
cause  will  explain  the  difference  of  excel- 
lence in  other  things,  gradations  admitting 
always  some  difference  in  the  first  princi- 
ples.” 

This  is  a difficult  subject;  but  it  is  best  to 
hope  that  diligence  may  do  a great  deal. 
We  are  sure  of  what  it  can  do,  in  increas- 
ing our  mechanical  force  and  dexterity. 

I again  visited  him  on  Monday.  He 
took  occasion  to  enlarge,  as  he  often  did, 
upon  the  wretchedness  of  a sea-life.  “A 
ship  is  worse  than  a gaol.  There  is,  in  a 
gaol,  better  air,  better  company,  better  con- 
veniency  of  every  kind;  and  a ship  has  the 
additional  disadvantage  of  being  in  danger. 
When  men  come  to  like  a sea-life,  they  are 
not  fit  to  live  oil  land.”  cc  Then,”  said  I, 
“ it  would  be  cruel  in  a father  to  breed  his 
son  to  the  sea.”  Johnson.  “ It  would  be 
cruel  in  a father  who  thinks  as  I do.  Men 
go  to  sea,  before  they  know  the  unhappi- 
ness of  that  way  of  life;  and  when  they 
have  come  to  know  it,  they  cannot  escape 
from  it,  because  it  is  then  too  late  to 
choose  another  profession;  as  indeed  is 
generahv  the  case  with  men,  when  they 
have  once  engaged  in  any  particular  way 
of  life.” 

Piozzi,  [On  another  occasion,  he  said, 
p.  220.  “The  life  of  a sailor  was  also  a con- 
tinued scene  of  danger  and  exertion;  and 
the  manner  in  which  time  was  spent  on 
shipboard  would  make  all  who  saw  a cabin 
envy  a gaol.”  The  roughness  of  the  lan- 
guage used  on  board  a man  of  war,  where 
he  passed  a week  1 on  a visit  to  Captain 
Knight,  disgusted  him  terribly.  He  asked 
an  officer  what  some  place  was  called,  and 
received  for  answer,  that  it  was  where  the 
loplolly-man 2 kept  his  loplollv;  a reply  he 
considered,  not  unjustly,  as  disrespectful, 
gross,  and  ignorant.] 

On  Tuesday,  19th  March,  which  was 


It  seems,  on  the  contrary,  that  there  are  few 
powers  of  mind  so  unequally  given  as  those  con- 
nected with  numbers.  The  few  who  have 
them  in  any  extraordinary  degree,  like  Jede- 
diah  Buxton,  and  like  the  boys  Bidder  and  Col- 
borne,  of  our  times,  seem  to  have  little  other  intel- 
lectual power.  See  accounts  of  Buxton  in  Gent. 
Mag.  v.  xxi.  p.  61,  and  v.  xxiv.  p.  251. — Ed.] 

1 [It  is  not  likely  that  he  ever  spent  a week  on 
shipboard.  As  the  exact  date  of  his  excursion  in- 
to the  West  with  the  Reynoldses  {ante,  v.  i.  p. 
163.)  is  not  given,  it  cannot  be  ascertained 
whether  it  was  then  that  he  visited  Captain  (after- 
wards Sir  Joseph)  Knight  who  lay,  in  the  Bel- 
leisle,  in  Plymouth  Sound,  a couple  of  months  of 
the  years  1762  and  1763. — Ed.] 

2 [The  loplolly-boy  is  the  surgeon’s  attendant. 
- Ed.] 


fixed  for  our  proposed  jaunt,  wTe  met  in  the 
morning  at  the  Somerset  coffee-house  in 
the  Strand,  where  we  were  taken  up  by  the 
Oxford  coach.  He  was  accompanied  by 
Mr.  Gwyn,  the  architect;  and  a gentleman 
of  Merton  college,  whom  he  did  not  know, 
had  the  fourth  seat.  We  soon  got  into 
conversation;  for  it  was  very  remarkable 
of  Johnson,  that  the  presence  of  a stranger 
had  no  restraint  upon  his  talk.  I observed 
that  Garrick,  who  was  about  to  quit  the 
stage,  would  soon  have  an  easier  life 
Johnson.  “I  doubt  that,  sir.”  Bos- 
well. “ Why,  sir,  he  will  be  Atlas  with 
the  burthen  off  his  back.”  Johnson. 
“ But  I know  not,  sir,  if  he  will  be  so  steady 
without  his  load.  However,  he  should 
never  play  any  more,  but  be  entirely  the 
gentleman,  and  not  partly  the  player:  he 
should  no  longer  subject  himself  to  be  hiss- 
ed by  a mob,  or  to  be  insolently  treated  by 
performers,  whom  he  used  to  rule  with  a 
high  hand,  and  who  would  gladly  retaliate.” 
Boswell.  “I  think  he  should  play  once 
a year  for  the  benefit  of  decayed  actors,  as 
it  has  been  said  he  means  to  do.”  John- 
son “ Alas,  sir!  he  will  soon  be  a decay- 
ed actor  himself.” 

Johnson  expressed  his  disapprobation  of 
ornamental  architecture,  such  as  magnifi 
cent  columns  supporting  a portico,  or  ex 
pensive  pilasters  supporting  merely  their 
own  capitals,  “ because  it  consumes  labour 
disproportionate  to  its  utility.”  For  the 
same  reason  he  satirized  statuary.  cc  Paint- 
ing,” said  he,  “ consumes  labour  not  dis- 
proportionate to  its  effect;  but  a fellow  will 
hack  half  a year  at  a block  of  marble  to 
make  something  in  stone  that  hardly  resem- 
bles a man.  The  value  of  statuary  is  owing 
to  its  difficulty.  You  would  not  value  the 
finest  head  cut  upon  a carrot.”  Here  he 
seemed  to  me  to  be  strangely  deficient  in 
taste3;  for  surely  statuary  is  a noble  art  of 


3 [Dr.  Johnson  does  not  seem  to  nave  objected 
to  ornamental  architecture  or  statuary  per  se,  but 
to  labour  disproportionate  to  its  utility  or  effect. 
In  this  view,  his  criticisms  are  just.  The  late 
style  of  building  introduced  into  London,  of  col- 
onnades and  porticos,  without  any  regard  to 
aspect,  climate,  or  utility,  is  so  absurd  to  reason, 
so  offensive  to  taste,  and  so  adverse  to  domestic 
comfort,  that  it  reconciles  us  to  the  short-lived 
materials  of  which  these  edifices  are  composed. 
It  would  have  been  well  if  we  had,  according  to 
Johnson's  sober  advice,  thought  it  necessary  that 
the  “ magnificence  of  porticos ,”  and  the  “ ex- 
pense of  pilasters should  have  borne  some 
degree  of  proportion  to  their  utility.  With 
regard  to  “ statuary,”  when  it  does  “ preserve 
the  varieties  of  the  human  frame,”  it  deserves  all 
that  Mr.  Boswell  says  for  it:  but  Johnson's  ob 
jection  was  that  it  more  frequently  produced 
abortive  failures,  “ hardly  resembling  man." 
Ed.] 


1776.— jETAT.  67 


35 


; nutation,  and  preserves  a wonderful  ex- 
pression of  the  varieties  of  the  human 
franie;  and  although  it  must  he  allowed 
that  the  circumstances  of  difficulty  enhance 
the  value  of  a marble  head,  we  should  con- 
sider, that  if  it  requires  a long  time  in  the 
performance,  it  has  a proportionate  value  in 
durability 

Gwyn  was  a fine  lively  rattling  fellow. 
Dr.  Johnson  kept  him  in  subjection,  but 
with  a kindly  authority.  The  spirit  of  the 
artist,  however,  rose  against  what  he 
thought  a Gothick  attack,  and  he  made  a 
brisk  defence.  “ What,  sir,  you  will  allow 
■no  value  to  beauty  in  architecture  or  in 
it  a tu  ary?  Why  should  we  allow  it  then  in 
writing?  Why  do  you  take  the  trouble  to 
give  us  so  many  fine  allusions,  and  bright 
images,  and  elegant  phrases?  You  might 
convey  all  your  instruction  without  these 
ornaments.”  Johnson  smiled  with  com 
placency;  but  said,  “ Why,  sir,  all  these 
ornaments  are  useful,  because  they  obtain 
an  easier  reception  for  truth;  but  a build- 
ing is  not  at  all  more  convenient  for  being 
decorated  with  superfluous  carved  work.” 

Gwyn  at  last  was  lucky  enough  to  make 
one  reply  to  Dr.  Johnson,  which  he  allow- 
ed to  be  excellent.  Johnson  censured  him 
for  taking  down  a church  which  might 
have  stood  for  many  years,  and  building  a 
Mew  one  at  a different  place,  for  no  other 
'eason  but  that  there  might  be  a direct  road 
to  a new  bridge;  and  his  expression  was, 
“You  are  taking  a church  out  of  the  way, 
nat  the  people  may  go  in  a straight  line  to 
lhe  bridge.”  “ No,  sir,”  said  Gwyn,  “ I 
am  putting  the  church  in  the  way,  that  the 
people  maynotgo  out  of  the  way.”  John- 
son (with  a hearty  loud  laugh  of  approba- 
tion). “ Speak  no  more.  Rest  your  collo- 
quial fame  upon  this.” 

Upon  our  arrival  at  Oxford,  Dr.  Johnson 
and  I went  directly  to  University  college, 
but  were  disappointed  on  finding  that  one 
of  the  fellows,  his  friend  Mr.  Scott,  who 
iccompanied  him  from  Newcastle  to  Edin- 
Durgh,  was  gone  to  the  country.  We  put 
ip  at  the  Angel  inn,  and  passed  the  even- 
ing by  ourselves  in  easy  and  familiar  con- 
versation. Talking  of  constitutional  me- 
lancholy, he  observed,  “ A man  so  afflicted, 
sir,  must  divert  distressing  thoughts,  and 
not  combat  with  them.”  Boswell. 
“May  not  he  think  them  down,  sir?” 
Johnson.  “ No,  sir.  To  attempt  to  think 
them  down  is  madness.  He  should  have 
a lamp  constantly  burning  in  his  bed- 
chamber during  the  night,  and  if  wakefully 
disturbed,  take  a book,  and  read,  and  com- 
pose himself  to  rest.  To  have  the  man- 
agement of  the  mind  is  a great  art,  and  it 
may  be  attained  in  a considerable  degree 
bv  experience  and  habitual  exercise.” 
Boswell.  “ Should  not  he  provide  amuse- 


ments for  himself?  Would  it  not,  form- 
stance,  be  right  for  him  to  take  a course  of 
chvmistry?”  Johnson.  “Let  him  take 
a course  of*  chymistry,  or  a course  of  rope 
dancing,  or  a course  of  any  thing  to  which 
he  is  inclined  at  the  time.  Let  him  con- 
trive to  have  as  many  retreats  for  his  mind 
as  he  can,  as  many  things  to  which  it  can 
fly  from  itself.  Burton’s  ‘Anatomy  of  Me- 
lancholy 5 is  a valuable  work.  It  is,  per- 
haps, overloaded  with  quotation.  But 
there  is  a great  spirit  and  great  power  in 
what  Burton  says,  when  he  writes  from  his 
own  mind.’ 

Next  morning  [ Wednesday , 20 th  March] 
we  visited  Dr.  Wetherell,  master  of  Uni- 
versity college,  with  whom  Dr.  Johnson 
conferred  on  the  most  advantageous  mode 
of  disposing  of  the  books  printed  at  the 
Clarendon  press,  on  which  subject  his  let- 
ter has  been  inserted  in  a former  page.  1 
often  had  occasion  to  remark,  Johnson 
loved  business,  loved  to  have  his  wisdom 
actually  operate  on  real  life.  Dr.  Weth- 
erell and  I talked  of  him  without  reserve  in 
his  own  presence.  Wetherell.  “ I 
would  have  given  him  a hundred  guineas 
if  he  would  have  written  a preface  to  his 
c Political  Tracts,’  by  way  of  a discourse 
on  the  British  constitution.”  Boswell. 
“ Dr.  Johnson,  though  in  his  writings,  and 
upon  all  occasions,  a great  friend  to  the. 
constitution,  both  in  church  and  state,  has 
never  written  expressly  in  support  of  either. 
There  is  really  a claim  upon  him  for  both. 
I am  sure  he  could  give  a volume  of  no 
great  bulk  upon  each,  which  would  com- 
prise all  the  substance,  and  with  his  spirit 
would  effectually  maintain  them.  He 
should  erect  a fort  on  the  confines  of  each.” 
I could  perceive  that  he  was  displeased  with 
this  dialogue.  He  burst  out,  “ Why  should 
I be  always  writing?”  I hoped  he  was 
conscious  that  the  debt  was  just,  and  meant 
to  discharge  it,  though  he  disliked  being 
dunned. 

We  then  went  to  Pembroke  College,,  and 
waited  on  his  old  friend  Dr.  Adams,  the 
master  of  it,  whom  I found  to  be  a most 
polite,  pleasing,  communicative  man.  Be 
fore  his  advancement  to  the  headship  of  his 
college,  I had  intended  to  go  and  visit  him 
at  Shrewsbury,  where  he  was  rector  of  St. 
Chad’s,  in  order  to  get  from  him  what  par- 
ticulars he  could  recollect  of  Johnson’s 
academical  life.  He  now  obligingly  gave 
me  part  of  that  authentick  information, 
which,  with  what  I afterwards  owed  to  his 
kindness,  will  be  found  incorporated  in  its 
proper  place  in  this  work. 

Dr.  Adams  had  distinguished  himself  by 
an  able  answer  to  David  Hume’s  “ Essay 
on  Miracles.”  He  told  me  he  had  once 
dined  in  company  with  Hume  in  London* 
that  Hit-  ' - f -<>ck  lands  with  him,  and  said 


36 


1776.— iETAT.  67. 


‘ You  Lave  treated  me  much  better  than  1 
deserve;  and  that  they  exchanged  visits. 

I took  the  liberty  to  object  to  treating  an 
infidel  writer  with  smooth  civility.  Where 
there  is  a controversy  concerning  a passage 
in  a classick  authour,  or  concerning  a ques- 
tion in  antiquities,  or  any  other  subject  in 
which  human  happiness  is  not  deeply  in 
terested,  a man  may  treat  his  antagonist 
with  politeness  and  even  respect.  But 
where  the  controversy  is  concerning  the 
truth  of  religion,  it  is  of  such  vast  impor- 
tance to  him  who  maintains  it,  to  obtain  the 
victory,  that  the  person  of  an  opponent, 
ought  not  to  be  spared.  If  a man  firmly 
believes  that  religion  is  an  invaluable  trea- 
sure, he  will  consider  a writer  who  endeav- 
ours to  deprive  mankind  of  it  as  a robber; 
he  will  look  upon  him  as  odious , though 
the  infidel  might  think  himself  in  the  right. 
A robber  who  reasons  as  the  gang  do  in 
the  “ Beggar’s  Opera,”  who  call  themselves 
practical  philosophers,  and  may  have  as 
much  sincerity  as  pernicious  speculative 
philosophers,  is  not  the  less  an  object  of 
just  indignation.  An  abandoned  profligate 
may  think  that  it  is  not  wrong  to  debauch 
my  wife,  but  shall  I,  therefore,  not  detest 
him  ? And  if  I catch  him  in  maxing  an  at- 
tempt, shall  I treat  him  with  politeness? 
No,  I will  kick  him  down  stairs,  or  run  him 
through  the  body;  that  is,  if  I really  love 
my  wife,  or  have  a true  rational  notion  of 
honour.  An  infidel  then  should  not  be 
treated  handsomely  by  a Christian,  merely 
because  he  endeavours  to  rob  with  ingenui- 
ty. I do  declare,  however,  that  I am  ex- 
ceedingly unwilling  to  be  provoked  to  an- 
ger, and  could  I be  persuaded  that  truth 
would  not  suffer  from  a cool  moderation  in 
its  defenders,  I should  wish  to  preserve 
good  humour,  at  least,  in  every  controver- 
sy; nor,  indeed,  do  I see  why  a man  should 
lose  his  temper  while  he  does  all  he  can  to 
refute  an  opponent.  I think  ridicule  may 
be  fairly  used  against  an  infidel;  for  in- 
stance, if  he  be  an  ugly  fellow,  and  yet  ab- 
surdly vain  of  his  person,  we  may  contrast 
his  appearance  with  Cicero’s  beautiful  im- 
age of  Virtue,  could  she  be  seen.  Johnson 
coincided  with  me  and  said,  “ when  a man 
voluntarily  engages  in  an  important  con- 
troversy, he  is  to  do  all  he  can  to  lessen  his 
antagonist,  because  authority  from  personal 
respect  has  much  weight  with  most  people, 
and  often  more  than  reasoning.  If  my  an- 
tagonist writes  bad  language,  though  that 
may  not  be  essential  to  the  question,  I will 
attack  him  for  his  bad  language.”  Adams. 
“You  would  not  jostle  a chimney-sweeper.” 
Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir,  if  it  were  necessary 
to  jostle  him  down.” 

Dr.  Adams  told  us,  that  in  some  of  the 
colleges  at  Oxford,  the  fellows  had  excluded 
.he  students  from  social  intercourse  with 
tLeir  n the  common  room.  Johnson 


“They  are  in  the  rigtit,  sir:  there  can  oe 
no  real  conversation,  no  fair  exertion  of 
mind  amongst  them,  if  the  young  men  are 
by;  for  a man  who  has  a character  ‘does 
not  choose  to  stake  it  in  their  presence.” 
Boswell.  “ But,  sir,  may  there  not  be 
very  good  conversation  without  a contest 
for  superiority?”  Johnson.  “No  ani- 
mated conversation  t,  sir;  for  it  cannot  be 
but  one  or  other  will  come  off  superiour. 
I do  not  mean  that  the  victor  must  have  the 
better  of  the  argument,  for  he  may  take  the 
weak  side;  but  his  superiority  of  parts  and 
knowledge  will  necessarily  appear;  and  he 
to  whom  he  thus  shows  himself  superiour 
is  lessened  in  the  eyes  of  the  young  men. 
You  know  it  was  said,  ‘ Mallem  cum  Scali- 
gero  err  are  quam  cum  Clavio  recte  sap  ere .’ 
In  the  same  manner  take  Bentley’s  and  Ja- 
son de  Nores’  Comments  upon  Horace1 2, 
you  will  admire  Bentley  more  when  wrong, 
than  Jason  when  right.” 

We  walked  with  Dr.  Adams  into  the 
master’s  garden,  and  into  the  common  room. 
Johnson  (after  a reverie  of  meditation). 
“ Ay!  here  I used  to  play  at  draughts  with 
Phil.  Jones  and  Fludyer3.  Jones  loved 
beer,  and  did  not  get  very  forward  in  the 
church.  Fludyer  turned  out  a scoundrel  4, 
a whig,  and  said  he  was  ashamed  of  having 
been  bred  at  Oxford.  He  had  a living  at 
Putney;  and  got  under  the  eye  of  some  re- 
tainers to  the  court  at  that  time,  and  so  be- 
came a violent  whig;  but  he  had  been  a 
scoundrel  all  along,  to  be  sure.”  Boswell. 
“ W as  he  a scoundrel,  sir,  in  any  other  wav 
than  that  of  being  a political  scoundrel? 
Did  he  cheat  at  draugnts?”  Johnson. 
“ Sir,  we  never  played  for  money.” 

He  then  carried  me  to  visit  Dr.  Bentharn, 
Canon  of  Christ-Church,  and  divinity  pro- 
fessor, with  whose  learned  and  lively  con- 
versation we  were  much  pleased.  He  gave 
us  an  invitation  to  dinner,  which  Dr.  John- 
son told  me  was  a high  honour.  “ Sir,  it 
is  a great  thing  to  dine  with  the  canons  of 
Christ-Church.”  We  could  not  accept  his 
invitation,  as  we  were  engaged  to  dine  at 
University  College.  We  had  an  excellent 
dinner  there,  with  the  masters  and  fellows, 
it  being  St.  Cuthbert’s  day,  which  is  kepi 
by  them  as  a festival,  as  he  was  a saint  o! 

1 [See  post,  sub  30th  March,  1783,  his  dis- 
tinction between  talk  and  conversation. — Ed.] 

2 [A  learned  Cypriot,  who,  when  the  Turks 
took  Cyprus  in  1570,  retired  into  Italy,  where  he 
published  several  Italian  and  Latin  works;  among 
the  latter  was  a “ Commentary  on  Horace’s  Art 
of  Poetry.” — Ed.] 

3 [ Fludyer  was  the  immediate  contemporary 
of  Johnson,  having  entered  (scholar)  within  a 
month  of  Johnson’s  entrance,  fellow  before  th 
end  of  the  year;  M.  A.  April,  1735.  Phil.  Jonc? 
must  have  been  about  a year  their  senior,  having 
become  M.  A.  March,  1734. — Hall.] 

4 [See  post  27th  March,  1776,  n. — Ed.] 


1776. — iETAT.  67. 


37 


Durham,  with  which  this  college  is  much 
connected. 

We  drank  tea  with  Dr.  Horne,  late  Pre- 
sident of  Magdalen  College  and  Bishop  of 
Norwich,  of  whose  abilities  in  different  res- 
pects thepublick  has  had  eminent  proofs,  and 
the  esteem  annexed  to  whose  character  was 
increased  by  knowing  him  personally.  He 
had  talked  of  publishing  an  edition  of  Wal- 
ton’s Lives,  but  had  laid  aside  that  design, 
upon  Dr.  Johnson’s  telling  him,  from  mis- 
take, that  Lord  Hailes  intended  to  do  it.  I 
had  wished  to  negotiate  between  Lord 
Hailes  and  him,  that  one  or  other  should 
perform  so  good  a work.  Johnson.  “ In 
order  to  do  it  well,  it  will  be  necessary  to 
collect  all  the  editions  of  Walton’s  Lives. 
By  way  of  adapting  the  book  to  the  taste 
of  the  present  age,  they  have,  in  a late  edi- 
tion, left  out  a vision  which  he  relates  Dr. 
Donne  had,  but  it  should  be  restored  and 
there  should  be  a critical  catalogue  given  of 
the  works  of  the  different  persons  whose  lives 
were  written  by  Walton,  and  therefore  their 
works  must  be  carefully  read  by  the  editor.” 

We  then  went  to  Trinity  College,  where 
he  introduced  me  to  Mr.  Thomas  Warton, 
with  whom  we  passed  a part  of  the  evening. 
We  talked  of  biography.  Johnson.  “ It 
is  rarely  well  executed.  They  only  who 
live  with  a man  can  write  his  life  with  any 
genuine  exactness  and  discrimination;  and 
few  people  who  have  lived  with  a man  know 
what  to  remark  about  him.  The  chaplain  of 
a late  bishop  2,  whom  I was  to  assist  in  writ- 
ing some  memoirs  of  his  lordship,  could  tell 
me  scarcely  any  thing  3.” 

I said,  Mr.  Robert  Dodsley’s  life  should 
be  written,  as  he  had  been  so  much  con- 
nected with  the  wits  of  his  time,  and  by  his 
literary  merit  had  raised  himself  from  the 
station  of  a foot-man.  Mr.  Warton  said,  he 
had  published  a little  volume  under  the  title 
of  “ The  Muse  in  Livery.”  Johnson.  u I 


1 The  vision  which  Johnson  speaks  of  was  not 
in  the  original  publication  of  Walton’s  “Life  of 
Dr.  Donne,  in  1640.”  It  is  not  found  in  the 
three  earliest  editions;  out  was  first  introduced  in- 
to the  fourth,  in  1765.  I have  not  been  able  to 
discover  what  modern  republication  is  alluded  to 
in  which  it  was  omitted.  It  has  very  properly 
been  restored  by  Dr.  Zouch. — James  Boswell,. 

2 [The  bishop  was  Zachary  Pearce,  and  the 
chaplain,  Mr.  Darby.  See  post,  sub  May,  1777. 
-Ed.] 

3 It  has  been  mentioned  to  me  by  an  accurate 
English  friend,  that  Dr.  Johnson  could  never  have 
ased  the  phrase  almost  nothing,  as  not  being 
English;  and  therefore  I have  put  another  in  its 
place.  At  the  same  time,  I am  not  quite  con- 
vinced it  is  not  good  English.  For  the  best  wri- 
ters use  this  phrase,  “ little  or  nothing ,”  i.  e. 
almost  so  little  as  to  be  nothing. — Boswell. 
[Mr.  Boswell’s  friend  seems  to  have  been  hyper- 
critical.— Ed  ] 


doubt  whether  Dodsley’s  brother  would 
thank  a man  who  should  write  his  life;  yet 
Dodsley  himself  was  not  unwilling  that  his 
original  low  condition  should  be  recollected. 
When  Lord  Lyttleton’s  ‘ Dialogues  of  the 
Dead  ’ came  out,  one  of  which  is  between 
Apicius,  an  ancient  epicure,  andDartineuf 4, 
a modern  epicure,  Dodsley  said  to  me,  c I 
knew  Dartineuf  well,  for  I was  once  his  foot- 
man.’ ” 

Biography  led  us  to  speak  of  Dr.  John 
Campbell,  who  had  written  a considerable 
part  of  the  “ Biographia  Britannica .” 
Johnson,  though  he  valued  him  highly,  was 
of  opinion  that  there  was  not  so  much  in 
his  great  work,  “ A Political  Survey  of 
Great  Britain,”  as  the  world  had  been 
taught  to  expect 5;  and  had  said  to  me  that 
he  believed  Campbell’s  disappointment  on 
account  of  the  bad  success  of  that  work  had 
killed  him.  He  this  evening  observed  of 
it, “ That  work  was  his  death.”  Mr.  W ar- 
ton,  not  adverting  to  his  meaning,  answer- 
ed, cc  I believe  so,  from  the  great  attention 
he  bestowed  on  it.”  Johnson.  “Nay, 
sir,  he  died  of  want  of  attention,  if  he  died 
at  all  by  that  book  ” 

We  talked  of  a work6  much  in  vogue  at 
that  time,  written  in  a very  mellifluous 
style,  but  which,  under  pretext  of  another 
subject,  contained  much  artful  infidelity.  I 
said  it  was  not  fair  to  attack  us  unexpected- 
ly; he  should  have  warned  us  of  our  danger, 
before  we  entered  his  garden  of  flowery  elo- 
quence, by  advertising,  “ Spring-guns  and 
men-traps  set  here.”  The  authour  had 
been  an  Oxonian,  and  was  remembered 
there  for  having  “ turned  Papist.”  I ob- 
served, that  as  he  had  changed  several 
times — from  the  church  of  England  to  the 
church  of  Rome — from  the  church  of  Rome 
to  infidelity, — I did  not  despair  of  yet  see- 
ing him  a methodist  preacher.  Johnson 
(laughing).  “ It  is  said  that  his  range  has 
been  more  extensive,  and  that  he  has  once 
been  [a]  Mahometan.  However,  now  that 
he  has  published  his  infidelity,  he  will  prob- 


4 [This  gentleman,  whose  proper  name  Avas 
Charles  Dartiquenave  (pronounced  and  com- 
monly written  Darteneuf),  is  now  only  recollect- 
ed as  a celebrated  epicure  ; but  be  was  a man  of 
wit,  pleasure,  and  political  importance  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  last  century — the  associate  of 
Swift,  Pope,  Addison,  and  Steele — a contributor 
to  the  Tatler,  and  a member  of  the  Kit-Cat  club, 
of  which  collection  his  portrait  is  one  of  the  best. 
He  was  Paymaster  of  the  Board  of  Works,  and 
Surveyor  of  the  royal  gardens  ; and  died  in  1 737. 
It  was  suspected  that  he  wa'  a natural  son  of 
Charles  the  Second,  by  a foreign  lady. — Ed.] 

5 Yet  surely  it  is  a very  useful  work,  and  of 
wonderful  research  and  labour  for  one  man  to 
have  executed. — Boswell. 

6 [Gibbon’s  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman 
Empira. — Ed.] 


38 


1776. — iETAT.  67. 


ably  persist  m it  h”  Boswell.  “ 1 am 
•not  q uite  sure  of  that,  sir.” 

I mentioned  Sir  Richard  Steele  having 
published  his  “ Christian  Hero,”  with  the 
avowed  purpose  of  obliging  himself  to  lead 
a religious  life;  yet  that  his  conduct  was  by 
no  means  strictly  suitable.”  Johnson. 
“ Steele,  I believe,  practised  the  lighter 
vices.” 

Mr.  Warton,  being  engaged,  could  not 
sup  with  us  at  our  inn  ; we  had  therefore 
another  evening  by  ourselves.  I asked 
Johnson  whether  a man’s  being  forward  to 
make  himself  known  to  eminent  people1 2, 
and  seeing  as  much  of  life,  and  getting  as 
much  information  as  he  could  in  every  way, 
was  not  yet  lessening  himself  by  his  forward- 
ness. Johnson.  “No,  sir;  a man  always 
makes  himself  greater  as  he  increases  his 
knowledge.” 

I censured  some  ludicrous  fantastick  dia- 
logues between  two  coach-horses,  and  oth- 
er such  stuff,  which  Baretti  had  lately  pub- 
lished. He  joined  with  me,  and  said,  “ No- 
thing odd  will  do  long.  ‘ Tristram  Shan- 
dy ’ did  not  last.”  I expressed  a desire  to 
be  acquainted  with  a lady  who  had  been 
much  talked  of,  and  universally  celebrated 
for  extraordinary  address  and  insinuation3. 
Johnson.  “ Never  believe  extraordinary 
characters  which  you  hear  of  people.  De- 
pend upon  it,  sir,  they  are  exaggerated. 
Vou  do  not  see  one  man  shoot  a great  deal 
higher  than  another.”  I mentioned  Mr. 
Burke.  Johnson.  “ Yes,  Burke  is  an  ex- 
traordinary man.  His  stream  of  mind  is 

1 [This  sarcasm  probably  alludes  to  the  tender- 
ness with  which  Gibbon’s  malevolence  to  Christi- 
anity afterwards  induced  him  to  treat  Mahometan- 
ism in  his  history  ; and  we  have  seen  that  John- 
son gravely  warned  Miss  Knight  that  one  who 
could  be  converted  to  popery  might  by  an  easy 
progress  become  even  a Mahometan.  Some- 
thing of  this  sort  he  probably  had  in  his  mind  on 
this  occasion. — Ed.] 

2 [This  was  one  of  Mr.  Boswell’s  predominant 
passions — a fortunate  one  for  those  whom  this 
work  amuses,  for  to  it  we  owe  his  having  sought 
the  acquaintance  of  Johnson  ; as  he  had,  about 
the  same  time,  obtained  that  of  Wilkes  : he  was, 
particularly  in  early  life,  fond  of  running  after 
notorieties  of  all  sorts.  See  his  father’s  opinion 
of  this  propensity,  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  458. — Ed.] 

3 [Margaret  Caroline  Rudd,  a woman  who  liv- 
ed with  one  of  the  brothers  Perreau,  who  were 
about  this  time  executed  (17th  Jan.  1776)  for  a 
forgery  her  fame  “ for  extraordinary  address  and 
insinuation”  was  probably  very  unfounded;  it 
arose  from  this:  she  betrayed  her  accomplices; 
and  they,  in  return,  charged  her  with  being  the 
real  authour  of  the  forgery,  and  alleged  that  they 
were  dupes  and  instruments  in  her  hands,  and 
to  support  this  allegation,  they  and  their  friends, 

who  were  numerous  and  respectable,  exaggerated 
to  the  highest  degree  Mrs.  Rudd’s  supposed  pow- 
ers of  address  and  fascination. — Ed.] 


perpetual.”  It  is  very  pleasing  to  me  tty 
record,  that  Johnson’s  high  estimation  of 
the  talents  of  this  gentleman  was  uniform 
from  their  early  acquaintance.  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  informs  me,  that  when  Mr.  Burke 
was  first  elected  a member  of  parliament, 
and  Sir  John  Hawkins  expressed  a wonder 
at  his  attaining  a seat,  Johnson  said,  “ Now 
we  who  know  Mr.  Burke,  know  that  he 
will  be  one  of  the  first  men  in  the  country.” 
And  once,  when  Johnson  was  ill,  and  un- 
able to  exert  himself  as  much  as  usual  with- 
out fatigue,  Mr.  Burke  having  been  men- 
tioned, he  said,  “ That  fellow  calls  forth  all 
my  powers.  Were  I to  see  Burke  now  it 
would  kill  me.”  So  much  was  he  accus- 
tomed to  consider  conversation  as  a contest, 
and  such  was  his  notion  of  Burke  as  an  op 
ponent. 

Next  morning,  Thursday,  21st 'March, 
we  set  out  in  a post-chaise  to  pursue  our 
ramble.  It  was  a delightful  day,  and  we 
rode  through  Blenheim  park.  When  I 
looked  at  the  magnificent  bridge  built  by 
John,  Duke  of  Marlborough,  over  a small 
rivulet,  and  recollected  the  epigram  made  4 
upon  it — 

“ The  lofty  arch  his  high  ambition  shows, 

The  stream  an  emblem  of  his  bounty  flows;  ” 

and  saw  that  now,  by  the  genius  of  Brown, 
a magnificent  body  of  water  was  collected, 
I said,  “ They  have  drowned  the  epigram.” 
I observed  to  him,  while  in  the  midst  of  the 
noble  scene  around  us,  “You  and  I,  sir, 
have,  I think,  seen  together  the  extremes 
of  what  can  be  seen  in  Britain — the  wild 
rough  island  of  Mull,  and  Blenheim  park.” 

We  dined  at  an  excellent  inn  at  Chapel 
house,  where  he  expatiated  on  the  felicity 
of  England  in  its  taverns  and  inns,  and  tri- 
umphed over  the  French  for  not  having,  in 
any  perfection,  the  tavern  life.  “ There  is 
no  private  house  (said  he),  in  which  people 
can  enjoy  themselves  so  well,  as  at  a capi- 
tal tavern.  Let  there  be  ever  so  great 
plenty  of  good  things,  ever  so  much  gran- 
deur, ever  so  much  elegance,  ever  so  much 
desire  that  every  body  should  be  easy;  in 
the  nature  of  things  it  cannot  be:  there 
must  always  be  some  degree  of  care  and 
anxiety.  The  master  of  the  house  is  anx- 
ious to  entertain  his  guests;  the  guests  are 
anxious  to  be  agreeable  to  him;  and  no 
man,  but  a very  impudent  dog  indeed,  can 
as  freely  command  what  is  in  another  man’s 
house,  as  if  it  were  his  own.  Whereas,  at 
a tavern,  there  is  a general  fieedom  from 
anxiety.  You  are  sure  you  are  welcome: 
and  the  more  noise  you  make,  the  more 
trouble  you  give,  the  more  good  things  you 
call  for,  the  welcomer  you  are.  No  ser- 
vants will  attend  you  with  the  alacrity  which 


4 [By  Doctor  Evans. — Ed.J 


1776  -JET AT.  67 


39 


waiters  do,  who  are  incited  by  the  prospect 
jf  an  immediate  reward  in  proportion  as 
they  please.  No,  sir;  there  is  nothing 
which  has  yet  been  contrived  by  man,  by 
which  so  much  happiness  is  produced  as  by 
i good  tavern  or  inn1.”  He  then  repeated, 
with  great  emotion,  Shenstone’s  lines : 

•«  Whoe’er  has  travell’d  life’s  dull  round, 
Where’er  his  stages  may  have  been, 

May  sigh  to  think  he  still  has  found 
The  warmest  welcome  at  an  inn 2.” 

My  illustrious  friend,  I thought,  did  not 
sufficiently  admire  Shenstone.  That  inge- 
nious and  elegant  gentleman’s  opinion  of 
Johnson  appears  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Mr. 
Greaves,  dated  Feb.  9,  1760.  “ I have 

lately  been  reading  one  or  two  volumes  of 
the  Rambler;  who,  excepting  against  some 
few  hardnesses3  in  his  manner,  and  the 
want  of  more  examples  to  enliven,  is  one 
of  the  most  nervous,  most  perspicuous, 
most  concise,  most  harmonious  prose  wri- 
ters I know.  A learned  diction  improves 
by  time.” 

In  the  afternoon,  as  we  were  driven  rap- 
idly along  in  the  post-chaise,  he  said  to  me, 
“Life  has  not  many  things  better  than  this 4.” 
[H-e  loved  indeed  the  very  act  of 
p10^’  travelling,  and  I cannot  tell  how  far 
one  might  have  taken  him  in  a car- 
nage before  he  would  have  wished  for  re- 
freshment. He  was  therefore  in  some 
respects  an  admirable  companion  on  the 
road,  as  he  piqued  himself  upon  feeling  no 
inconvenience,  and  on  despising  no  accom- 

1  Sir  John  Hawkins  has  preserved  very  few 

memorabilia  of  Johnson.  There  is,  however, 
to  be  found  in  his  bulky  tome,  a very  excellent 
one  upon  this  subject.  “ In  contradiction  to  those 
who,  having  a wife  and  children,  prefer  domes- 
dck  enjoyments  to  those  which  a tavern  affords,  I 
have  heard  him  assert,  that  a tavern  chair  ivas 
the  throne  of  human  felicity . ‘ As  soon  (said 

he)  as  I enter  the  door  of  a tavern,  I experience 
an  oblivion  of  care,  and  a freedom  from  solicitude: 
when  I am  seated,  I find  the  master  courteous, 
and  the  servants  obsequious  to  my  call ; anxious 
to  know  and  ready  to  supply  my  wants:  wine 
there  exhilarates  my  spirits,  and  prompts  me  to 
free  conversation  and  an  interchange  of  discourse 
with  those  whom  I most  love:  I dogmatise  and 
am  contradicted,  and  in  this  conflict  of  opinion 
and  sentiments  I find  delight.’  ” — Boswell. 

2 We  happened  to  lie  this  night  at  the  inn  at 
Henley,  where  Shenstone  wrote  these  lines;  which 
I give  as  they  are  found  in  the  corrected  edition 
of  his  works,  published  after  his  death.  In  Dods- 
•ey’s  collection  the  stanza  ran  thus  : 

“ Whoe’er  has  travell’d  life’s  dull  round, 

Whate’er  his  various  tcur  has  been, 

May  sigh  to  think  hoiv  oft  he  found 
His  warmest  welcome  at  an  inn  "—Boswell. 

3 [“  He  too  often  makes  use  of  the  abstract 
tor  the  concrete — Shenstone.] 

4 [See  post,  29th  March. — Ed.] 


modations.  On  the  other  hand,  however, 
he  expected  no  one  else  to  feel  any,  and 
felt  exceedingly  inflamed  with  anger  if  any 
one  complained  of  the  rain,  the  sun,  or  the 
dust.  “ How,”  said  he,  do  other  people 
bear  them?”  As  for  general  uneasiness,  or 
complaints  of  long  confinement  in  a carriage, 
he  considered  all  lamentations  on  their  ac- 
count as  proofs  of  an  empty  head,  and  a 
tongue  desirous  to  talk  without  materials 
of  conversation.  cc  A mill  that  goes  with- 
out grist,”  said  he,  “ is  as  good  a compan- 
ion as  such  creatures.”] 

We  stopped  at  Stratford-upon-Avon,  and 
drank  tea  and  coffee;  and  it  pleased  me  to 
be  with  him  upon  the  classick  ground  of 
Shakspeare’s  native  place. 

He  spoke  slightingly  of  “ Dyer’s  Fleece.” 
“ The  subject,  sir,  cannot  be  made  poetical. 
How  can  a man  write  poetically  of  serges 
and  druggets?  Yet  you  will  hear  many 
people  talk  to  you  gravely  of  that  excellent 
poem,  ‘ The  Fleece.’  ” Having  talked  of 
Grainger’s  “ Sugar-cane,”  I mentioned  to 
him  Mr.  Langton’s  having  told  me,  that 
this  poem,  when  read  in  manuscript  at  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds’s,  had  made  all  the  assem- 
bled wits  burst  into  a laugh,  when,  after 
much  blank  verse  pomp,  the  poet  began  a 
new  paragraph  thus: 

“ Now,  Muse,  let ’s  sing  of  rats .” 

And  what  increased  the  ridicule  was,  that 
one  of  the  company,  who  slyly  overlooked 
the  reader,  perceived  that  the  word  had 
been  originally  mice,  and  had  been  altered 
to  rats , as  more  dignified  5. 

5 [Such  is  this  little  laughable  incident,  which 
has  been  often  related.  Dr.  Percy,  the  Bishop  of 
Dromore,  who  was  an  intimate  friend  of  Dr. 
Grainger,  and  has  a particular  regard  for  his 
memory,  has  communicated  to  me  the  following 
explanation. 

“ The  passage  in  question  was  originally  not 
liable  to  such  a perversion:  for  the  authour  having 
occasion  in  that  part  of  his  work  to  mention  the 
havock  made  by  rats  and  mice,  had  introduced 
the  subject  in  a kind  of  mock-heroick,  and  a par- 
ody of  Homer’s  Battle  of  the  Frogs  and  Mice, 
invoking  the  muse  of  the  old  Grecian  bard  in  an 
elegant  and  well-turned  manner.  In  that  state  I 
had  seen  it  ; but  afterwards,  unknown  to  me  and 
other  friends,  he  had  been  persuaded,  contrary  to 
his  own  better  judgment,  to  alter  it,  so  as  to  pro- 
duce the  unlucky  effect  above  mentioned.  ’ ’ 

The  above  was  written  by  the  bishop  when  he 
had  not  the  poem  itself  to  recur  to;  and  though 
the  account  given  was  true  of  it  at  one  period,  yet, 
as  Dr.  Grainger  afterwards  altered  the  passage 
in  question,  the  remarks  in  the  text  do  not  now 
appiy  to  the  printed  poem. 

The  bishop  gives  this  character  of  Dr.  Grainger: 
“ He  was  not  on)/  * man  of  genius  and  learning, 
but  had  many  excellent  virtues;  being  one.  of 
the  most  generous,  friendly,  and  benevolent  me* 
I «ver  knew.” 


40 


1776. — dETAT.  67. 


This  passage  does  not  appear  in  the 
printed  work,  Dr.  Grainger,  or  some  of  his 
friends,  it  should  seem,  having  become  sen- 
sible that  introducing  even  rats  in  a grave 
poem,  mignt  be  liable  to  banter.  He,  how- 
ever, could  not  bring  himself  to  relinquish 
the  idea;  for  they  are  thus,  in  a still  more 
ludicrous  manner,  periphrastically  exhibited 
in  his  poem  as  it  now  stands: 

“ Nor  with  less  waste  the  whisker’ d vermin  race 

A countless  clan  despoil  the  lowland  cane.” 

Johnson  said,  that  Dr.  Grainger  was  an 
agreeable  man;  a man  who  would  do  any 
good  that  was  in  his  power.  His  transla- 
tion of  Tibullus,  he  thought,  was  very  well 
done;  but  “ The  Sugar-cane,  a Poem,”  did 
not  please  him 1 ; for,  he  exclaimed,  “ What 
could  he  make  of  a sugar-cane?  One 
might  as  weV  write  the  ‘ Parsley-bed,  a 
Poem ; 5 or c The  Cabbage-garden,  a Poem.’  ” 
Boswell.  “ You  must  then  pickle  your 
cabbage  with  the  sal  atticum .”  Johnson. 
“ You  know  there  is  already  c The  Hop- 
garden, a Poem : 5 and  I think,  one  could 
say  a great  deal  about  cabbage.  The  poem 
might  begin  with  the  advantages  of  civilized 
society  over  a rude  state,  exemplified  by 
the  Scotch,  who  had  no  cabbages  till  Oliver 
Cromwell’s  soldiers  introduced  them;  and 
one  might  thus  show  how  arts  are  propagated 
by  conquest,  as  they  were  by  the  Roman 
arms.”  He  seemed  to  be  much  diverted 
with  the  fertility  of  his  own  fancy. 

I told  him,  that  I heard  Dr.  Percy  was 
writing  the  history  of  the  wolf  in  Great  Bri- 
tian.  Johnson.  “ The  wolf,  sir;  why  the 
wolf?  Why  does  he  not  write  of  the  bear, 
which  we  had  formerly?  Nay,  it  is  said 
that  we  had  the  beaver.  Or  why  does  he 
not  write  of  the  gray  rat,  the  Hanover  rat, 
as  it  is  called  because  it  is  said  to  have  come 


1  Dr.  Johnson  said  to  me,  “ Percy,  sir,  was  an- 
gry with  me  for  laughing  at  the  Sugar-cane ; for 
he  had  a mind  to  make  a great  thing  of  Grainger’s 
rats.” — Boswell.  [Miss  Reynolds  thus  gives 

this  anecdote:  “ Johnson’s  reply  to  Dr.  Grainger, 
who  was  reading  his  MS.  poem  of  the  Sugar-cane 
to  him.  will  probably  be  thought  more  excusable 
than  [a  rudeness  to  Dr.  Percy  (see  post,  sub 
1780,  n.)]  When  he  came  to  the  line  ‘Say, 
shall  J sing  of  rats  ? 5 ‘ No  ! ’ cried  Dr.  Johnson, 
with  great  vehemency.  This  he  related  to  me 
himself ; laughing  heartily  at  the  conceit  of  Dr. 
Grainger’s  refractory  muse.  Where  it  happened 
I do  not  know;  but  T am  certain,  very  certain, 
that  it  was  not,  as  Mr.  Boswell  asserts,  at  Sir 
Joshua’s;  for  they  [Sir  Joshua  and  Dr.  G.]  were 
not,  I believe,  personally  known  to  each  other.” 
— Recollections.  The  Editor  prefers  Mr.  Lang- 
ton’s  authority  to  that  of  the  lady,  who  is  clearly 
in  error,  when  she  represents  Boswell  as  saying, 
that  Grainger  read  his  poem  at  Sir  Joshua’s.  He 
only  says,  on  the  authority  of  Mr.  Langton,  that 
it  was  read  there;  probably  by  Dr.  Percy. — Ed.] 


into  this  country  about  the  time  that  the 
family  of  Hanover  came?  I should  like  to 
see  c The  History  of  the  Gray  Rat,  by 
Thomas  Percy,  I).  D.,  chaplain  in  ordina- 
ry to  his  majesty  ” (laughing  immoderate- 
ly). Boswell.  “ I am  afraid  a court 
chaplain  could  not  decently  write  of  the 
gray  rat.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  he  need  not 
give  it  the  name  of  the  Hanover  rat.” 
Thus  could  he  indulge  a luxuriant  sportive 
imagination,  when  talking  of  a friend  whom 
he  loved  and  esteemed  2. 

He  mentioned  to  me  the  singular  history 
of  an  ingenious  acquaintance.  “ He  had 
practised  physick  in  various  situations  with 
no  great  emolument.  A West  India  gen- 
tleman, whom  he  delighted  by  his  conversa 
tion,  gave  him  a bond  for  a handsome  an- 
nuity during  his  life,  on  the  condition  of  his 
accompanying  him  to  the  West  Indies,  and 
living  with  him  there  for  two  years.  He 
accordingly  embarked  with  the  gentleman; 
but  upon  the  voyage  fell  in  love  with  a 
young  woman  who  happened  to  be  one  of 
the  passengers,  and  married  the  wench. 
From  the  imprudence  of  his  disposition  he 
quarrelled  with  the  gentleman,  and  declared 
he  would  have  no  connexion  with  him.  So 
he  forfeited  the  annuity.  He  settled  as  a 
physician  in  one  of  the  Leeward  Islands. 
A man  was  sent  out  to  him  merely  to  com- 
pound his  medicines.  This  fellow  set  up 
as  a rival  to  him  in  his  practice  of  physick. 
and  got  so  much  the  better  of  him  in  the 
opinion  of  the  people  of  the  island,  that  he 
carried  away  all  the  business,  upon  which 
he  returned  to  England,  and  soon  after  died 

On  Friday,  22d  March,  having  set  out 
early  from  Henley,  where  we  had  lain  the 
preceding  night,  we  arrived  at  Birmingham 
about  nine  o’clock,  and  after  breakfast  went 
to  call  on  his  old  schoolfellow,  Mr.  Hector 
A very  stupid  maid,  who  opened  the  door, 
told  us  that  “ her  master  was  gone  out;  he 
was  gone  to  the  country,  she  could  not  tell 
when  he  would  return.”  In  short,  she  gave 
us  a miserable  reception;  and  Johnson  ob- 
served, “ She  would  have  behaved  no  bet- 
ter to  people  who  wanted  him  in  the  way 
of  his  profession.”  He  said  to  her,  “ My 
name  is  Johnson;  tell  him  I called.  Will 
you  remember  the  name?  ” She  answered 
with  rustick  simplicity,  in  the  Warwick- 
shire pronunciation,  “ I don’t  understand 
you,  sir.”  “Blockhead  (said  he),  I’ll 
write.”  I never  heard  the  word  blockhead 
applied  to  a woman  before,  though  I do  not 
see  why  it  should  not,  when  there  is  evi- 
dent occasion  for  it3.  He,  however,  made 

2 This  was  not  the  first  nor  the  last  time  of  h a 
indulging  his  sportive  imagination  at  Percy’s  ex- 
pense; and  it  may  ba  doubted  whether  much 
reliance  can  be  placed  on  Boswell's  good-natured 
assertion,  that  he  loved  and  esteemed  him. — Ed.] 

3 My  worthy  friend  Mr.  L&ngUm,  U t whom  I 


1776.— /ETAT.  67. 


another  attempt  to  make  her  understand 
him,  and  roared  loud  m her  ear, cc  Johnson ,” 
and  then  she  catched  the  sound. 

We  next  called  on  Mr.  Lloyd,  one  of  the 
people  called  quakers.  He  too  was  not  at 
home,  hut  Mrs.  Lloyd  was,  and  received  us 
courteously,  and  asked  us  to  dinner.  John- 
son said  to  me,  “ After  the  uncertainty  of 
all  human  things  at  Hector’s,  this  invitation 
came  very  well.”  We  walked  about  the 
town,  and  he  was  pleased  to  see  it  increas- 
ing. 

I talked  of  legitimation  by  subsequent 
marriage,  which  obtained  in  the  Roman 
law,  and  still  obtains  in  the  law  of  Scot- 
land. JoHNStoN.  “ I think  it  a bad  thing* 1, 
because  the  chastity  of  women  being  of  the 
utmost  importance,  as  all  property  depends 
upon  it,  they  who  forfeit  it  should  not  have 
any  possibility  of  being  restored  to  good 
character;  nor  should  the  children,  by  an 
•illicit  connexion,  attain  the  full  right  of  law- 
ful children,  by  the  posteriour  consent  of 
the  offending  parties.”  His  opinion  upon 
this  subject  deserves  consideration.  Upon 
his  principle  there  may,  at  times,  be  a hard- 
ship, and  seemingly  a strange  one,  upon  in- 
dividuals; but  the  general  good  of  society 
is  better  secured.  And,  after  all,  it  is  unrea- 
sonable in  an  individual  to  repine  that  he 
has  not  the  advantage  of  a state  which  is 
made  different  from  his  own,  by  the  social 
institution  under  which  he  is  born.  A wo- 
man does  not  complain  that  her  brother  who 
is  younger  than  her  gets  their  common  fa- 
ther’s estate.  Why  then  should  a natural 
son  complain  that  a younger  brother,  by 
the  same  parents  lawfully  begotten,  gets  it? 
The  operation  of  law  is  similar  in  both  cases. 
Resides,  an  illegitimate  son,  who  has  a 
younger  legitimate  brother  by  the  same  fa- 
ther and  mother,  has  no  stronger  claim  to 


am  under  innumerable  obligations  in  the  course  of 
my  Johnsonian  History,  has  furnished  me  with  a 
droll  illustration  of  this  question.  An  honest  car- 
oenter,  after  giving  some  anecdote,  in  his  presence, 
of  the  ill  treatment  which  he  had  received  from  a 
clergyman’s  wife,  who  was  a noted  termagant, 
and  whom  he  accused  of  unjust  dealing  in  some 
transaction  with  him,  added,  “ I took  care  to  let 
her  know  what  I thought  of  her.”  And  being 
asked,  “ What  did  you  say  ? ” answered,  “ I told 
her  she  was  a scoundrel.'” — Boswell. 

1 [Is  it  not  surprising  and  disgraceful  that  in  a 
civilized  empire  like  ours,  so  important  a princi- 
ple as  the  state  of  marriage,  which  is  the  founda- 
tion of  our  whole  civil  constitution,  should  be  to 
this  hour  vague,  obscure,  and  contradictory  ? — 
One  law  for  England,  a different  one,  or  rather 
none  at  all,  for  Ireland — and  for  Scotland  the 
monstrous  doctrine  mentioned  in  the  text.  It  is 
to  be  hoped  that  Mr.  Peel,  who  has  done  so  much 
towards  rationalizing  our  law  on  other  subjects, 
will  see  the  necessity  of  doing  something  similar 
on  this  most  important  one. — Ed.] 

VOL.  IT  6 


41 

the  father’s  estate,  than  if  that  legitimate 
brother  had  only  the  same  father,  from 
whom  alone  the  estate  descends. 

Mr.  Lloyd  joined  us  in  the  street;  and  m 
a little  while  we  met  friend  Hector , as  Mr. 
Lloyd  called  him.  It  gave  me  pleasure  to  ob- 
serve the  joy  which  Johnson  and  he  express- 
ed on  seeing  each  other  again.  Mr.  Lloyd 
and  I left  them  together,  while  he  obliging- 
ly showed  me  some  of  the  manufactures  of 
this  very  curious  assemblage  of  artificers. 
We  all  met  at  dinner  at  Mr.  Lloyd’s,  where 
we  were  entertained  with  great  hospitality 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lloyd  had  been  married  the 
same  year  with  their  majesties,  and,  like 
them,  had  been  blessed  with  a numerous 
family  of  fine  children,  their  numbers  being 
exactly  the  same.  Johnson  said,  “ Mar- 
riage is  the  best  state  for  a man  in  general, 
and  every  man  is  a worse  man,  in  propor- 
tion as  he  is  unfit  for  the  married  state.” 

I have  always  loved  the  simplicity  of 
manners,  and  the  spiritual-mindedness,  of 
the  quakers;  and  talking  with  Mr.  Lloyd,  I 
observed,  that  the. essential  part  of  religion 
was  piety,  a devout  intercourse  with  the 
Divinity;  and  that  many  a man  was  a qua 
ker  without  knowing  it. 

As  Dr.  Johnson  had  said  to  me  in  the 
morning,  while  we  walked  together,  that  he 
liked  individuals  among  the  quakers,  but 
not  the  sect;  when  we  were  at  Mr.  Lloyd’s, 
I kept  clear  of  introducing  any  questions 
concerning  the  peculiarities  of  their  faith. 
But  1 having  asked  to  look  at  Baskerville’a 
edition  of  “ Barclay’s  Apology,”  Johnson 
laid  hold  of  it;  and  the  chapter  on  baptism 
happening  to  open,  Johnson  remarked, 
cc  He  says  there  is  neither  precept  nor  prac 
tice  for  baptism  in  the  Scriptures:  that  is 
false.”  Here  he  was  the  aggressor,  by  no 
means  in  a gentle  manner;  and  the  good 
quakers  had  the  advantage  of  him;  for  he 
had  read  negligently,  and  had  not  observed 
that  Barclay  speaks  of  infant  baptism; 
which  they  calmly  made  him  perceive.  Mr. 
Lloyd,  however,  was  in  a great  mistake; 
for  when  insisting  that  the  rite  of  baptism 
by  water  was  to  cease,  when  the  spiritual 
administration  of  Christ  began,  he  main 
tained  that  John  the  Baptist  said,  “ My  bap- 
tism shall  decrease,  but  his  shall  increase.” 
Whereas  the  words  are,  “ He  must  increase, 
but  I must  decrease  b” 

One  of  them  having  objected  to  the  cc  ob- 
servance of  days,  and  months,  and  years,” 
Johnson  answered,  “ The  church  does  not 
superstitiously  observe  days,  merely  as  days, 
but  as  memorials  of  important  facts.  Christ 
mas  might  be  kept  as  well  upon  one  day  of 
the  year  as  another;  but  there  should  be  a 
stated  day  for  commemorating  the  birth  of 
our  Saviour,  because  there  is  danger  that 


2 John,  iii.  30. — Boswell. 


42 


1776. — iETAT  67. 


what  may  be  done  on  any  day  will  be  neg- 
lected.” 

He  said  to  me  at  another  time,  “ Sir,  the 
holidays  observed  by  our  church  are  of 
great  use  in  religion.”  There  can  be  no 
doubt  of  this,  in  a limited  sense,  I mean  if 
the  number  of  such  consecrated  portions  of 
time  be  not  too  extensive.  The  excellent 
Mr.  Nelson’s  “ Festivals  and  Fasts,”  which 
has,  I understand,  the  greatest  sale  of  any 
book  ever  printed  in  England,  except  the 
Bible,  is  a most  valuable  help  to  devotion : 
and  in  addition  to  it  I would  recommend 
two  sermons  on  the  same  subject,  by  Mr. 
Pott,  Archdeacon  of  St.  Alban’s,  equally 
distinguished  for  piety  and  elegance.  I 
am  sorry  to  have  it  to  say,  that  Scotland  is 
the  only  Christian  country,  catholic  or  prot- 
estant,  where  the  great  events  of  our  reli- 
gion are  not  solemnly  commemorated  by  its 
ecclesiastical  establishment,  on  days  set 
apart  for  the  purpose. 

Mr.  Hector  was  so  good  as  to  accompa- 
ny me  to  see  the  great  works  of  Mr.  Boul- 
ton, at  a place  which  he  has  called  Soho, 
about  two  miles  from  Birmingham,  which 
the-  very  ingenious  proprietor  showed  me 
himself  to  the  best  advantage.  I wished 
Johnson  had  been  with  us:  for  it  was  a 
scene  which  I should  have  been  glad  to  con- 
template by  his  light.  The  vastness  and 
the.  contrivance  of  some  of  the  machinery 
would  have  “ matched  his  mighty  mind.” 
I shall  never  forget  Mr.  Boulton’s  expres- 
sion to  me,  “ I sell  here,  sir,  what  all  the 
world  desires  to  have — Power.”  He  had 
about  seven  hundred  people  at  work.  I 
contemplated  him  as  an  iron  chieftain,  and 
he  seemed  to  be  a father  to  his  tribe.  One 
of  them  came  to  him,  complaining  grievous- 
ly of  his  landlord  for  having  distrained  his 
goods.  “ Your  landlord  is  in  the  right, 
Smith  (said  Boulton).  But  I ’ll  tell  you 
what  : find  you  a friend  who  will  lay  down 
one  half  of  your  rent,  and  I ’ll  lay  down  the 
other  half ; and  you  shall  have  your  goods 
again.” 

From  Mr.  Hector  1 now  learnt  many 
particulars  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  early  life, 
which,  with  others  that  he  gave  me  at  dif- 
ferent times  since,  have  contributed  to  the 
formation  of  this  work. 

Dr.  Johnson  said  to  me  in  the  morning, 
“You  will  see,  sir,  at  Mr.  Hector’s,  his 
sister,  Mrs.  Careless,  a clergyman’s  widow. 
She  was  the  first  woman  with  whom  I was 
in  love.  It  dropped  out  of  my  head  imper- 
ceptibly; but  she  and  I shall  always  have  a 
kindness  for  each  other.”  He  laughed  at 
the  notion  that  a man  can  never  be  really 
in  love  but  once,  and  considered  it  as  a 
mere  romantick  fancy. 

On  our  return  from  Mr.  Boulton’s,  Mr. 
Hector  took  me  to  his  house,  where  we 
found  Johnson  sitting  placidly  at  tea,  with 


his  first  love;  who,  tnough  now  adv  anced 
in  years,  was  a genteel  woman,  very  agree 
able  and  well-bred. 

Johnson  lamented  to  Mr.  Hector  the 
state  of  one  of  their  schoolfellows,  Mr 
Charles  Congreve,  a clergyman,  which  he 
thus  described : “ He  obtained,  I believe, 
considerable  preferment  in  Ireland,  but  now 
lives  in  London,  quite  as  a valetudinarian, 
afraitl  to  go  into  any  house  but  his  own. 
He  takes  a short  airing  in  his  post-chaise 
every  day.  He  has  an  elderly  woman, 
whom  he  calls  cousin,  who  lives  with 
him,  and  jogs  his  elbow,  when  his  glass 
has  stood  too  long  empty,  and  encourages 
him  in  drinking,  in  which  he  is  very  willing 
to  be  encouraged ; not  that  he  gets  drunk, 
for  he  is  a very  pious  man,  but  he  is  always 
muddy.  He  confesses  to  one  bottle  of  port 
every  day,  and  he  probably  drinks  more.  He 
is  quite  unsocial;  his  conversation  is  quite 
monosyllabical;  and  when,  at  my  last  visit, 
I asked  him  what  o’clock  it  was  ? that  sig- 
nal of  my  departure  had  so  pleasing  an 
effect  on  him,  that  he  sprung  up  to  look  at 
his  watch,  like  a greyhound  bounding  at  a 
hare.”  When  Johnson  took  leave  of  Mr 
Hector,  he  said,  “ Do  n’t  grow  like  Con 
greve;  nor  let  me  grow  like  him,  when  you 
are  near  me.” 

When  he  again  talked  of  Mrs.  Careless 
to-night,  he  seemed  to  have  had  his  affec- 
tion revived;  for  he  said,  “ If  I had  married 
her,  it  might  have  been  as  happy  for  me.  ” 
Boswell.  cc  Pray,  sir,  do  you  not  suppose 
that  there  are  fifty  women  in  the  world, 
with  any  one  of  whom  a man  may  be  as  hap- 
py, as  with  any  one  woman  in  particular?” 
Johnson.  “ Ay,  sir,  fifty  thousand.”  Bos- 
well. “ Then,  sir,  you  are  not  of  opinion 
with  some  who  imagine  that  certain  men 
and  certain  women  are  made  for  each  other; 
and  that  they  cannot  be  happy  if  they 
miss  their  counterparts.”  Johnson.  “To 
be  sure  not,  sir.  I believe  marriages  would 
in  general  be  as  happy,  and  often  more  so, 
if  they  were  all  made  by  the  lord  chancel- 
lor, upon  a due  consideration  of  the  charac- 
ters and  circumstances,  without  the  parties 
having  any  choice  in  the  matter 

I wished  to  have  staid  at  Birmingham  to- 
night, to  have  talked  more  with  Mr.  Hector; 
but  my  friend  was  impatient  to  reach  his 
native  city;  so  we  drove  on  that  stage  in 
the  dark,  and  were  long  pensive  and  silent. 
When  we  came  within  the  focus  of  the 
Lichfield  lamps,  “ Now,”  said  he,  “we  are 
getting  out  of  a state  of  death1 2.”  We  put 


1 [Yet  see  ante , vol.  i.  p.  269. — Ed.] 

2 [As  extraordinary,  all  these  things  considered, 
as  Mrs.  Mac  Sweyne’s,  of  Col,  never  having 
been  on  the  main  land  of  Scotland,  which  John- 
son called  being  behind  hand  with  life  ! It  is 
amusing,  and  might  be  instructive  (if  prejudice 


776. — J2TAT.  67. 


43 


up  at  the  Three  Crowns,  not  one  of  the 
great  inns,  but  a goo,d  old-fashioned  one, 
which  was  kept  by  Mr.  Wilkins,  and  was 
the  very  next  house  to  that  in  which  John- 
son was  born  and  brought  up,  and  which 
was  still  his  own  property* 1 2.  We  had  a 
comfortable  supper,  and  got  into  high  spir- 
its. I felt  all  my  toryism  glow  in  this  old 
capital  of  Staffordshire.  I could  have 
offered  incense  genio  loci ; and  I indulged 
in  libations  of  that  ale,  which  Boniface,  in 
“ The  Beaux  Stratagem,”  recommends 
with  such  an  eloquent  jollity. 

Next  morning  he  introduced  me  to  Mrs. 
Lucy  Porter,  his  step-daughter.  She  was 
now  an  old  maid,  with  much  simplicity  of 
manner.  She  had  never  been  in  London. 
Her  brother,  a captain  in  the  navy,  had 
left  her  a fortune  of  ten  thousand  pounds; 
about  a third  of  which  she  had  laid  out  in 
building  a stately  house,  and  making  a 
handsome  garden,  in  an  elevated  situation 
m Lichfield.  Johnson,  when  here  by  him- 
self, used  to  live  at  her  house.  She  rever- 
enced him,  and  he  had  a parental  tender- 
ness for  her. 

We  then  visited  Mr.  Peter  Garrick,  who 
had  that  morning  received  a letter  from  his 
brother  David,  announcing  our  coming  to 
Lichfield.  He  was  engaged  to  dinner,  but 
asked  us  to  tea,  and  to  sleep  at  his  house. 
Johnson,  however,  would  not  quit  his  old 
acquaintance  Wilkins  of  the  Three  Crowns. 
The  family  likeness  of  the  Garricks  was 
very  striking;  and  Johnson  thought  that 
David’s  vivacity  was  not  so  peculiar  to 
himself  as  was  supposed.  “Sir,”  said  he, 
“ I do  n’t  know  but  if  Peter  had  cultivated 
all  the  arts  of  gaiety  as  much  as  David  has 
done,  he  might  have  been  as  brisk  and 
lively.  Depend  upon  it,  sir,  vivacity  is 
much  an  art3,  and  depends  greatly  on  hab- 
it.” I believe  there  is  a good  deal  of  truth 
in  this,  notwithstanding  a ludicrous  story 
told  me  by  a lady  abroad,  of  a heavy  Ger- 

were susceptible  of  instruction),  to  observe,  that 
on  this  visit  to  his  native  town,  Johnson  found  his 
own  near  relation  as  much  behind  hand  with 
life  as  the  poor  Hebridean,  and  found  also  oats, 
which  he  had  sneered  at  as  the  food  of  men  in 
Scotland,  to  be  the  food,  also,  of  his  own  fellow 
townsmen. — Ed.] 

1 I went  through  the  house  where  my  illustri- 
rious  friend  was  born,  with  a reverence  with 
which  it  doubtless  will  long  be  visited.  An  en- 
graved view  of  it,  with  the  adjacent  buildings,  is 
in  the  “ Gentleman’s  Magazine  ” for  Feoruary, 
1785. — Boswelu. 

2 [It  appears  that  quite  a contrary  conclusion 
might  be  drawn  from  the  premises;  for  the  liveli- 
ness of  the  Garrick  family  was  obviously  natural 
and  hereditary , and  (except  perhaps  in  degree ) 

independent  of  art  or  habit.  The  family  was  of 
French  extraction,  and  preserved  the  vivacity  of 
their  original  race. — Ed.] 


man  baron,  who  had  lived  much  with  the 
young  English  at  Geneva,  and  was  ambi- 
tious to  be  as  lively  as  they;  with  which 
view,  he,  with  assiduous  exertion,  was 
jumping  over  the  tables  and  chairs  in  his 
lodgings;  and  when  the  people  of  the  house 
ran  in  and  asked,  with  surprise,  what  was 
the  matter,  he  answered,  “ Sh ’ apprens 
Vetre  Jif  ” 

We  dmed  at  our  inn,  and  haa  with  us  a 
Mr.  Jackson3,  one  of  Johnson’s  schoolfel 
lows,  whom  he  treated  with  much  kindness, 
though  he  seemed  to  be  a low  man,  dull 
and  untaught.  He  had  a coarse  gray  coat, 
black  waistcoat,  greasy  leather  breeches, 
and  a yellow  uncurled  wig;  and  his  coun- 
tenance had  the  ruddiness  which  betokens 
one  who  is  in  no  haste  to  “ leave  his  can.” 
He  drank  only  ale.  He  had  tried  to  be  a 
cutler  at  Birmingham,  but  had  not  succeed- 
ed; and  now  he  lived  poorly  at  home,  and 
had  some  scheme  of  dressing  leather  in  a 
better  manner  than  common;  to  his  indis- 
tinct account  of  which,  Dr.  Johnson  listen- 
ed with  patient  attention,  that  he  might  as- 
sist him  with  his  advice.  Here  was  an  in- 
stance of  genuine  humanity  and  real  kind- 
ness in  this  great  man,  who  has  been  most 
unjustly  represented  as  altogether  harsh  and 
destitute  of  tenderness.  A thousand  such 
instances  might  have  been  recorded  in  the 
course  of  his  long  life;  though  that  his  tem- 
per was  warm  and  hasty,  and  his  manner 
often  rough,  cannot  be  denied. 

I saw  here,  for  the  first  time,  oat  ale, 
and  oat-cakes,  not  hard  as  in  Scotland,  but 
soft  like  a Yorkshire  cake,  were  served  at 
breakfast.  It  was  pleasant  to  me  to  find, 
that tc  oats,”  the  “ food  of  horses ,”  were  so 
much  used  as  the  food  of  the  people  in  Dr. 
Johnson’s  own  town.  He  expatiated  in 
praise  of  Lichfield  and  its  inhabitants,  who, 
he  said,  were  “ the  most  sober,  decent  peo- 
ple in  England,  the  genteelestin  proportion 
to  their  wealth,  and  spoke  the  purest  Eng- 
lish.” I doubted  as  to  the  last  article  of 
this  eulogy;  for  they  had  several  provincial 
sounds;  as,  there,  pronounced  like  fear,  in- 
stead of  like /««>;  once  pronounced  woonse, 
instead  of  wunse  or  wonse.  Johnson  him- 
self never  got  entirely  free  of  those  provin- 
cial accents.  Garrick  sometimes  used  to 
take  him  off,  squeezing  a lemon  into  a 
punch-bowl,  with  uncouth  gesticulations, 


3  [This  person’s  name  was  Henry  See  post, 
1st  Sept.  1777.  The  “ scheme  for  dressing 
leather  ” renders  it  probable  that  he  was  related 
to  the  Thomas  Jackson,  mentioned  ante,  vol.  i. 
p.  13,  by  Mr.  Boswell,  as  a servant,  and  by  Mrs. 
Piozzi  as  a workman  (in  truth,  probably,  a 
partner ) of  old  Mr.  Johnson’s,  about  the  time 
when  the  failure  of  some  scheme  for  dressing 
leather  or  parchment  accelerated  his  bankrui  cj 
-Ed.] 


44 


1776  — A2TAT  67. 


looking  round  tne  company,  and  calling 
out, 44  Who ’s  for  poonsh l?  ” 

Very  little  business  appeared  to  be  going 
forward  in  Lichfield.  I found,  however, 
two  strange  manufactures  for  so  inland  a 
place,  sail-cloth  and  streamers  for  ships; 
and  I observed  them  making  some  saddle- 
cloths, and  dressing  sheep-skins:  but  upon 
the  whole,  the  busy  hand  of  industry  seemed 
to  be  quite  slackened.  44  Surely,  sir,”  said 
I,  44  you  are  an  idle  set  of  people.”  44  Sir,” 
said  Johnson,  44  we  are  a city  of  philoso- 
phers; we  work  with  our  heads,  and  make 
the  boobies  of  Birmingham  work  for  us 
with  their  hands.”  There  was  at  this  time 
a company  of  players  performing  at  Lich- 
field. The  manager,  Mr.  Stanton,  sent 
his  compliments,  and  begged  leave  to  wait 
on  Dr.  Johnson.  Johnson  received  him 
very  courteously,  and  he  drank  a glass  of 
wine  with  us.  He  was  a plain,  decent, 
well-behaved  man,  and  expressed  his  grati- 
tude to  Dr  Johnson  for  having  once  got 
him  permission  from  Dr.  Taylor  at  Ash- 
bourne to  play  there  upon  moderate  terms. 
Garrick’s  name  was  soon  introduced.  John- 
son. 44  Garrick’s  conversation  is  gay  and 
grotesque.  It  is  a dish  of  all  sorts,  but  all 
good  things.  There  is  no  solid  meat  in  it: 
there  is  a want  of  sentiment  in  it.  Not  but 
that  he  has  sentiment  sometimes,  and  senti- 
ment too  very  powerful  and  very  pleasing : 
but  it  has  not  its  full  proportion  in  his  con- 
versation.” 

When  we  were  by  ourselves  he  told  me, 
44  Forty  years  ago,  sir,  I was  in  love  with 
an  actress  here,  Mrs.  Emmet,  who  acted 
Flora,  in  4 Hob  in  a Well.’  ” What  merit 
this  lady  had  as  an  actress,  or  what  was 
her  figure,  or  her  manner,  I have  not  been 
informed;  but,  if  we  may  believe  Mr.  Gar- 
rick, his  old  master’s  taste  in  theatrical  merit 
■was  by  no  means  refined;  he  was  not  an 
elegans  for marum  spectator . Garrick  used 
to  tell,  that  Johnson  said,of  an  actor,  who 
played  Sir  Harry  Wildair  at  Lichfield, 
44  There  is  a courtly  vivacity  about  the  fel- 
low; ” when,  in  fact,  according  to  Garrick’s 
account,  44  he  was  the  most  vulgar  ruffian 
that  ever  went  upon  boards .” 

We  had  promised  Mr.  Stanton  to  be  at 
his  theatre  on  Monday.  Dr.  Johnson  jo- 
cularly proposed  to  me  to  write  a prologue 
for  the  occasion:  44  A Prologue,  by  James 
Boswell,  Esq.  from  the  Hebrides.”  I was 


1 Garrick  himself,  like  the  Lichfieldians,  always 
said  shupreme,  shuperior. — Burney.  This  is 
still  the  vulgar  pronunciation  of  Ireland,  where  the 
pronunciation  of  the  English  language  [by  those 
who  have  not  expatriated]  is  doubtless  that  which 
generally  prevailed  in  England  in  the  time  of 
Queen  Elizabeth. — Malone.  [“  Shupreme  ” 
and  “ shuperior  ” are  incorrect;  yet  every  one 
says  “ shure  ” and  “ shugar  ” for  “ sure  ” and 
“ sugar.” — Ed.] 


really  inclined  to  take  the  hint  Methoug  ht 
“ Prologue,  spoken  before  Dr.  Samuel  John 
son,  at  Lichfield,  1776,”  would  have  sound- 
ed as  well  as  44  Prologue,  spoken  before  the 
Duke  of  York  at  Oxford,”  in  Charles  the 
Second’s  time.  Much  might  have  been 
said  of  what  Lichfield  had  done  for  Shaks- 
peare,  by  producing  Johnson  and  Garrick. 
But  I found  he  was  averse  to  it. 

We  went  and  viewed  the  museum  of  Mr. 
Richard  Green,  apothecary  here,  who  told 
me  he  was  proud  of  being  a relation  of  Dr. 
Johnson’s.  It  was,  truly,  a wonderful  col- 
lection, both  of  antiquities  and  natural  cu- 
riosities, and  ingenious  works  of  art.  He 
had  all  the  articles  accurately  arranged,  with 
their  names  upon  labels,  printed  at  his  own 
little  press;  and  on  the  staircase  leading  to 
it  was  a board,  with  the  names  of  contri- 
butors marked  in  gold  letters.  A printed 
catalogue  of  the  collection  was  to  be  had  at 
a bookseller’s.  Johnson  expressed  his  ad- 
miration of  the  activity  and  diligence  and 
good  fortune  of  Mr.  Green,  in  getting  to- 
gether, in  his  situation,  so  great  a variety 
of  things;  and  Mr.  Green  told  me  that 
Johnson  once  said  to  him,  44  Sir,  I should 
as  soon  have  thought  of  building  a man  of 
war,  as  of  collecting  such  a museum.”  Mr. 
Green’s  obliging  alacrity  in  showing  it  was 
very  pleasing.  His  engraved  portrait,  with 
which  he  has  favoured  me,  has  a motto  tru- 
ly characteristical  of  his  disposition, 44  Nemo 
sibi  vivat .” 

A physician  being  mentioned  who  had 
lost  his  practice,  because  his  whimsically 
changing  his  religion  had  made  people  dis- 
trustful of  him,  I maintained  that  this  was 
unreasonable,  as  religion  is  unconnected 
with  medical  skill.  Johnson.  44  Sir,  it  is 
not  unreasonable;  for  when  people  see  a 
man  absurd  in  what  they  understand,  they 
may  conclude  the  same  of  him  in  what  they 
do  not  understand.  If  a physician  were  to 
take  to  eating  of  horse-flesh,  nobody  would 
employ  him;  though  one  may  eat  horse- 
flesh, and  be  a very  skilful  physician.  If  a 
man  were  educated  in  an  absurd  religion, 
his  continuing  to  profess  it  would  not  hurt 
him,  though  his  changing  to  it  would'2.” 

We  drank  tea  and  coffee  at  Mr.  Peter 
Garrick’s,  where  was  Mrs.  Aston,  one  of  the 
maiden  sisters  of  Mrs.  Walmsley,  wife  of 
Johnson’s  first  friend,  and  sister  also  of  the 
lady  of  whom  Johnson  used  to  speak  with 


2 Fothergill,  a quaker,  and  Schomberg,  a jew, 

had  the  greatest  practice  of  any  two  physicians  of 
their  time. — Burney.  [Mr.  D’lsraeli  thinks  it 

possible,  that  Ralph  Schomberg  (the  second  son 
of  Dr.  Meyer  Schomberg),  the  person  mentioned 
by  Dr.  Burney,  was  the  person  alluded  to  in  the 
text.  Ralph  Schomberg  was  driven  from  prac- 
tice and  out  of  society,  for  some  dishonest  tam- 
pering with  the  funds  of  an  hospital,  witu  which 
he  was  connected. — Ed.] 


1776. — JFiTAT  67. 


45 


the  warmest  admiration,  by  the  name  of 
Molly  Aston,  who  was  afterwards  married 
to  Captain  Brodie  of  the  navy. 

On  Sunday,  March  24,  we  breakfasted 
with  Mrs.  Cobb,  a widow  lady,  who  lived 
in  an  agreeable  sequestered  place  close  by 
the  town,  called  the  Friary,  it  having  been 
formerly  a religious  house.  She  and  her 
niece,  Miss  Adey,  were  great  admirers  of 
Dr.  Johnson;  and  he  behaved  to  them  with 
a kindness  and  easy  pleasantry,  such  as  we 
see  between  old  and  intimate  acquaintance. 
He  accompanied  Mrs.  Cobb  to  St.  Mary’s 
Church,  and  I went  to  the  cathedral,  where 
I was  very  much  delighted  with  the  musick, 
finding  it  to  be  peculiarly  solemn,  and  ac- 
cordant with  the  words  of  the  service. 

We  dined  at  Mr.  Peter  Garrick’s,  who 
was  in  a very  lively  humour,  and  verified 
Johnson’s  saying,  that  if  he  had  cultivated 
gaiety  as  much  as  his  brother  David,  he 
might  have  equally  excelled  in  it.  He  was 
to-day  quite  a London  narrator,  telling  us  a 
varietj'-  of  anecdotes  with  that  earnestness 
and  attempt  at  mimickry  which  we  usually 
find  in  the  wits  of  the  metropolis.  Dr. 
Johnson  went  with  me  to  the  cathedral  in 
the  afternoon.  It  was  grand  and  pleasing 
to  contemplate  this  illustrious  writer,  now 
full  of  fame,  worshipping  in  “ the  solemn 
temple  ” of  his  native  city. 

I returned  to  tea  and  coffee  at  Mr.  Peter 
Garrick’s,  and  then  found  Dr.  Johnson  at 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Seward’s,  canon  residen- 
tiary, who  inhabited  the  bishop’s  palace,  in 
which  Mr.  Walmsley  lived,  and  which  had 
been  the  scene  of  many  happy  hours  in 
Johnson’s  early  life.  Mr.  Seward  had, 
with  ecclesiastical  hospitality  and  polite- 
ness, asked  me  in  the  morning,  merely  as  a 
stranger,  to  dine  with  him;  and  in  the  af- 
ternoon, when  I was  introduced  to  him,  he 
asked  Dr.  Johnson  and  me  to  spend  the 
evening,  and  sup  with  him.  He  was  a gen- 
teel, well-bred,  dignified  clergyman,  had 
travelled  with  Lord  Charles  Fitzroy,  uncle 
of  the  present  Duke  of  Grafton,  who  died 
when  abroad,  and  he  had  lived  much  in  the 
great  world.  He  was  an  ingenious  and 
literary  man,  had  published  an  edition  of 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  and  written  verses 
in  Dodsley’s  collection.  His  lady  was  the 
daughter  of  Mr.  Hunter,  Johnson’s  first 
schoolmaster.  And  now,  for  the  first  time, 
I had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  his  celebrated 
daughter,  Miss  Anna  Seward,  to  whom  I 
have  since  been  indebted  for  many  civilities, 
as  well  as  some  obliging  communications 
concerning  Johnson. 

Mr.  Seward  mentioned  to  us  the  obser- 
vations which  he  had  made  upon  the  strata 
of  earth  in  volcanoes,  from  which  it  appear 
ed,  that  they  were^o  very  different  in  depth 
at  different  periods,  that  no  calculation 
whatever  could  be  made  as  to  the  time  re- 


quired for  their  formation.  This  fully  re 
futed  an  antimosaical  remark  introduced  in 
to  Captain  Brydone’s  entertaining  tour  I 
hope  heedlessly,  from  a kind  of  vanity 
which  is  too  common  in  those  who  have 
not  sufficiently  studied  the  most  important 
of  all  subjects.  Dr.  Johnson,  indeed,  had 
said  before,  independent  of  this  observa- 
tion, “ Shall  all  the  accumulated  evidence 
of  the  history  of  the  world — shall  the  au- 
thority of  what  is  unquestionably  the  most 
ancient  writing,  be  overturned  by  an  un- 
certain remark  such  as  this?  ” 

On  Monday,  March  25,  we  breakfasted 
at  Mrs.  Lucy  Porter’s.  Johnson  had  sent 
an  express  to  Dr.  Taylor’s,  acquainting 
him  of  our  being  at  Lichfield,  and  Tayloi 
had  returned  an  answer  that  his  post-chaise 
should  come  for  us  this  day.  While  we  sat 
at  breakfast,  Dr.  Johnson  received  a letter 
by  the  post,  which  seemed  to  agitate  him 
very  much.  When  he  had  read  it,  he  ex- 
claimed, “ One  of  the  most  dreadful  things 
that  has  happened  in  my  time.”  The 
phrase  my  time , like  the  word  age , is  usual- 
ly understood  to  refer  to  an  event  of  a pub- 
lick  or  general  nature.  I imagined  some- 
thing like  an  assassination  of  the  king — 
like  a gunpowder  plot  carried  into  execu- 
tion— or  like  another  fire  of  London.  When 
asked,  “What  is  it,  sir?”  he  answered, 
“ Mr.  Thrale  has  lost  his  only  son ! ” This 
was,  no  doubt,  a very  great  affliction  to  Mr 
and  Mrs.  Thrale,  which  their  friends  would 
consider  accordingly;  but  from  the  manner 
in  which  the  intelligence  of  it  was  commu- 
nicated by  Johnson,  it  appeared  for  the  mo- 
ment to  be  comparatively  small.  I,  how- 
ever, soon  felt  a sincere  concern,  and  was 
curious  to  observe  how  Dr.  Johnson  would 
be  affected.  He  said,  “ This  is  a total  ex- 
tinction to  their  family,  as  much  as  if  they 
were  sold  into  captivity.”  LTpon  my  men- 
tioning that  Mr.  Thrale  had  daughters, 
who  might  inherit  his  wealth:  “Daugh- 
ters,” said  Johnson,  warmly,  “he’ll  no 
more  value  his  daughters  than — ” I was 
going  to  speak.  “ Sir,”  said  he,  “ do  n’  1 
you  know  how  you  yourself  think  ? Sir,  he 
wishes  to  propagate  his  name  ” In  short. 
I saw  male  succession  strong  in  his  mind, 
even  where  there  was  no  name,  no  family 
of  any  long  standing.  I said,  it  was  lucky 
he  was  not  present  when  this  misfortune 
happened.  Johnson.  “ It  is  lucky  for  me 
People  in  distress  never  think  you  fee 
enough.”  Boswell.  “ And,  sir,  they 
will  have  the  hope  of  seeing  you,  which 
will  be  a relief  in  the  mean  time;  and  when 
you  get  to  them,  the  pain  will  be  so  fai 
abated,  that  they  will  be  capable  of  being 
consoled  by  you,  which,  in  the  first  vio- 
lence of  it,  I believe,  would  not  be  the  case.’5 


1 [In  Sicily  and  Malta. — Ed.] 


46 


1776.— AST  AT.  67. 


Johnson.  “ No,  sir;  violent  pain  of  mind, 
like  violent  pain  of  body,  must  be  severely 
felt.”  Boswell.  “ I own,  sir,  I have 
not  so  much  feeling-  for  the  distress  of  oth- 
ers as  some  people  have,  or  pretend  to  have: 
but  I know  this,  that  I would  do  all  in  my 
power  to  relieve  them.”  Johnson.  “Sir, 
it  is  affectation  to  pretend  to  feel  the  dis- 
tress of  others  as  much  as  they  do  them- 
selves. It  is  equally  so,  as  if  one  should 
pretend  to  feel  as  much  pain  while  a friend’s 
leg  is  cutting  off,  as  he  does.  No,  sir;  you 
have  expressed  the  rational  and  just  nature 
of  sympathy.  I would  have  gone  to  the 
extremity  of  the  earth  to  have  preserved 
this  boy.” 

He  was  soon  quite  calm.  The  letter  was 
from  Mr.  Thrale’s  clerk,  and  concluded,  “I 
need  not  say  how  much  they  wish  to  see 
you  in  London.”  He  said,  “ We  shall 
hasten  back  from  Taylor’s.” 

Mrs.  Lucy  Porter  and  some  other  ladies 
of  the  place  talked  a great  deal  of  him  when 
he  was  out  of  the  room,  not  only  with  ven- 
eration but  affection.  It  pleased  me  to  find 
that  he  was  so  much  beloved  in  his  native 
city. 

Mrs.  Aston,  whom  I had  seen  the  pre- 
ceding night,  and  her  sister,  Mrs.  Gastrel,  a 
widow  lady,  had  each  a house,  and  garden, 
and  pleasure-ground,  prettily  situated  upon 
Stowhill,  a gentle  eminence,  adjoining  to 
Lichfield.  Johnson  walked  away  to  dinner 
there,  leaving  me  by  myself  without  any 
apology;  I wondered  at  this  want  of  that 
facility  of  manners,  from  which  a man  has 
no  difficulty  in  carrying  a friend  to  a house 
where  he  is  intimate;  I felt  it  very  unplea- 
sant to  be  thus  left  in  solitude  in  a country 
town,  where  I was  an  entire  stranger,  and 
began  to  think  myself  unkindly  deserted; 
but  I was  soon  relieved,  and  convinced  that 
my  friend,  instead  of  being  deficient  in  de- 
licacy, had  conducted  the  matter  with  per- 
fect propriety,  for  I received  the  following 
note  in  his  handwriting : 

“ Mrs.  Gastrel,  at  the  lower  house  on 
Stowhill,  desires  Mr.  Boswell’s  company  to 
dinner  at  two.” 

I accepted  of  the  invitation,  and  had  here 
another  proof  how  amiable  his  character 
was  in  the  opinion  of  those  who  knew  him 
best.'  I was  not  informed,  till  afterwards, 
that  Mrs.  Gastrel’s  husband  was  the  clergy- 
man who,  while  he  lived  at  Stratford-upon- 
Avon,  where  he  was  proprietor  of  Shaks- 
peare’s  garden,  with  Gothic  barbarity  cut 
down  his  mulberry-tree  *,  and,  as  Dr.  John- 
son told  me,  did  it  to  vex  his  neighbours. 
His  lady,  I have  reason  to  believe,  on  the 

1 See  an  accurate  and  animated  statement  of 
Mr.  Gastrel’s  barbarity,  by  Mr.  Malone,  in  a note 
an  “ Some  Account  of  the  Life  of  William  Shaks- 
leaie,”  prefixed  to  his  admirable  edition  of  that 
wet’s  works,  vol.  i.  p.  118. — Boswell. 


same  authority,  participated  in  the  guilt  of 
what  the  enthusiasts  of  our  immortal  bard 
deem  almost  a species  of  sacrilege. 

After  dinner  Dr.  Johnson  wrote  [the  fol 
lowing]  letter  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  on  the  death 
of  her  son : 

[“  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ Lichfield,  25th  March,  177b\ 

“ Dear  madam, — This  letter  will  Letters 
not,  I hope,  reach  you  many  days  be-  v.  y 
fore  me;  in  a distress  which  can  be  p‘  307, 
so  little  relieved,  nothing  remains  for  a friend 
but  to  come  and  partake  it. 

“Poor,  dear,  sweet,  little  boy!  When 
I read  the  letter  this  day  to  Mrs.  Aston, 
she  said,  c Such  a death  is  the  next  to  trails 
lation.’  Yet,  however  I may  convince 
myself  of  this,  the  tears  are  in  my  eyes,  and 
yet  I could  not  love  him  as  you  loved  him. 
nor  reckon  upon  him  for  a future  comfort  as 
you  and  his  father  reckoned  upon  him. 

“He  is  gone,  and  we  are  going!  We 
could  not  have  enjoyed  him  long,  ahd  shall 
not  long  be  separated  from  him.  He  has 
probably  escaped  many  such  pangs  as  you 
are  now  feeling. 

“ Nothing  remains,  but  that  with  humble 
confidence  we  resign  ourselves  to  Almighty 
Goodness,  and  fall  down,  without,  irreverent 
murmurs,  before  the  Sovereign  Distributor 
of  Good  and  Evil,  with  hope  that  though 
sorrow  endureth  for  a night,  yet  joy  may 
come  in  the  morning. 

“ I have  known  you,  madam,  too  long 
to  think  that  you  want  any  arguments  for 
submission  to  the  Supreme  Will;  nor  can 
my  consolation  have  any  effect,  but  that  of 
showing  that  I wish  to  comfort  you.  What 
can  be  done  you  must  do  for  yourself.  Re- 
member first,  that  your  child  is  happy; 
and  then,  that  he  is  safe,  not  only  from  the 
ills  of  this  world,  but  from  those  more  for- 
midable dangers  which  extend  their  mis- 
chief to  eternity.  You  have  brought  into 
the  world  a rational  being;  have  seen  him 
happy  during  the  little  life  that  has  been 
granted  to  him;  and  can  have  no  doubt  but 
that  his  happiness  is  nowpermanent  and  im 
mutable. 

“ When  you  have  obtained  by  prayer 
such  tranquillity  as  nature  will  admit,  force 
your  attention,  as  you  can,  upon  your  ac- 
customed duties  and  accustomed  entertain- 
ments. You  can  do  no  more  for  our  dear 
boy,  but  you  must  not  therefore  think  lesson 
those  whom  your  attention  may  make  fitter 
for  the  place  to  which  he  is  gone.  I am, 
dearest,  dearest  madam,  your  most  atfec 
tionate  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

I said  this  loss  would  ,be  very  distressing 
to  Thrale,  but  she  would  soon  forget  it,  as 
sne  had  so  many  things  to  think  of.  John- 
son. “ No,  sir,  Thrale  will  forget  it  first. 


1776.— ^ETAT.  67. 


47 


She  has  many  things  that  she  may  think 
of.  He  has  many  things  that  he  must 
think  of.”  This  was  a very  just  remark 
upon  the  different  effects  of  those  light  pur- 
suits which  occupy  a vacant  and  easy  mind, 
and  those  serious  engagements  which  ar- 
rest attention,  and  keep  us  from  brooding 
over  grief. 

He  observed  of  Lord  Bute,  “ It  was  said 
of  Augustus,  that  it  would  have  been  bet- 
ter for  Rome  that  he  had  never  been  born, 
or  had  never  died.  So  it  would  have  been 
better  for  this  nation  if  Lord  Bute  had  nev- 
er been  minister,  or  had  never  resigned.” 

In  the  evening  we  went  to  the  Town- 
hall,  which  was  converted  into  a temporary 
theatre,  and  saw  “ Theodosius,”  with  “ The 
Stratford  Jubilee.”  I was  h-appy  to  see 
Dr.  Johnson  sitting  in  a conspicuous  part 
of  the  pit,  and  receiving  affectionate  hom- 
age from  all  his  acquaintance.  We  were 
quite  gay  and  merry.  I afterwards  men- 
tioned to  him  that  I condemned  myself  for 
being  so,  when  poor  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale 
were  in  such  distress.  Johnson.  “ You 
are  wrong,  sir;  twenty  years  hence  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Thrale  will  not  suffer  much  pain 
from  the  death  of  their  son.  Now,  sir,  you 
are  to  consider,  that  distance  of  place,  as 
well  as  distance  of  time,  operates  upon  the 
human  feelings.  I would  not  have  you  be 
gay  in  the  presence  of  the  distressed,  be- 
cause it  would  shock  them;  but  you  may  be 
gay  at  a distance.  Pain  for  the  loss  of  a 
friend,  or  of  a relation  whom  we  love,  is 
occasioned  by  the  want  which  we  feel.  In 
time  the  vacuity  is  filled  with  something 
else;  or  sometimes  the  vacuity  closes  up  of 
itself.” 

Mr.  Seward  and  Mr.  Pearson1,  another 
clergyman  here,  supped  with  us  at  our  inn, 
and  after  they  left  us,  we  sat  up  late  as  we 
used  to  do  in  London. 

Here  I shall  record  some  fragments  of' 
my  friend’s  conversation  during  this  jaunt. 

“ Marriage,  sir,  is  much  more  necessary 
to  a man  than  to  a woman:  for  he  is  much 
less  able  to  supply  himself  with  domestick 
comforts.  You  will  recollect  my  saying  to 
some  ladies  the  other  day,  that  I had  often 
wondered  why  young  women  should  marry, 
a s they  have  so  much  more  freedom,  and 
so  much  more  attention  paid  to  them  while 
unmarried,  than  when  married.  I indeed 

1  [This  was  the  gentleman  whose  lady  inher- 
ited Miss  Porter’s  property,  and  has  contributed 
so  many  of  her  manuscripts  to  this  edition.  It 
was  to  him  that  Miss  Porter  addressed,  in  the 
presence  of  Dr.  Johnson,  that  two-edged  reproof, 
which  Dr.  Johnson  repeated  to  Mrs.  Piozzi.  Mr. 
Pearson  having  opposed  Miss  Porter  in  some  ar- 
gument, she  was  offended,  and  exclaimed,  “ Mr. 
Pearson,  you  are  just  like  Dr.  Johnson — you  con- 
tradict every  word  one  speaks  ” — Piozzi , o.  172. 

—Ed.] 


did  not  mention  the  sir  one;  l cason  for  their 
marrying — the  mechanical  reason.”  Bos 
well.  “ Why  that  is  a strong  one.  But 
does  not  imagination  make  it  much  more 
important  than  it  is  in  reality?  Is  it  not, 
to  a certain  degree,  a delusion  in  us  as  well 
as  in  women?”  Johnson.  “Why  yes, 
sir;  but  it  is  a delusion  that  is  always  be- 
ginning again.”  Boswell.  “ I do  n’t 
know  but  there  is  upon  the  whole  more 
misery  then  happiness  produced  by  that 
passion.”  Johnson.  “I  don’t  think  so, 
sir.” 

“ Never  speak  of  a man  in  his  own  pres- 
ence. It  is  always  indelicate,  and  may  be 
offensive.” 

“ Questioning  is  not  the  mode  of  conver 
sation2  among  gentlemen.  It  is  assuming 
a superiority,  and  it  is  particularly  wrong 
to  question  a man  concerning  himself 
There  may  be  parts  of  his  former  life  which 
he  may  not  wish  to  be  made  known  to  other 
persons,  or  even  brought  to  his  own  recol- 
lection.” 

“A  man  should  be  careful  never  to  tell 
tales  of  himself  to  his  own  disadvantage. 
People  may  be  amused  and  laugh  at  the 
time,  but  they  will  be  remembered,  and 
brought  out  against  him  upon  some  subse- 
quent occasion.” 

“ Much  may  be  done  if  a man  puts  his 
whole  rmnd  to  a particular  object.  By  do- 
ing so,  Norton3  has  made  himself  the 
great  lawyer  that  he  is  allowed  to  be.” 

I mentioned  an  acquaintance  of  mine,  a 
sectary,  who  was  a very  religious  man,  who 
not  only  attended  regularly  on  publick  wor- 
ship with  those  of  his  communion,  but 
made  a particular  study  of  the  Scriptures, 
and  even  wrote  a commentary  on  some 
parts  of  them,  yet  was  known  to  be  very 
licentious  in  indulging  himself  with  women; 
maintaining  that  men  are  to  be  saved  by 
faith  alone,  and  that  the  Christian  religion 
had  not  prescribed  any  fixed  rule  for  the 
intercourse  between  the  se^s.  Johnson. 
“ Sir,  there  is  no  trusting  to  that  crazy 
piety.” 

1 observed  that  it  was  strange  how  well 
Scotchmen  were  known  to  one  another  in 
their  own  country,  though  born  in  very  dis- 
tant counties;  for  we  do  not  find  that  the 
gentlemen  of  neighbouring  counties  in 
England  are  mutually  known  to  each  other. 

2 [This  very,  just  observation  explains  why  the 
conversation  of  princes,  and  of  those  who  ape 
princes,  consists  of  so  large  a proportion  of  ques- 
tions. The  badauds  of  all  nations  used  to  won 
der  at  Buonaparte’s  active  curiosity  and  desire  of 
knowledge  from  the  multitude  of  his  questions, 
while  in  fact  he  teas  only  “ playing  at  king.” 
—Ed.] 

3 Sir  Fletcher  Norton,  afterwards  speaker  of 
the  house  of  commons,  and  in  1782  created  Bar- 
on Crantly. — Malone. 


48 


1776.— iETAT.  67 


Johnson,  with  his  usual  acuteness,  at  once 
saw  and  explained  the  reason  of  this: 
“ Why,  sir,  you  have  Edinburgh  where 
the  gentlemen  from  all  your  counties  meet, 
and  which  is  not  so  large  but  they  are  all 
known.  There  is  no  such  common  place 
of  collection  in  England,  except  London, 
where  from  its  great  size,  and  diffusion, 
many  of  those  who  reside  in  contiguous 
counties  of  England  may  long  remain  un- 
known to  each  other.” 

On  Tuesday,  March  26,  there  came  for 
us  an  equipage  properly  suited  to  a wealthy 
well-beneficed  clergyman:  Dr.  Taylor’s 
large  roomy  post-chaise,  drawn  by  four 
stout  plump  horses,  and  driven  by  two 
steady  jolly  postilions,  which  conveyed  us 
to  Ashbourne;  where  I found  my  friend’s 
schoolfellow  living  upon  an  establishment 
perfectly  corresponding  with  his  substantial 
creditable  equipage  : his  house,  garden, 

pleasure-ground,  table,  in  short  every  thing 
good,  and  no  scantiness  appearing.  Every 
man  should  form  such  a plan  of  living  as 
he  can  execute  completely.  Let  him  not 
draw  an  outline  wider  than  he  can  fill  up. 
I have  seen  many  skeletons  of  show  and 
magnificence  which  excite  at  once  ridicule 
and  pity.  Dr.  Taylor  had  a good  estate  of 
his  own,  and  good  preferment  in  the  church, 
being  a prebendary  of  Westminster,  and 
rector  of  Bosworth.  He  was  a diligent  jus- 
tice of  the  peace,  and  presided  over  the 
town  of  Ashbourne,  to  the  inhabitants  of 
which  I was  told  he  was  very  liberal;  and  as  a 
roof  of  this  it  was  mentioned  to  me,  he 
ad  the  preceding  winter  distributed  two 
hundred  pounds  among  such  of  them  as 
stood  in  need  of  his  assistance.  He  had 
consequently  a considerable  political  inter- 
est in  the  county  of  Derby,  which  he  em- 
ployed to  support  the  Devonshire  family; 
for  though  the  schoolfellow  and  friend  of 
Johnson,  he  was  a whig.  I could  not  per- 
ceive in  his  character  much  congeniality  of 
any  sort  with  that  of  Johnson,  who,  how- 
ever, said  to  me,  “ Sir,  he  has  a very  strong 
understanding.”  His  size,  and  figure,  and 
countenance,  and  manner,  were  that  of  a 
hearty  English  squire,  with  the  parson  su- 
per-induced: and  I took  particular  notice 
of  his  upper-servant,  Mr.  Peters,  a decent 
grave  man,  in  purple  clothes,  and  a large 
white  whig,  like  the  butler  or  major-domo 
of  a tashop. 

Dr.  Johnson  and  Dr.  Taylor  met  with 
great  cordiality;  and  Johnson  soon  gave 
him  the  same  sad  account  of  their  school-  i 
fellow,  Congreve,  that  he  had  given  to  Mr. 
Hector;  adding  a remark  of  such  moment 
to  the  rational  conduct  of  a man  in  the  de- 
cline of  life,  that  deserves  to  be  imprinted 
upon  every  mind:  “ There  is  nothing 

against  which  an  old  man  should  be  so  much 
upon  his  guard  as  putting  himself  to  nurse.” 


innumerable  have  been  the  melancholy  i n- 
stances  of  men  once  distinguished  for  firm- 
ness, resolution,  and  spirit,  who  in  their  lat 
ter  days  have  been  governed  like  children, 
by  interested  female  artifice. 

Dr.  Taylor  commended  a physician 1 wno 
was  known  to  him  and  Dr.  Johnson,  and 
said,  “ I fight  many  battles  for  him,  as  many 
people  in  the  country  dislike  him.”  John- 
son. “ But  you  should  consider,  sir,  that  by 
every  one  of  your  victories  he  is  a loser;  for 
every  man  of  whom  you  get  the  better  will 
be  very  angry,  and  resolve  not  to  employ 
him;  whereas  if  people  get  the  better  of  you 
in  argument  about  him.,  they  ’ll  think, 
c We  ’ll  send  for  Dr.  [Butter]  neverthe- 
less.’ ” This  was  an  observation  deep  and 
sure  in  human  nature. 

Next  day  we  talked  of  a book  2 3 in  which 
an  eminent  judge  was  arraigned  before  the 
bar  of  the  publick,  as  having  pronounced 
an  unjust  decision  in  a great  cause.  Dr. 
Johnson  maintained  .that  this  publication 
would  not  give  any  uneasiness  to  the  judge. 
“ For,”  said  he,  “ either  he  acted  honestly, 
or  he  meant  to  do  injustice.  If  he  acted 
honestly,  his  own  consciousness  will  pro- 
tect him;  if  he  meant  to  do  injustice,  he 
will  be  glad  to  see  the  man  who  attacks  him 
so  much  vexed.” 

Next  day,  as  Dr.  Johnson  had  acquainted 
Dr.  Taylor  of  the  reason  for  his  returning 
speedily  to  London,  it  was  resolved  that  we 
should  set  out  after  dinner.  A few  of  Dr. 
Taylor’s  neighbours  were  his  guests  that  day. 

Dr.  Johnson  talked  with  approbation  of 
one  who  had  attained  to  the  state  of  the 
philosophical  wise  man,  that  is,  to  have  no 
want  of  any  thing.  “Then,  sir,”  said  I, 
“ the  savage  is  a wise  man.”  “ Sir,”  said 
he,  “ I do  not  mean  simply  being  without, 
— but  not  having  a want.”  I maintained, 
against  this  proposition,  that  it  was  better 
to  have  fine  clothes,  for  instance,  than  not 
to  feel  the  want  of  them.  Johnson. 
“ No,  sir;  fine  clothes  are  good  only  as  they 
supply  the  want  of  other  means  of  procur- 
ing respect.  Was  Charles  the  Twelfth, 
think  you,  less  respected  for  his  coarse  blue 
coat  and  black  stock?  And  you  find  the 
King  of  Prussia  dresses  plain,  because  the 
dignity  of  his  character  is  sufficient.”  I here 
brought  myself  into  a scrape,  for  I heedless- 
ly said,  “ Would  not  you,  sir,  be  the  better 
for  velvet  embroidery  ? ” Johnson.  “Sir, 
you  put  an  end  to  all  argument  when  you  in- 
troduce your  opponent  himself.  Have  you 
nol>etter  manners?  There  is  your  want 

1 [Dr.  Butter,  who  afterwards  came  to  practise 
in  London,  and  attended  Johnson  in  his  last  illness. 
— Ed.] 

2 [Andrew  Stuart’s  * Letters  to  Lord  Mansfield 
on  the  Douglas  Cause.’ — Ed.] 

3 [The  want  seems,  on  this  occasion,  to  have 
been  common  to  both. — Ed.] 


1776. — /El  AT.  67. 


49 


[ apologised  by  saying  I bad  mentioned  him 
as  an  instance  of  one  who  wanted  as  little 
as  any  man  in  the  world,  and  yet,  perhaps, 
might  receive  some  additional  lustre  from 
dress. 

Having  left  Ashbourne  in  the  evening, 
we  stopped  to  change  horses  at  Derby,  and 
availed  ourselves  of  a moment  to  enjoy  the 
conversation  of  my  countryman,  Dr.  But- 
ter, then  physician  there.  He  was  in  great 
indignation  because  Lord  Mountstuart’s 
bill  for  a Scotch  militia  had  been  lost.  Dr. 
Johnson  was  as  violent  against  it.  “ I am 
glad,”  said  he,  “ that  parliament  has  had 
the  spirit  to  throw  it  out.  You  wanted  to 
take  advantage  of  the  timidity  of  our  scoun- 
drels” (meaning,  I suppose,  the  ministry). 
It  may  be  observed,  that  he  used  the  epi- 
thet scoundrel , very  commo(nly,  not  quite 
in  the  sense  in  which  it  is  generally  under- 
stood, but  as  a strong  term  of  disapproba- 
tion as  when  he  abruptly  answered  Mrs. 
Thrale,  who  had  asked  him  how  he  did, 
“Ready  to  become  a scoundrel,  madam; 
with  a little  more  spoiling  you  will,  I think, 
make  me  a complete  rascal2;”  he  meant, 
easy  to  become  a capricious  and  self-indul- 
gent valetudinarian  3;  a character  for  which 
Eo  I have  heard  hi-m  express  great  dis- 
gust; [particularly  when  it  connect- 
ed itself  in  his  mind  with  intellectual  apa- 
thy.] [“  Nothing  more  certainly 
p10^’  offended  Dr.  Johnson  than  the  idea 
of  a man’s  mental  faculties  decaying 
by  time.  ‘ It  is  not  true;  sir,’  would  he 
say : c what  a man  could  once  do,  he  would 
always  do,  unless,  indeed,  by  dint  of  vicious 
indolence,  and*  compliance  with  the  neph- 
ews and  nieces  who  crowd  round  an  old  fel- 
low, and  help  to  tuck  him  in,  till  he,  con- 
tented with  the  exchange  of  fame  for  ease, 
e’en  resolves  to  let  them  set  the  pillows  at 
his  back,  and  gives  no  farther  proof  of  his 
existence  than  just  to  suck  the  jelly  that 
prolongs  it.’  ”] 

Johnson  had  with  him  upon  this  jaunt 
“ II  Palmerijio  d'lnghilterra ,”  a romance 
praised  by  Cervantes ; but  did  not  like  it 
much.  He  said,  he  read  it  for  the  lan- 
guage, by  way  of  preparation  for  his  Ital- 
ian expedition.  We  lay  this  night  at 
Loughborough. 

On  Thursday,  March  28,  we  pursued 
our  journey.  I mentioned  that  old  Mr. 

1 [“  It  is  so  very  difficult,”  he  said,  on  another 
occasion,  to  Mrs.  Piozzi,  “ for  a sick  man  not  to 
be  a scoundrel.”  Ii  may  be  here  observed,  that 
scoundrel  seems  to  have  been  a favourite  word 
of  his.  In  his  Dictionary,  he  defined  knave,  a 
scoundrel;  loon,  a scoundrel;  lout,  a scoundrel; 
; poltroon , a scoundrel;  sneakup,  a scoundrel; 
rascal,  a scoundrel;  and  scoundrel  itself  he  de- 
fines a mean  rascal ; a low  petty  villain. — Ed.] 

2 Anecdotes,  p.  176.  — Boswell. 

3 [See  post,  16th  Sept.  1777. — Ed.] 

vol.  ii.  7 


Sheridan  complained  of  the  ingratitude  of 
Mr.  Wedderburne  and  General  Fraser,  who 
had  been  much  obliged  to  him  when  they 
were  young  Scotchmen  entering  upon  life 
in  England.  Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  a man 
is  very  apt  to  complain  of  the  ingratitude 
of  those  who  have  risen  far  above  him.  A 
man,  when  he  gets  into  a higher  sphere, 
into  other  habits  of  life,  cannot  keep  up  all 
his  former  connexions.  Then,  sir,  those 
who  knew  him  formerly  upon  a level  with 
themselves  may  think  that  they  ought  still 
to  be  treated  as  on  a level,  which  cannot 
be:  and  an  acquaintance  in  a former  situa- 
tion may  bring  out  things  which  it  would 
be  very  disagreeable  to  have  mentioned  be- 
fore higher  company,  though,  perhaps, 
every  body  knows  of  them.”  He  placed 
this  subject  in  a new  light  to  me,  and 
showed,  that  a man  who  has  risen  in  the 
world  must  not  be  condemned  too  harshly, 
for  being  distant  to  former  acquaintance, 
even  though  he  may  have  been  much 
obliged  to  them.  It  is,  no  doubt,  to  be 
wished,  that  a proper  degree  of  attention 
should  be  shown  by  great  men  to  their 
early  friends.  But  if  either  from  obtuse  in- 
sensibility to  difference  of  situation,  or 
presumptuous  forwardness,  which  will  not 
submit  even  to  an  exteriour  observance  of 
it,  the  dignity  of  high  place  cannot  be  pre- 
served; when  they  are  admitted  into  the 
company  of  those  raised  above  the  state  in 
which  they  once  were,  encroachment  must 
be  repelled,  and  the  kinder  feelings  sacri- 
ficed. To  one  of  the  very  fortunate  persons 
whom  I have  mentioned,  namely,  Mr 
Wedderburne,  now  Lord  Loughborough. 
I must  do  the  justice  to  relate,  that  I have 
been  assured  by  another  early  acquaint- 
ance of  hio,  old  Mr.  Macklin,  who  assisted 
in  improving  his  pronunciation,  that  he 
found  him  very  grateful.  Macklin,  I sup 
pose,  had  not  pressed  upon  his  elevation 
with  so  much  eagerness  as  the  gentleman 
who  complained  of  him.  Dr.  Johnson’s 
remark  as  to  the  jealousy  entertained  of  our 
friends  who  rise  far  above  us  is  certainly 
very  just.  By  this  was  withered  the  early 
friendship  between  Charles  Townshend 
and  Akenside4;  and  many  similar  instances 
might  be  adduced 

He  said,  “ It  is  commonly  a weak  man 
who  marries  for  love.”  We  then  talked  of 
marrying  women  of  fortune;  and  I men 
tioned  a common  remark,  that  a man  may 

4 [This  is  no  inappropriate  instance.  Charles 
Townshend — the  nephew  [grandnephew]  of  the 
prime  minister — the  son  [grandson]  of  a peer, 
who  was  secretary  of  state,  and  leader  of  the 
house  of  lords — was  as  much  above  Akenside  in 
their  earliest  days,  as  at  any  subsequent  period: 
nor  was  Akenside  in  rank  inferior  to  Dr.  Brock- 
lesby,  with  whom  Charles  Townshend  continued 
ti  intimate  friendship  to  the  end  of  his  life. — Ed.] 


50 


1776.— ^ETAT.  67 


be,  upon  the  whole,  richer  by  marrying  a 
woman  with  a very  small  portion,  because 
a woman  of  fortune  will  be  proportion  ably 
expensive;  whereas  a woman  who  brings 
none  will  be  very  moderate  in  expenses. 
Johnson.  “ Depend  upon  it,  sir,  this  is 
not  true.  A woman  of  fortune  being  used 
to  the  handling  of  money,  spends  it  judi- 
ciously; but  a woman  who  gets  the  com- 
mand of  money  for  the  first  time  upon  her 
marriage,  has  such  a gust  in  spending  it, 
that  she  throws  it  away  with  great  profu- 
sion.” 

He  praised  the  ladies  of  the  present  age, 
insisting  that  they  were  more  faithful  to 
their  husbands,  and  more  virtuous  in  every 
respect,  than  in  former  times,  because  their 
understandings  were  better  cultivated.  It 
was  an  undoubted  proof  of  his  good  sense 
and  good  disposition,  that  he  was  never 
querulous,  never  prone  to  inveigh  against 
the  present  times,  as  is  so  common  when 
superficial  minds  are  on  the  fret.  On  the 
contrary,  he  was  willing  to  speak  favoura- 
bly of  his  own  age;  and,  indeed  maintain- 
ed its  superiority  in  every  respect,  except  in 
its  reverence  for  government;  the  relaxa- 
tion of  which  he  imputed,  as  its  grand  cause, 
to  the  shock  which  our  monarchy  received 
at  the  revolution,  though  necessary;  and, 
secondly,  to  the  timid  concessions  made  to 
faction  by  successive  administrations  in  the 
reign  of  his  present  majesty.  I am  happy 
to  think,  that  he  lived  to  see  the  crown  at 
last  recover  its  just  influence 

At  Leicester  we  read  in  the  newspaper 
that  Dr.  James  was  dead  l.  I thought  that 
the  death  of  an  old  schoolfellow,  and  one 
with  whom  he  had  lived  a good  deal  in  Lon- 
don, would  have  affected  my  fellow-travel- 
ler much : but  he  only  said,  “ Ah ! poor 
Jamy!”  Afterwards,  however,  when  we 
were  in  the  chaise,  he  said,  with  more  ten- 
derness, “ Since  I set  out  on  this  jaunt,  1 
have  lost  an  old  friend  and  a young  one; — 
Dr.  James,  and  poor  Harry”  (meaning 
Mr.  Thrale’s  son). 

Having  lain  at  St.  Alban’s  on  Thursday, 
March  28,  we  breakfasted  the  next  morn- 
ing at  Barnet.  I expressed  to  him  a weak- 
ness of  mind  which  I could  not  help;  an 
uneasy  apprehension  that  my  wife  and 
children,  who  were  at  a great  distance  from 
me,  might,  perhaps,  be  ill.  “ Sir,”  said  he, 
“ consider  how  foolish  you  would  think  it 
in  them  to  be  apprehensive  that  you  are  ill.” 
This  sudden  turn  relieved  me  for  the  mo- 
ment; but  I afterwards  perceived  it  to  be  an 
ingenious  fallacy2.  I might,  to  be  sure,  be 

1 [Dr.  James  died  23d  March.  1776  — Ed.] 

2 Surely  it  is  no  fallacy,  but  a sound  and  rational 
argument.  He  who  is  perfectly  well,  and  appre- 
hensive concerning  the  state  of  another  at  a dis- 
tance from  him,  knows  to  a certainty  that  the 
fears  of  that  person  concerning  his  health  a»e 


satisfied  that  they  had  no  reason  to  be  ftp 
prehensive  about  me,  because  I knew  that  i 
myself  was  well:  but  we  might  have  a mu- 
tual anxiety,  without  the  charge  of  folly 
because  each  was,  in  some  degree,  uncer- 
tain as  to  the  condition  of  the  other. 

I enjoyed  the  luxury  of  our  approach  to 
London,  that  metropolis  which  we  both  lov 
ed  so  much,  for  the  high  and  varied  intel 
lectual  pleasure  which  it  furnishes.  I ex- 
perienced immediate  happiness  while  whirl 
ed  along  with  such  a companion,  and  sai^ 
to  him,  “ Sir,  you  observed  one  day  at  Gen 
eral  Oglethorpe’s,  that  a man  is  never  happy 
for  the  present,  but  when  he  is  drunk 
Will  you  not  add — or  when  driving  rapidly 
in  a post-chaise?”  Johnson.  “ No,  sir 
you  are  driving  rapidly  from  something,  o' 
to  something.”, 

[Yet  it  was  but  a week  before  (21st  £d 
March)  that  he  had  said  that  “ life  ° 
had  few  things  better  than  driving  rapid iy 
in  a post-chaise 3 4.”  This  is  an  instance  of 
the  justice  of  Mrs.  Piozzi’s  observation,] 
[“  That  it  was  unlucky  for  those  who  piozzi 
delighted  to  echo  Johnson’s  senti-  p-  201 
ments,  that  he  would  not  endure  from  them 
to-day  what  he  had  yesterday , by  his  own 
manner  of  treating  the  subject,  made  them 
fond  of  repeating  V’] 

Talking  of  melancholy,  he  said,  “ Some 
men,  and  very  thinking  men  too,  have  not 
those  vexing  thoughts  5.  Sir  Joshua  Rey 
nolds  is  the  same  all  the  year  round.  Beau 
clerk,  except  when  ill  and  in  pain,  is  the 
same.  But  I believe  most  men  have  them 


imaginary  and  delusive;  and  henfie  has  a rational 
ground  for  supposing  that  his  own  apprehensions, 
concerning  his  absent  wrife  or  friend,  are  equally 

unfounded. — Malone. 

3 [See  also  post , 19th  September,  1777. — 
Ed.] 

4 [See  post,  1st  April,  1781 , a similar  instance. 
Menage  attributes  to  the  celebrated  Duke  de 
Montausier  (the  Misanthrope  of  Moliere)  a like 
disposition,  and  gives  an  amusing  instance. — 
Menagiana,  vol.  iii.  p.  91. — Ed.} 

5 The  phrase  “ vexing  thoughts,”  is,  I think, 
very  expressive.  It  has  been  familiar  to  me 
from  my  childhood;  for  it  is  to  be  found  in  the 

Psalms  in  Metre,”  used  in  the  chucdles  (I  be- 
lieve I should  say  kir ks)  of  Scotland,  Psal.  xhn 
v.  5. 

“ Why  art  thou  then  cast  down,  my  soul ? 

What  should  discourage  thee? 

A nd  why  with  vexing-  thoughts  art  thou 
Disquieted  in  me  ? ” 

Some  allowance  must  no  doubt  be  made  for  early 
prepossession.  But  at  a maturer  period  of  life, 
after  looking  at  various  metrical  versions  of  the 
Psalms,  I am  well  satisfied  that  the  version  used 
in  Scotland  is,  upon  the  whole,  the  best;  and  that 
it  is  vain  to  think  of  having  a better.  It  has  in 
general  a simplicity  and  unction  of  sacred  poesy 
and  in  many  parts  its  transfusion  is  admirable  - 
Boswell. 


1776.— /ETAT.  67. 


dl 


m the  degree  m which  they  are  capable  of 
having  them.  If  I were  in  the  country,  and 
were  distressed  by  that  malady,  I would 
force  myself  to  take  a book;  and  every  time 
I did  it  I should  find  it  the  easier.  Melan- 
choly, indeed,  should  be  diverted  by  every 
means  but  drinking.” 

We  stopped  at  Messieurs  Dillys,  book- 
sellers in  the  Poultry;  from  whence  he  hur- 
ried away,  in  a hackney  coach,  to  Mr. 
Thrale’s  in  the  Borough.  I called  at  his 
house  in  the  evening,  having  promised  to 
acquaint  Mrs.  Williams  of  his  safe  return; 
when,  to  my  surprise,  I found  him  sitting 
with  her  at  tea,  and,  as  I thought,  not  in  a 
very  good  humour:  for,  it  seems,  when  he 
had  got  to  Mr.  Thrale’s  he  found  the  coach 
was  at  the  door  waiting  to  carry  Mrs.  and 
Miss  Thrale,  and  Signor  Baretti,  their  Ital- 
ian master,  to  Bath.  This  was  not  show- 
ing the  attention  1 ivhich  might  have  been 
expected  to  the  “guide,  philosopher,  and 
friend;  ” the  Imlac  who  had  hastened  from 
the  country  to  console  a distressed  mother, 
who,  he  understood,  was  very  anxious  for  his 
return.  They  had,  I found,  without  cere- 
mony, proceeded  on  their  journey.  I was 
glad  to  understand  from  him  that  it  was  still 
resolved  that  his  tour  to  Italy  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Thrale  should  take  place,  of  which  he 
had  entertained  some  doubt,  on  account  of 
the  loss  which  they  had  suffered;  and 
his  doubts  afterwards  appeared  to  be  well 
founded.  He  observed,  indeed  very  just- 
ly, that  “ their  loss  was  an  additional  rea- 
son for  their  going  abroad;  and  if  it  had 
not  been  fixed  that  he  should  have  been  one 
of  the  party,  he  would  force  them  out;  but 
he  would  not  advise  them  unless  his  advice 
was  asked,  lest  they  might  suspect  that  he 
recommended  what  he  wished  on  his  own 
account.”  I was  not  pleased  that  his  inti- 
macy with  Mr.  Thrale’s  family,  though  it 
no  doubt  contributed  much  to  his  comfort 
and  enjoyment,  was  not  without  some  de- 
gree of  restraint:  not,  as  has  been  grossly 
suggested,  that  it  was  required  of  him  as  a 
task  to  talk  for  entertainment  of  them  and 
their  company;  but  that  he  was  not  quite 
at  his  ease;  which,  however,  might  partly 
be  owing  to  his  own  honest  pride — that  dig- 
nity of  mind  which  is  always  jealous  of  ap- 
pearing too  compliant. 

On  Sunday,  March  31,  I called  on  him 
and  showed  him  as  a curiosity  which  l had 

1 [How  so  ? The  journey  must  have  been  set- 
tled for  some  days,  and,  under  the  melancholy 
circumstances  in  which  it  was  arranged,  it  would 
surely  have  been  strange  if  Dr.  Johnson’s  sudden 
appearance  had  interrupted  it.  Baretti,  on  the 
other  hand,  with  more  appearance  of  justice,  com- 
plained that  Johnson  had  not  offered  to  accompa- 
ny “ the  distressed  mother,”  instead  of  himself, 
who  went,  he  tells  us,  becauso  no  one  else  would 
go — Er.] 


discovered,  his  “ Translation  ofLobo’s  Ac- 
count of  Abyssinia,”  which  Sir  John  Prin- 
gle had  lent  me,  it  being  then  little  known 
as  one  of  his  works.  He  said,  “ Take  no 
notice  of  it,”  or  Do  n’t  talk  of  it.”  He  seem- 
ed to  think  it  beneath  him,  though  done  at 
six-and-twenty.  I said  to  him,  “Your 
style,  sir,  is  much  improved  since  you  trans- 
lated this.”  He  answered,  with  a sort  of 
triumphant  smile,  “ Sir,  I hope  n is.” 

On  Wednesday,  April  3,  in  the  morning, 
I found  him  very  busy  putting  his  books 
in  order,  and,  as  they  were  generally  very 
old  ones,  clouds  of  dust  were  flying  around 
him.  He  had  on  a pair  of  large  gloves,  such 
as  hedgers  use.  His  present  appearance 
put  me  in  mind  of  my  uncle  Dr.  Boswell’s 
description  of  him,  “ A robust  genius,  born 
to  grapple  with  whole  libraries.” 

I gave  him  an  account  of  a conversation 
which  had  passed  between  me  and  Captain 
Cook,  the  day  before,  at  dinner  at  Sir  John 
Pringle’s;  and  he  was  much  pleased  with 
the  conscientious  accuracy  of  that  celebrated 
circumnavigator,  who  set  me  right  as  to 
many  of  the  exaggerated  accounts  given  by 
Dr.  Hawkesworth  of  his  Voyages.  I told 
him  that  while  I was  with  the  captain  I 
catched  the  enthusiasm  of  curiosity  and  ad- 
venture, and  felt  a strong  inclination  to  go 
with  him  on  his  next  voyage.  Johnson.. 
“ Why,  sir,  a man  does  feel  so,  till  he  con- 
siders how  very  little  he  can  learn  fronr 
such  voyages.”  Boswell.  “But  one  i 
carried  away  with  the  general,  grand,  ar  , 
indistinct  notion  of  a voyage  round  tii 
world.”  Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir,  but  a 
man  is  to  guard  himself  against  taking  a. 
thing  in  general.”  I said  I was  certain 
that  a great  part  of  what  we  are  told  by  the 
travellers  to  the  South  Sea  must  be  conjec- 
ture, because  they  had  not  enough  of  the 
language  of  those  countries  to  understand 
so  much  as  they  have  related.  Objects; 
falling  under  the  observation  of  the  senses 
might  be  clearly  known;  but  every  thing 
intellectual,  everything  abstract — politicks, 
morals,  and  religion,  must  be  d arkly  guessed. 
Dr.  Johnson  was  of  the  same  opinion.  He, 
upon  another  occasion,  when  a friend  men- 
tioned to  him  several  extraordinary  facts, 
as  communicated  to  him  by  the  circumnav- 
igators, slily  observed,  “ Sir,  I never  before 
knew  how  much  I was  respected  by  these 
gentlt^nen;  they  told  me  none  of  these 
things.” 

He  had  been  in  company  with  Oinai,  a 
native  of  one  of  the  South  Sea  Islands, 
after  he  had  been  some  time  in  this  country. 
He  was  struck  with  the  elegance  of  his  be 
haviour,  and  accounted  for  it  thus:  “Sir, 
he  had  passed  his  time,  while  in  England, 
only  in  the  best  company;  so  that  all  that 
he  had  acquired  of  our  manners  was  genteel. 
As  a proof  of  this,  sir.  Lord  Mulgrave  and 


62 


1776. — iETAT  67. 


he  Qined  one  day  at  Streatham;  they  sat 
with  thei  r backs  to  the  light  fronting  me, 
so  that  I could  not  see  distinctly;  and  there 
was  so  little  of  the  savage  in  Omai,  that  I 
was  afraid  to  speak  to  either,  lest  I should 
mistake  one  for  the  other 

We  agreed  to  dine  to-day  at  the  Mitre 
tavern,  after  the  rising  of  the  House  of 
Lords,  where  a branch  of  the  litigation  con- 
cerning the  Douglas  estate,  in  which  I was 
one  of  the  counsel,  was  to  come  on.  T 
brought  with  me  Mr.  Murray,  solicitor-gen- 
eral of  Scotland,  now  one  of  the  judges  of 
the  court  of  session,  with  the  title  of  Lord 
Henderland.  I mentioned  Mr.  Solicitor’s 
relation,  Lord  Charles  Hay2, with  whom  I 
knew  Dr.  Johnson  had  been  acquainted. 
Johnson.  “ I wrote  something  for  Lord 
Charles3,  and  I thought  he  had  nothing  to 
fear  from  a court-martial.  I suffered  a 
great  loss  when  he  died;  he  was  a mighty 
pleasing  man  in  conversation,  and  a reading 
man.  The  character  of  a soldier  is  high. 
They  who  stand  forth  the  foremost  in  dan- 
ger, for  the  community,  have  the  respect 
of  mankind.  An  officer  is  much  more  re- 
spected than  any  other  man  who  has  little 
money.  In  a commercial  country,  money 
will  always  purchase  respect.  But  you  find, 
an  officer,  who  has,  properly  speaking,  no 
money,  is  every  where  well  received  and 
treated  with  attention.  The  character  of 
a soldier  always  stands  him  in  stead.” 
Boswell.  “ Yet,  sir,  I think  that  common 
soldiers  are  worse  thought  of  than  other 
men  in  the  same  rank  of  life;  such  as  la- 
bourers.” Johnson.  “Why,  sir,  a com- 
mon soldier  is  usually  a very  gross  man, 
and  any  quality  which  procures  respect  may 
be  overwhelmed  by  grossness.  A man  of 
learning  may  be  so  vicious  or  so  ridiculous 
that  you  cannot  respect  him.  A common 


1 [This  might  perhaps  have  been  more  justly 
attributed  to  the  defect  of  his  sight  (see  ante,  p. 
18,  n.)  than  to  any  resemblance  between  Omai 
and  Lord  Mulgrave. — Ed.] 

2 [Third  son  of  the  third  Marquis  of  Tweedale. 
He  was  an  officer  in  the  army,  and  distinguished 
himself  at  the  battle  of  Fonter.oy;  where  he  is  said 
to  have  been  the  officer  who  invited  the  French 
guards  to  fire.  He  was  afterwards  third  in  com- 
mand under  Lord  Loudon  and  General  Hopson,  in 
an  expedition  against  Canada;  but  expressing  him- 
self with  some  violence  against  the  tardiness  of  his 
superiors,  he  was,  on  the  31st  July,  1757,  put  un- 
der arrest  and  sent  to  England,  to  be  tried  by  a 
court-martial,  which,  however,  did  not  assemble 
till  Feb.  1760;  but  Lord  Charles  died  on  the  1st 
of  May  following,  before  the  sentence  was  pro- 
mulgated.— Ed.] 

0 [The  editor,  by  the  kindness  of  his  friend  Sir 
John  Beckett,  now  judge-advocate  general,  has 
looked  over  the  original  minutes  of  this  court-mar- 
tial, but  linds  nothing  that  can  be  supposed  to  have 
been  written  by  Johnson  -Err.] 


soldier,  too,  generally  eats  more  than  he  can 
pay  for.  But  when  a common  soldier  is 
civil  in  his  quarters,  his  red  coat  procures 
him  a degree  of  respect.”  The  peculiar 
respect  paid  to  the  military  character  in 
France  was  mentioned.  Boswell.  “I 
should  think  that  where  military  men  are 
so  numerous,  they  would  be  less  valuable 
as  not  being  rare.”  Johnson.  “ Nay, 
sir,  wherever  a particular  character  or  pro- 
fession is  high  in  the  estimation  of  a people, 
those  who  are  of  it  will  be  valued  above 
other  men.  We  value  an  Englishman 
high  in  this  country,  and  yet  Englishmen 
are  not  rare  in  it.” 

Mr.  Murray  praised  the  ancient  philoso- 
phers for  the  candour  and  good  humour 
with  v/hich  those  of  different  sects  disputed 
with  each  other.  Johnson.  “ Sir,  they 
disputed  with  good  humour,  because  they 
were  not  in  earnest  as  to  religion.  Had 
the  ancients  been  serious  in  their  belief,  we 
should  not  have  had  their  gods  exhibited  in 
the  manner  we  find  them  represented  in  the 
poets.  The  people  would  not  have  suffered 
it.  They  disputed  with  good  humour  upon 
then*  fanciful  theories,  because  they  were 
not  interested  in  the  truth  of  them:  when 
a man  has  nothing  to  lose,  he  may  be  in 
good  humour  with  his  opponent.  Accord 
ingly  you  see,  in  Lucian,  the  Epicurean, 
who  argues  only  negatively,  keeps  his  tern 
per;  the  Stoick,  who  has  something  posi 
tive  to  preserve,  grows  angry  4.  Being  an 
gry  with  one  who  controverts  an  opinion 
which  you  value,  is  a necessary  conse 
quence  of  the  uneasiness  which  you  feel 
Every  man  who  attacks  my  belief,  dimin 
ishes  in  some  degree  my  confidence  in  it, 
and  therefore  makes  me  uneasy;  and  I am 
angry  with  him  who  makes  me  uneasy. 
Those  only  who  believed  in  revelation  have 
been  angry  at  having  their  faith  called  in 
question;  because  they  onty  had  something 
upon  which  they  could  rest  as  matter  of 
fact.”  Murrxy.  “It  seems  to  me  that 
we  are  not  angry  at  a man  for  controvert- 
ing an  op;n:on  which  we  believe  and  value; 
we  rather  pity  him.”  Johnson.  “ Why, 
sir,  to  be  sure,  when  you  wish  a man  to 
have  that  belief  which  you  think  is  of  infi- 
nite advantage,  you  wish  well  to  him;  but 
your  primary  consideration  is  your  own 
quiet.  If  a madman  were  to  come  into  this 
room  with  a sfick  in  his  hand,  no  doubt  we 
should  pity  the  state  of  his  mind;  but  our 
primary  consideration  would  be  to  take 
care  of  ourselves.  We  should  knock  him 

4 He  alluded  probably  to  the  pleadings  for  and 
against  Pleasure  in  Lucian’s  Dicasteria,  where 
the  Stoick,  being  defeated  by  Epicurus  in  the  court 
below,  appeals  to  Jupiter,  but  there  seems  no 
loss  of  temper.  See  Lucian,  ed.  1615,  p.  756. 
Perhaps  the  squabble  between  the  disputants  aJ 
the  end  of  Jupiter  the  Tragic  was  meant. — Ed.] 


1776.— .ET AT.  67. 


55 


down  first,  and  pity  him  afterwards.  No, 
sir,  every  man  will  dispute  with  great  good 
humour  upon  a subject  in  which  he  is  not 
interested.  I will  dispute  very  calmly  upon 
the  probability  of  another  man’s  son  being 
hanged;  but  if  a man  zealously  enforces 
the  probability  that  my  own  son  will  be 
hanged,  I shall  certainly  not  be  in  a very 
good  humour  with  him.”  I added  this  il- 
lustration, “ If  a man  endeavours  to  convince 
me  that  my  wife,  whom  I love  very  much, 
and  in  whom  I place  great  confidence,  is  a 
disagreeable  woman,  and  is  even  unfaithful 
to  me,  I shall  be  very  angry,  for  he  is  put- 
ting me  in  fear  of  being  unhappy.”  Mur- 
ray. “ But,  sir,  truth  will  always  bear  an 
examination.”  Johnson.  “Yes,  sir,  but 
it  is  painful  to  be  forced  to  defend  it.  Con- 
sider, sir,  how  should  you  like,  though 
conscious  of  your  innocence,  to  be  tried  be- 
fore a jury  for  a capital  crime,  once  a week.” 

We  talked  of  education  at  great  schools; 
the  advantages  and  disadvantages  of  which 
Johnson  displayed  in  a luminous  manner; 
but  his  arguments  preponderated  so  much 
in  favour  of  the  benefit  which  a boy  of  good 
parts  might  receive  at  one  of  them  *,  that  I 
have  reason  to  believe  Mr.  Murray  was 
very  much  influenced  by  what  he  had  heard 
to-day  in  his  determination  to  send  his  own 
son  to  Westminster  school.  I have  acted 
m the  same  manner  with  regard  to  my  own 
two  sons;  having  placed  the  eldest  at  Eton, 
and  the  second  at  Westminster.  I cannot 
say  which  is  best.  But  in  justice  to  both 
those  noble  seminaries,  I with  high  satisfac- 

1 [A  peculiar  advantage  of  an  education  in  our 
public  schools,  was  stated  in  one  of  his  parliamen- 
tary speeches  by  the  late  Mr.  Canning — himself  a 
great  authority  and  example  on  such  a subject. 
“ Foreigners  often  ask,  ‘ By  what  means  an  un- 
interrupted succession  of  men,  qualified  more  or 
less  eminently  for  the  performance  of  united  par- 
liamentary and  official  duties,  is  secured  ? ’ First, 
I answer  (with  the  prejudices  perhaps  of  Eton  and 
Oxford),  that  we  owe  it  to  our  system  of  public 
schools  and  universities.  From  these  institutions 
is  derived  (in  the  language  of  the  prayer  of  our 
collegiate  churches)  ‘ a due  supply  of  men 
fitted  to  serve  their  country  both  in  church  and 
state.'  It  is  in  her  public  schools  and  universi- 
ties that  the  youth  of  England  are,  by  a discipline 
which  shallow  judgments  have  sometimes  attempt- 
ed to  undervalue,  prepared  for  the  duties  of  pub- 
lick  life.  They  are  rare  and  splendid  exceptions, 
to  be  sure;  but  in  my  conscience  I believe,  that 
England  would  not  be  what  she  is  without  her 
system  of  public  education,  and  that  no  other 
country  can  become  what  England  is  without  the 
advantages  of  such  a system.”  Such  was  also 
Mr.  Gibbon’s  opinion.  “ I shall  always  be  ready 
So  join  in  the  public  opinion,  that  our  public 
ichools,  which  have  produced  so  many  eminent 
characters,  are  the  best  adapted  to  the  genius  and 
constitution  of  the  English  people.” — Memoirs. 
Mis.  Works,  vol.  i.  p.  37. — Ed.] 


tion  declare,  that  my  boys  ha^e  derived 
from  them  a great  deal  of  good,  and  no  evil , 
and  I trust,  they  will,  like  Horace,  be  grate- 
ful to  their  father  for  giving  them  so  valua- 
ble an  education. 

I introduced  the  topick,  which  is  often 
ignorantly  urged,  that  the  universities  of 
England  are  too  rich  2;  so  that  learning  does 
not  flourish  in  them  as  it  would  do,  if  those 
who  teach  had  smaller  salaries,  and  depend- 
ed on  their  assiduity  for  a great  part  of 
their  income.  Johnson.  “ Sir,  the  very 
reverse  of  this  is  the  truth;  the  English  uni- 
versities are  not  rich  enough.  Our  fellow- 
ships are  only  sufficient  to  support  a man 
during  his  studies  to  fit  him  for  the  world, 
and  accordingly  in  general  they  are  held  no 
longer  than  till  an  opportunity  offers  of  get- 
ting away.  Now  and  then,  perhaps,  there 
is  a fellow  who  grows  old  in  his  college; 
but  this  is  against  his  will,  unless  he  be  a 
man  very  indolent  indeed.  A hundred  a 
year  is  reckoned  a good  fellowship,  and 
that  is  no  more  than  is  neuessary  to  keep  a 
man  decently  as  a scholar.  We  do  not  al- 
low our  fellows  to  marry,  because  we  con- 
sider academical  institutions  as  preparatory 
to  a settlement  in  the  world.  It  is  only  by 
being  employed  as  a tutor,  that  a fellow  can 
obtain  any  thing  more  than  a livelihood. 
To  be  sure,  a man  who  has  enough  without 
teaching  will  probably  not  teach;  for  we 
would  all  be  idle  if  we  could.  In  the  same 
manner,  a man  who  is  to  get  nothing  by 
teaching  will  not  exert  himself.  Gresham 
college  was  intended  as  a place  of  instruc- 
tion for  IiOndon;  able  professors  were  to 
read  lectures  gratis;  they  contrived  to  have 
no  scholars;  whereas,  if  they  had  been  al- 
lowed to  receive  but  sixpence  a lecture  from 
each  scholar,  they  would  have  been  emu- 
lous to  have  had  many  scholars.  Every 
body  will  agree  that  it  should  be  the  inte- 
rest of  those  who  teach  to  have  scholars; 
and  this  is  the  case  in  our  universities. 
That  they  are  too  rich  is  certainly  not  true; 
for  they  have  nothing  good  enough  to  keep  a 
man  of  eminent  learning  with  them  for  his 
life.  In  the  foreign  universities  a professor 
ship  is  a high  thing.  It  is  as  much  almost  as  a 
man  can  make  by  his  learning:  and  there- 
fore we  find  the  most  learned  men  abroad 
are  in  the  universities.  It  is  not  so  with  us. 
Our  universities  are  impoverished  of  learn- 
ing, by  the  penury  of  their  pro/isions.  I 
wish  there  were  many  places  of  a thousand 
a year  at  Oxford,  to  keep  first  rate  men  of 
learning  from  quitting  the  university.” 
Undoubtedly  if  this  were  the  case,  literature 


2 Dr.  Adam  Smith,  who  was  for  some  time  a 
professor  in  the  university  of  Glasgow,  has  utter- 
ed, in  his  “ Wealth  of  Nations,”  some  reflections 
upon  this  subject  which  are  certainly  not  well 
founded,  and  seem  to  be  invidious. — Boswell.. 


64 


1776. — iETAT.  67. 


•vouVd  have  a still  greater  dignity  and  splen- 
aour  at  Oxford,  and  there  would  be  grander 
living  sources  of  instruction. 

I mentioned  Mr.  Maclaurin’s  uneasiness 
on  account  of  a degree  of  ridicule  carelessly 
thrown  on  his  deceased  father,  in  Gold- 
smith’s “ History  of  Animated  Nature,”  in 
which  that  celebrated  mathematician  is  re- 
presented as  being  subject  to  fits  of  yawning 
so  violent  as  to  render  him  incapable  of  pro- 
ceeding in  his  lecture;  a story  altogether 
unfounded,  but  for  the  publication  of  which 
the  law  would  give  no  reparation  1 2.  This 
led  us  to  agitate  the  question,  whether  le- 
gal redress  could  be  obtained,  even  when  a 
man’s  deceased  relation  was  calumniated  in 
a publication.  Mr.  Murray  maintained 
there  should  be  reparation,  unless  the  au- 
thour  could  justify  himself  by  proving  the 
fact.  .Johnson.  “ Sir,  it  is  of  so  much 
more  consequence  that  truth  should  be  told, 
than  that  individuals  should  not  be  made 
uneasy,  that  it  is  much  better  that  the  law 
does  nol  restrain  writing  freely  concerning 
the  characters  of  the  dead.  Damages  will 
be  given  to  a man  who  js  calumniated  in 
his  lifetime,  because  he  may  be  hurt  in  his 
worldly  interests,  or  at  least  hurt  in  his 
mind:  but  the  law  does  not  regard  that  un- 
easiness which  a man  feels  on  having  his 
ancestor  calumniated.  That  is  too  nice. 
Let  him  deny  what  is  said,  and  let  the  mat- 
ter have  a fair  chance  by  discussion.  But 
if  a man  could  say  nothing  against  a charac- 
ter but  what  he  can  prove,  history  could 
not  be  written;  for  a great  deal  is  known 
of  men  of  which  proof  cannot  be  brought. 
A minister  may  be  notoriously  known  to 
take  bribes,  and  yet  you  may  not  be  able  to 
prove  it.”  Mr.  Murray  suggested  that  the 
authour  should  be  obliged  to  show  some 
sort  of  evidence,  though  he  would  not  re- 
quire a strict  legal  proof : but  Johnson  firm- 
ly and  resolutely  opposed  any  restraint 
whatever,  as  adverse  to  a free  investigation 
of  the  characters  of  mankind3. 


1 Dr.  Goldsmith  was  dead  before  Mr.  Maclau- 
rin  discovered  the  ludicrous  errour.  But  Mr. 
TSourse,  the  bookseller,  who  was  the  proprietor  of 
the  work,  upon  being  applied  to  by  Sir  John 
Pringle,  agreed  very  handsomely  to  have  the  leaf 
on  which  it  was  contained  cancelled,  and  reprint- 
ed without  it,  at  his  own  expense. — Boswell. 

2 What  Dr.  Johnson  has  here  said  is  undoubt- 

edly good  sense;  yet  I am  afraid  that  law,  though 
defined  by  Lord  Coke  “The  perfection  of  rea- 
son,” is  not  altogether  with  him  ; for  it  is  held 
in  the  books,  that  an  attack  on  the  reputation 
even  of  a dead  man  may  be  punished  as  a libel 
because  tending  to  a breach  of  the  peace.  There 
is,  however,  1 believe,  no  modern  decided  case 
to  that  efl'ect.  In  the  King’s  Bench,  Trinity 
term,  17  90,  the  question  occurred  on  occasion  of 
an  indictment,  the  King  v.  Topham , who,  as  a 
proprietor  of  a newspaper  entitled  “ The  World.” 


On  Thursday,  4th  Aj  ril,  having  called  on 
Dr.  Johnson,  I said,  it  was  a pity  that  truth 
was  not  so  firm  as  to  bid  defiance  to  all  at 
tacks,  so  that  it  might  be  shot  at  as  much 
as  people  chose  to  attempt,  and  yet  remain 
unhurt.  Johnson.  “ Then,  sir,  it  would 
not  be  shot  at.  Nobody  attempts  to  dis~ 

was  found  guilty  of  a libel  against  Earl  Cowper, 
deceased,  because  certain  injurious  charges  against 
his  lordship  were  published  in  that  paper.  An 
arrest  of  judgment  having  been  moved  for,  the 
case  was  afterwards  solemnly  argued.  My  friend 
Mr.  Const,  whom  I delight  in  having  an  opportu- 
nity to  praise,  not  only  for  his  abilities  but  his 
manners — a gentleman  whose  ancient  German 
blood  has  been  mellowed  in  England,  and  who 
may  be  truly  said  to  unite  the  baron  and  the  bar- 
rister, was  one  of  the  counsel  for  Mr.  Topham. 
He  displayed  much  learning  and  ingenuity  upon 
the  general  question;  which,  however,  was  not 
decided,  as  the  court  granted  an  arrest  chiefly  on 
the  informality  of  the  indictment.  No  man  has  a 
higher  reverence  for  the  law  of  England  than  I 
have;  but  with  all  deference  I cannot  help  think- 
ing, that  prosecution  by  indictment,  if  a defendant 
is  never  to  be  allowed  to  justify,  must  often  be 
very  oppressive,  unless  juries,  whom  I am  more 
and  more  confirmed  in  holding  to  be  judges  of  law 
as  well  as  of  fact,  reso'iutely  interpose.  Of  late 
an  act  of  parliament  has  passed  declaratory  of  their 
full  right  to  one  as  well  as  the  other,  in  matter  of 
libel;  and  the  bill  having  been  brought  in  by  a 
popular  gentleman,  many  of  his  party  have  in 
most  extravagant  terms  declaimed  on  the  wonder- 
ful acquisition  to  the  liberty  of  the  press.  Foi 
my  own  part  I ever  was  clearly  of  opinion  that 
this  right  was  inherent  in  the  very  constitution  of 
a jury,  and  indeed  in  sense  and  reason  inseparable 
from  their  important  function.  To  establish  it, 
therefore,  by  statute,  is,  I think,  narrowing  its 
foundation,  which  is  the  broad  and  deep  basis  of 
common  law.  Would  it  not  rather  weaken  the 
right  of  primogeniture,  or  any  other  old  and  uni- 
versally acknowledged  right,  should  the  legislature 
pass  an  act  in  favour  of  it  ? In  my  “ Letter  to  the 
People  of  Scotland,  against  diminishing  the  num 
ber  of  the  Lords  of  session,”  published  in  1785, 
there  is  the  following  passage,  which,  as  a con 
cise,  and  I hope  a fair  and  rational  state  of  the 
matter,  I presume  to  quote:  “ The  juries  of  Eng- 
land are  judges  of  law  as  well  as  of  fact  in  many 
civil  and  in  all  criminal  trials.  That  my  princi- 
ples of  resistance  may  not  be  misapprehended, 
any  more  than  my  principles  of  submission,  I 
protest  that  I should  be  the  last  man  in  the  world 
to  encourage  juries  to  contradict  rashly,  wantonly, 
or  perversely,  the  opinion  of  the  judges.  On  the 
contrary,  I would  have  them  listen  respectfully  to 
the  advice  they  receive  from  the  bench,  by  which 
they  may  often  be  well  directed  in  forming  their 
own  opinion ; which,  ‘ and  not  another’s,’  is  the 
opinion  they  are  to  return  upon  their  oaths.  But 
where,  after  due  attentiou  to  all  that  the  judge  has 
said,  they  are  decided’y  of  a different  opinion 
from  him,  they  have  not  only  a power  and  a right , 
but  they  are  bound  in  conscience  to  Ding  in  a 
verdict  accordingly.”—  Boswell.. 


1776  — /ET  T.  6 . 


Dute  that  two  and  two  make  four:  but  with 
congests  concerning  moral  truth,  human 
passions  are  generally  mixed,  and  therefore 
it  must  be  ever  liable  to  assault  and  misrep- 
resentation. ” 

On  Friday,  5th  April,  being  Good  Fri- 
day, after  having  attended  the  morning  ser- 
vice at  St.  Clement’s  church,  I walked 
home  with ' Johnson.  We  talked  of  the 
Roman  Catholick  religion.  Johnson.  “ In 
the  barbarous  ages,  sir,  priests  and  people 
were  equally  deceived;  but  afterwards  there 
were  gi<oss  corruptions  introduced  by  the 
clergy,  such  as  indulgences  to  priests  to  have 
concubines,  and  the  worship  of  images,  not, 
indeed,  inculcated,  but  knowingly  permit- 
ted.” He  strongly  censured  the  licensed 
stews  at  Rome.  Boswell.  “ So  then, 
sir,  you  would  allow  of  no  irregular  inter- 
course w-hatever  between  the  sexes?” 
Johnson.  “ To  be  sure  I would  not,  sir. 
I would  punish  it  much  more  than  it  is  done, 
#nd  so  restrain  it.  In  all  countries  there 
has  been  fornication,  as  in  all  countries 
there  has  been  theft;  but  there  may  be  more 
or  less  of  the  one,  as  well  as  of  the  other, 
in  proportion  to  the  force  of  law.  All  men 
will  naturally  commit  fornication,  as  all 
men  will  naturally  steal.  And,  sir,  it  is 
very  absurd  to  argue,  as  has  been  often 
done,  that  prostitutes  are  necessary  to  pre- 
vent the  violent  effects  of  appetite  from  vi- 
olating the  decent  order  of  life;  nay,  should 
be  permitted  in  order  to  preserve  the  chas- 
tity of  our  wives  and  daughters.  Depend 
upon  it,  sir,  severe  laws,  steadily  enforced, 
would  be  sufficient  against  those  evils,  and 
would  promote  marriage.” 

I stated  to  him  this  case: — “Suppose  a 
man  has  a daughter,  who  he  knows  has 
been  seduced,  but  her  misfortune  is  con- 
cealed from  the  world,  should  he  keep  her 
in  nis  house?  Would  he  not,  by  doing  so, 
be  accessary  to  imposition?  And,  perhaps, 
a worthy,  unsuspecting  man  might  come 
and  marry  this  woman,  unless  the  father  in- 
form him  of  the  truth.”  Johnson.  “Sir, 
he  is  accessary  to  no  imposition.  His 
daughter  is  in  his  house;  and  if  a man 
courts  her,  he  takes  his  chance.  If  a friend, 
or,  indeed,  if  any  man,  asks  his  opinion 
whether  he  should  marry  her,  he  ought  to 
advise  him  against  it,  without  telling  why, 
because  his  real  opinion  is  then  required. 
Or,  if  he  has  other  daughters  who  know  of 
her  fraiity,  he  ought  not  to  keep  her  in  his 
house.  You  are  to  consider  the  state  of 
life  is  this;  we  are  to  judge  of  one  another’s 
characters  as  well  as  we  can;  and  a man  is 
not  bound  in  honesty  or  honour  to  tell  us 
the  faults  of  his  daughter  or  of  himself.  A 
man  who  has  debauched  his  friend’s  daugh- 
ter is  not  obliged  to  say  to  every  body — 
“Take  care  of  me;  don’t  let  me  into  your 
fta  use  without  suspicion.  I once  debauch- 


65 

ea  a friend’s  daughter.  I may  debauch 
yours.’  ” 

Mr.  Thrale  called  upon  him,  and  appeared 
to  bear  the  loss  of  his  son  with  a manly 
composure.  There  was  no  affectation 
about  him;  and  he  talked,  as  usual,  upon 
indifferent  subjects.  He  seemed  to  me  to 
hesitate  as  to  the  intended  Italian  tour,  on 
which,  1 flattered  myself,  he  and  Mrs. 
Thrale  and  Dr.  Johnson  were  soon  to  set. 
out;  and,  therefore,  I pressed  it  as  much 
as  I could.  I mentioned  that  Mr.  Beau- 
clerk  had  said,  that  Baretti,  whom  they 
were  to  carry  with  them,  would  keep  them 
so  long  in  the  little  towns  of  his  own  dis- 
trict, that  they  would  not  have  time  to  set 
Rome.  I mentioned  this  to  put  them  oi 
their  guard.  Johnson.  “ Sir,  we  do  no 
thank  Mr.  Beauclerk  for  supposing  that  wi 
are  to  be  directed  by  Baretti.  No,  sir;  Mr 
Thrale  is  to  go  by  my  advice,  to  Mr.  Jack 
son1  (the  all-knowing),  and  get  from  hin, 
a plan  for  seeing  the  most  that  can  be  seen 
in  the  time  that  we  have  to  travel.  We 
must,  to  be  sure,  see  Rome,  Naples,  Flor- 
ence, and  Venice,  and  as  much  more  as  we 
can.”  (Speaking  with  a tone  of  animation.) 

When  I expressed  an  earnest  wish  for 
his  remarks  on  Italy,  he  said,  “ I do  not  see 
that  I could  make  a book  upon  Italy;  yet  I 
should  be  glad  to  get  two  hundred  pounds, 
or  five  hundred  pounds,  by  such  a work.” 
This  showed  both  that  a journal  of  his  Tour 
upon  the  Continent  was  not  wholly  out  of 
his  contemplation,  and  that  he  uniformly 
adhered  to  that  strange  opinion  which  his 
indolent  disposition  made  him  utter;  “No 
man  but  a blockhead  ever  wrote  except  for 
money.”  Numerous  instances  to  refute 
this  will  occur  to  all  who  are  versed  in  the 
history  of  literature. 

He  gave  us  one  of  the  many  sketches  of 
character  which  were  treasured  in  his  mind, 
and  which  he  was  wont  to  produce  quite 
unexpectedly  in  a very  entertaining  manner 
“ I lately,”  said  he,  “ received  a letter  from 
the  East  Indies,  from  a gentleman2  whom 
I formerly  knew  very  well;  he  had  returned 


1 A gentleman,  who,  from  his  extraordinary 

stores  of  knowledge,  has  been  styled  omniscient. 
Johnson,  I think  very  properly,  altered  it  to  all 
knowing , as  it  is  a verbum  solennc,  appropria- 
ted to  the  Supreme  Being. — Boswell.  [Mr. 

Richard  Jackson,  a barrister,  member  for  New 
Romney,  and  F.  R.  S.,  had  obtained,  from  the 
universality  of  his  information  on  all  topics,  the 
appellation  of  “ omniscient  Jackson .”  He  was 
an  intimate  friend  of  Lord  Shelburn’s,  and  became 
a lord  of  the  treasury  in  his  lordship’s  administra- 
tion in  1782.  Mr.  Jackson  died  in  1786. — Ed.] 

2 [This  gentleman  was  probably  Mr.  Joseph 
Fowke.  See  Miscelktneous  Letters,  General  Ap- 
pendix; and  the  letters  mentioned  post,  p.  57  were 
probably  those  referred  to  in  that  correspondence 
—Ed.] 


56 


1776.— ^ETAT.  67. 


from  that  country  with  a handsome  fortune, 
as  it  was  reckoned,  before  means  were  found 
to  acquire  those  immense  sums  which  have 
been  brought  from  thence  of  late;  he  was  a 
scholar,  and  an  agreeable  man,  and  lived 
very  prettily  in  London,  till  his  wife  died. 
After  her  death,  he  took  to  dissipation  and 
gaming,  and  lost  all  he  had.  *One  evening 
he  lost  a thousand  pounds  to  a gentleman 
whose  name  I am  sorry  I have  forgotten, 
ft  ext  morning  he  sent  the  gentleman  five 
hundred  pounds,  with  an  apology  that  it 
was  all  he  had  in  the  world.  The  gentle- 
man sent  the  money  back  to  him.  declaring 
he  would  not  accept  of  it:  and  adding,  that 

if  Mr. had  occasion  for  five  hundred 

pounds  more,  he  would  lend  it  to  him.  He 
resolved  to  go  out  again  to  the  East  Indies, 
and  make  his  fortune  anew.  He  got  a con- 
siderable appointment,  and  I had  some  in- 
tention of  accompanying  him.  Had  I 
thought  then  as  I do  now,  I should  have 
gone;  but  at  that  time  I had  objections  to 
quitting  England.53 

It  was  a very  remarkable  circumstance 
about  Johnson,  whom  shallow  observers 
have  supposed  to  have  been  ignorant  of 
the  world,  that  very  few  men  had  seen 
greater  variety  of  characters;  and  none 
could  observe  them  better,  as  was  evident 
from  the  strong  yet  nice  portraits  which  he 
often  drew.  I have  frequently  thought 
that  if  he  had  made  out  what  the  French 
call  une  catalogue  raisonnee  of  all  the  peo- 
ple who  had  passed  under  his  observation, 
it  would  have  afforded  a very  rich  fund  of 
instruction  and  entertainment.  The  sud- 
denness with  which  his  accounts  of  some 
of  them  started  out  in  conversation  was  not 
less  pleasing  than  surprising.  I remember 
he  once  observed  to  me,  “ It  is  wonderful, 
sir,  what  is  to  be  found  in  London.  The 
most  literary  conversation  that  I ever  en- 
joyed was  at  the  table  of  Jack  Ellis,  a mon- 
ey-scrivener, behind  the  Royal  Exchange, 
with  whom  I at  one  period  used  to  dine 
generally  once  a week  1.33 

1  This  Mr.  Ellis  was,  I believe,  the  last  of  that 
profession  called  scriveners,  which  is  one  of  the 
London  companies,  but  of  which  the  business  is 
no  longer  carried  on  separately,  but  is  transacted 
by  attorneys  and  others.  lie  was  a man  of  lite- 
rature and  talents.  He  was  the  authour  of  a Hu- 
dibrastick  version  of  Maphseus’s  Canto,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  yEneid;  of  some  poems  in  Dodsley’s 
collection,  and  various  other  small  pieces;  but, 
being  a very  modest  man,  never  put  his  name  to 
any  thing.  He  showed  me  a translation  which 
he  had  made  of'  Ovid’s  Epistles,  very  prettily 
done.  There  is  a good  engraved  portrait  of  him 
by  Pether,  from  a picture  by  Fry,  which  hangs 
in  the  hall  of  the  Scrivener’s  company.  I visited 
him  October  4,  1790,  in  his  ninety-third  year, 
and  found  his  judgment  distfcct  and  clear,  and  his 
memory,  though  faded  so  as  to  fail  him  occasion- 


Volumes  would  be  required  to  c«.  n tain  a 
list  of  his  numerous  and  various  acquaintance, 
none  of  whom  he  ever  forgot;  and  could 
describe  and  discriminate  them  all  with  pre- 
cision and  vivacity.  He  associated  with 
persons  the  most  widely  different  in  manners, 
abilities,  rank,  and  accomplishments.  He 
was  at  once  the  companion  of.  the  brilliant 
Colonel  Forrester  of  the  guards,  who  wrote 
“ The  Polite  Philosopher,53  and  of  the  awk- 
ward and  uncouth  Robert  Levett;  of  Lord 
Thurlow,  and  Mr.  Sastres,  the  Italian  mas 
ter;  and  has  dined  one  day  with  the  beau- 
tiful, gay,  and  fascinating  Lady  Craven  2, 
and  the  next  with  good  Mrs.  Gardiner,  the 
tallow-chandler,  on  Snow-hill3. 

On  my  expressing  my  wonder  at  his  dis- 
covering so  much  of  the  knowledge  peculiar 
to  different  professions,  he  told  me,  “ I 
learnt  what  I know  of  law  chiefly  from  Mr. 
Ballow  4,  a very  able  man.  I learnt  some 


ally,  yet,  as  he  assured  me,  and  I indeed  per* 
ceived,  able  to  serve  him  very  well,  after  a little 
recollection.  It  was  agreeable  to  observe,  that  he 
was  free  from  the  discontent  and  fretfulness  which 
too  often  molest  old  age.  He,  in  the  summer  of 
that  year,  walked  to  Rotherhithe,  where  he  dined, 
and  walked  home  in  the  evening.  He  died  on 
the  31st  of  December,  1791. — Boswell. 

2 Lord  Macartney,  who,  with  his  other  dis 
tinguished  qualities,  is  remarkable  also  for  an 
elegant  pleasantry,  told  me  that  he  met  Johnson 
at  Lady  Craven’s,  and  that  he  seemed  jealous  of 
any  interference.  “So,”  said  his  lordship,  smi- 
ling, “ I kept  back.” — Boswell. 

3 [This  is  much  exaggerated  (See  ante,  vol.  i. 
p.  235,  n).  His  polite  acquaintance  did  not  ex- 
tend much  beyond  the  circle  of  Mr.  Thrale,  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  and  the  members  of  the  Club. 
There  is  no  record  that  the  editor  recollects,  of 
his  having  dined  at  the  table  of  any  peer  in  Lon 
don  except  Lord  Lucan:  he  seems  scarcely  to 
have  known  an  English  bishop,  except  Dr. 
Shipley  and  Dr.  Porteus,  whom  every  one  knew, 
and  except  by  a few  occasional  visits  at  the  bas- 
bleux  assemblies  of  Mrs.  Montagu  and  Mrs.  Ve- 
sey,  we  do  not  trace  him  in  any  thing  like.fas/i- 
ionable  society.  This  seems  strange  to  us;  for 
happily,  in  our  day,  a literary  man  of  much  less 
than  Johnson’s  eminence  would  be  courted  into 
the  highest  and  most  brilliant  ranks  of  society. 
Lord  We’lesley  recollects,  with  regret,  the  little 
notice,  compared  with  his  posthumous  reputation, 
which  the  fashionable  world  seemed  to  take  of 
Johnson.  He  was  known  as  a great  writer;  but 
his  social  and  conversational  powers  were  not  so 
generally  appreciated. — Ed.] 

4 There  is  an  account  of  him  in  Sir  John  Haw- 
kins's Life  of  Johnson,  p.  244.  Mr.  Thomas 
Ballo(v  was  author  of  an  excellent  Treatise  of 
Equity,  printed  anonymously  in  1742,  and  lately 
republished  with  very  valuable  additions,  by  John 
Fonblanque,  Esq.  Mr.  Ballow  died  suddenly  in 
London,  July  26,  1782,  aged  seventy-five,  and  is 
mentioned  in  the  Gentleman’s  Magazine  for  that 
year  as  “ a great  Greek  scholar,  and  famous  foi 


177b  — /ETAT.  67. 


57 


too  from  Chambers:  but  was  not  so  teach- 
able then.  One  is  not  willing  to  be  taught 
by  a young  man.”  When  I expressed  a 
wish  to  know  more  about  Mr.  Ballow, 
Johnson  said,  “ Sir,  I have  seen  him  but 
once  these  twenty  years.  The  tide  of  life 
has  driven  us  different  ways.”  I was  sorry 
at  the  time  to  hear  this;  but  whoever  quits 
the  creeks  of  private  connexions,  and  fairly 
gets  into  the  great  ocean  of  London,  will, 
by  imperceptible  degrees,  unavoidably  ex- 
perience such  cessations  of  acquaintance. 

My  knowledge  of  physick,”  he  added,  “ I 
learnt  from  Dr.  James,  whom  I helped  in 
writing  the  proposals  for  his  Dictionary, 
and  also  a little  in  the  Dictionary  itself* 1. 
I also  learnt  from  Dr.  Lawrence,  but  was 
then  grown  more  stubborn.” 

A curious  incident  happened  to-day, 
while  Mr.  Thrale  and  I sat  with  him. 
Francis  announced  that  a large  packet  was 
brought  to  him  from  the  post-office,  said  to 
have  come  from  Lisbon,  and  it  was  charged 
seven  pounds  ten  shillings.  He  would  not 
receive  it,  supposing  it  to  be  some  trick,  nor 
did  he  even  look  at  it.  But  upon  inquiry 
afterwards  he  found  that  it  was  a real  pack- 
et for  him,  from  that  veiy  friend  in  the  East 
Indies  of  whom  he  had  been  speaking;  and 
the  ship  which  carried  it  having  come  to 
Portugal,  this  packet  with  others  had  been 
put  into  the  post-office  at  Lisbon. 

I mentioned  a new  gaming  club,  of  which 
Mr.  Beauclerk  had  given  me  an  account, 
where  the  members  played  to  a desperate 
extent2.  Johnson.  “Depend  upon  it, 
sir,  this  is  mere  talk.  Who  is  ruined  by 
gaming?  You  wili  not  find  six  instances  in 
an  age.  There  is  a strange  rout  made 
about  deep  play;  whereas  you  have  many 
more  people  ruined  by  adventurous  trade, 
and  yet  we  do  not  hear  such  an  outcry 
against  it.”  Thrale.  “ There  may  be 
few  absolutely  ruined  by  deep  play;  but 
very  many  are  much  hurt  in  their  circum- 
stances by  it.”  Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir,  and 
so  are  very  many  by  other  kinds  of  expense.” 
I had  heard  him  talk  once  before  in  the 
same  manner;  and  at  Oxford,  he  said  “ he 
wished  he  had  learned  to  play  at  cards3.” 
The  truth,  however,  is,  that  he  loved  to 
display  his  ingenuity  in  argument;  and 

his  knowledge  of  the  old  philosophy.” — Ma- 

LOlfK. 

1 I have  in  vain  endeavoured  to  find  out  what 
parts  Johnson  wrote  for  Dr.  James;  perhaps  medi- 
cal men  may. — Boswell. 

2 [Lord  Lauderdale  informed  the  Editor  that 
Mr.  Fox  (a  great  authoritv  on  this  as  well  as  op 
more  important  subjects)  tom  mm,  tnat  tne  deep- 
est play  he  had  ever  known  was  between  the 
year  1772  and  the  beginning  of  the  American 
war.  Lord  Lauderdale  instanced  5000?.  being 
staked  on  a single  card  at  fero. — Er>.] 

3 [See  ante,  v.  i.  p.  466  — Ed.] 

vol.  II.  8 


therefore  would  sometimes  in  conversation 
maintain  opinions  which  he  was  sensible 
were  wrong,  but  in  supporting  which,  his 
reasoning  and  wit  would  be  most  conspicu- 
ous. He  would  begin  thus:  “Why,  sir, 
as  to  the  good  or  evil  of  card-playing — ” 
“ Now,”  said  Garrick,  “ he  is  thinking 
which  side  he  shall  take.”  He  appeared  to 
have  a pleasure  in  contradiction,  especially 
when  any  opinion  whatever  was  delivered 
with  an  air  of  confidence;  so  that  there  was 
hardly  any  topick,  if  not  one  of  the  great 
truths  of  religion  and  morality,  that  he 
might  not  have  been  incited  to  argue,  either 
for  or  against.  Lord  Eiibank 4 had  the 
highest  admiration  of  his  powers.  He  once 
observed  to  me,  “ Whatever  opinion  John- 
son maintains,  I will  not  say  that  he  con- 
vinces me;  but  he  never  fails  to  show  me, 
that  he  had  good  reasons  for  it.”  I have 
heard  Johnson  pay  his  lordship  this  high 
compliment-  “I  never  was  in  Lord  Eli- 
bank’s  company  without  learning  some- 
thing.” 

We  sat  together  till  it  was  too  late  for 
the  afternoon  service.  Thrale  said,  he  had 
come  with  intention  to  go  to  church  with 
us.  We  went  at  seven  to  evening  prayers 
at  St.  Clement’s  church,  after  having  drunk 
coffee;  an  indulgence  which  I understand 
Johnson  yielded  to  on  this  occasion,  in  com 
pliment  to  Thrale. 

[This  day  he  himself  thus  records,  Ed. 

“ Though  for  the  past  week  I have 
had  an  anxious  design  of  communicating  to 
day,  I performed  no  particular  act  of  devo 
tion,  till  on  Friday  I went  to  church. 

“ I fasted,  though  less  rigorously  than  at 
other  times.  I,  by  negligence,  poured  milk 
into  the  tea,  and,  in  the  afternoon,  drank 
one  dish  of  coffee  with  Thrale;  yet  at  night, 
after  a fit  of  drowsiness,  I felt  myself  very 
much  disordered  by  emptiness,  and  called 
for  tea,  with  peevish  and  impatient  eager- 
ness. My  distress  was  very  great.”] 

On  Sunday,  April  7,  Easter-day,  after 
having  been  at  St.  Paul’s  cathedral,  I came 
to  Dr.  Johnson,  according  to  my  usual  cus- 
tom. It  seemed  to  me,  that  there  was  al- 
ways something  particularly  mild  and  pla- 
cid in  his  manner  upon  this  holy  festival, 
the  commemoration  of  the  most  joyful  event 
in  the  histtry  of  our  world,  the  resurrection 
of  our  Lord  and  Saviour,  who,  having  tri- 
umphed over  death  and  the  grave,  proclaim- 
ed immortality  to  mankind. 

[Yet  with  what  different  colours  he 
paints  his  own  state  at  this  moment!  D 

“The  time  is  again  [come]  at  which, 
since  the  death  of  my  poor  dear  Tetty,  on 
whom  God  have  mercy,  I have  annually 
commemorated  the  mystery  of  redemption 


4 Patrick,  Lord  Eiibank,  who  died  in  177fc 
(ante,  v.  i.  d.  277). — Boswell. 


68 


1776— /ETAT.  67. 


and  annually  purposed  to  amend  my  life. 
My  reigning-  sin,  to  which  perhaps  many 
others  are  appendant,  is  waste  of  time,  and 
general  sluggishness,  to  which  I was  al- 
ways inclined,  and,  in  part  of  my  life,  have 
been  almost  compelled  by  morbid  melan- 
choly and  disturbance  of  mind.  Melancholy 
has  had  in  me  its  paroxysms  and  remissions, 
but  I have  not  improved  the  intervals,  nor 
sufficiently  resisted  my  natural  inclination, 
or  sickly  habits.” 

He  adds,  however: 

l45  “ In  the  morning  I had  at  church 

p'  ' some  radiations  of  comfort.”] 

I repeated  to  him  an  argument  of  a lady 
of  my  acquaintance,  who  maintained,  that 
her  husband’s  having  been  guilty  of  num- 
berless infidelities,  released  her  from  conju- 
gal obligations,  because  they  were  recipro- 
cal. Johnson.  cc  This  is  miserable  stuff, 
sir.  To  the  contract  of  marriage,  besides 
the  man  and  wife,  there  is  a third  party — 
society;  and  if  it  be  considered  as  a vow — 
God : and,  therefore,  it  cannot  be  dissolved 
by  their  consent  alone.  Laws  are  not  made 
for  particular  cases,  but  for  men  in  general. 
A woman  may  be  unhappy  with  her  hus- 
band; but  she  cannot  be  freed  from  him 
without  the  approbation  of  the  civil  and  ec- 
clesiastical power.  A man  may  be  unhap- 
py, because  he  is  not  so  rich  as  another; 
but  he  is  not  to  seize  upon  another’s  proper 
ty  with  his  own  hand.”  Boswell.  “ But, 
sir,  this  lady  does  not  want  that  the  con- 
tract should  be  dissolved;  she  only  argues 
that  she  may  indulge  herself  in  gallantries 
with  equal  "freedom  as  her  husband  does, 
provided  she  takes  care  not  to  introduce  a 
spurious  issue  into  his  family.  You  know, 
sir,  what  Macrobius  has  told  of  Julia1.” 
Johnson.  t:  This  lady  of  yours,  sir,  I think, 
is  very  fit  for  a brothel.” 

Mr.  Macbean,  author  of  the  cc  Dictionary 
of  Ancient  Geography,”  came  in.  He 
mentioned  that  he  had  been  forty  years  ab- 
sent from  Scotland,  u Ah,  Boswell ! ” said 
Johnson  smiling,  “ what  would  you  give  to 
be  forty  years  from  Scotland?  ” I said,  C£  I 
should  not  like  to  be  so  long  absent  from 
the  seat  of  my  ancestors.”  This  gentle- 
man, Mrs.  Williams,  and  Mr.  Levett,  dined 
with  us. 

Dr.  Johnson  made  a remark,  which  both 
Mr.  Macbean  and  I thought  new.  It  was 
this:  that  “ the  latv  against  usury  is  for  the 
protection  of  creditors  as  well  as  debtors; 
for  if  there  were  no  such  check,  people 
would  be  apt,  from  the  temptation  of  great 
interest,  to  lend  to  desperate  persons,  by 
whom  fhey  would  lose  their  money.  Ac- 
cordingly, there  are  instances  of  ladies  be- 
ing ruined,  by  having  injudiciously  sunk 

1 “ Nunquam  enim  nisi  navi  plena  tollo  vecto- 

>em  ** — Lib  ii  c vi. — Boswell. 


their  fortunes  for  high  annuities,  whicn 
after  a few  years,  ceased  to  be  paid,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  ruined  circumstances  of  the 
borrower.” 

Mrs.  Williams  was  very  peevish2  ; and 
I wondered  at  Johnson’s  patience  with  her 
now,  as  I had  often  done  on  similar  occa- 
sions. The  truth  is,  that  his  humane  con- 
sideration of  the  forlorn  and  indigent  state 
in  which  this  lady  was  left  by  her  father  in- 
duced him  to  treat  her  with  the  utmost  ten- 
derness, and  even  to  be  desirous  of  procur- 
ing her  amusement,  so  as  sometimes  to  in- 
commode many  of  his  friends,  by  carrying 
her  with  him  to  their  houses,  where,  from 
her  manner  of  eating,  in  consequence  of  her 
blindness,  she  could  not  but  offend  the  de- 
licacy of  persons  of  nice  sensations. 

After  coffee,  we  went  to  afternoon  ser- 
vice in  St.  Clement’s  church.  Observing 
some  beggars  in  the  street  as  we  walked 
along,  I said  to  him,  I supposed  there  was 
no  civilized  country  in  the  world  where  the 
misery  of  want  in  the  lowest  classes  of  the 
people  was  prevented.  Johnson.  “ I be- 
lieve, sir,  there  is  not;  but  it  is  better  that 
some  should  be  unhappy,  than  that  none 
should  be  happy,  which  would  be  the  case 
in  a general  state  of  equality.” 

When  the  service  was  ended,  I went 
home  with  him,  and  we  sat  quietly  by  our 
selves.  He  recommended  Dr.  Cheyne’s 
books.  I said,  I thought  Cheyne  had  been 
reckoned  whimsical.  “ So  he  was,”  said 
he,”  in  some  things;  but  there  is  no  end  ol 
objections.  There  are  few  books  to  which 
some  objection  or  other  may  not  be  made.” 
He  added,  “ I would  not  have  you  read  any 
thing  else  of  Cheyne,  but  his  book  on 
Health,  and  his  c English  Malady.’” 

Upon  the  question  whether  a man  who 
had  been  guilty  of  vicious  actions  would  do 
well  to  force  himself  into  solitude  and  sad 
ness?  Johnson.  cc  No,  sir,  unless  it  pre 
vent  him  from  being  vicious  again.  With 
some  people,  gloomy  penitence  is  only  mad- 
ness turned  upside  down.  A man  may  be 
gloomy,  till,  in  order  to  be  relieved  from 
gloom,  he  has  recourse  again  to  criminal 
indulgences.” 

On  Wednesday,  10th  April,  I dined  with 
him  at  Mr.  Thrale’s,  where  were  Mr.  Mur- 
phy and  some  other  company.  Before  din- 
ner, Dr.  Johnson  and  I passed  some  time  by 
ourselves.  I was  sorry  to  find  it  was  now 
resolved  that  the  proposed  journey  to  Italy 
should  not  take  place  this  year.  He  said, 
“ I am  disappointed,  to  be  sure;  but  it  is 


4 [Boswell  was  not  partial  to  Mrs.  Williams. 
Peevish  she  probably  was;  but  let  it  be  remem- 
bered that  she  was  old,  blind,  poor,  and  a depen- 
dant. And  see  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  101,  a mora 
favourable  account  from  Malone  and  Mies  Haw 
kins. — Ed.] 


1776.— yETAT.  67 


not  a great  disappointment.”  I wondered 
to  see  him  bear,  with  a philosophical  calm- 
ness, what  would  have  made  most  people 
peevish  and  fretful.  [But  he  cordially 
Ed'  assented  to  the  reasons  which  operated 
on  the  minds  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale  to 
postpone  the  journey,  as  appears  from  his 
letter  to  the  lady.] 

[<?T0  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ 9th  April,  1776. 

Letters  “ Mr.  Thrale’s  alteration  of  pur- 
vfi.6”’  pose  is  not  weakness  of  resolution; 
3i4.  it  is  a wise  man’s  compliance  with 
the  change  of1  things,  and  with  the  new 
duties  which  the  change  produces.  Who- 
ever expects  me  to  be  angry  will  be  disap- 
pointed. I do  not  even  grieve  at  the  effect; 

I only  grieve  for  the  cause.”] 

Piozzi,  [His  desire,  however,  to  go  abroad 
p*  130‘  was  very  great;  and  he  had  a long- 
ing wish,  too,  to  leave  some  Latin  verses  at 
the  Grand  Chartreux.] 

I perceived  that  he  had  so  warmly  cher- 
ished the  hope  of  enjoying  classical  scenes, 
that  he  could  not  easily  part  with  the 
scheme;  for  he  said, “ I shall  probably  con- 
trive to  get  to  Italy  some  other  way  h But 
I won’t  mention  it  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale, 
as  it  might  vex  them.”  I suggested  that 
going  to  Italy  might  have  done  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Thrale  good.  Johnson.  “ I rather 
believe  not,  sir.  While  grief  is  fresh,  every 
attempt  to  divert  only  irritates.  You  must 
wait  till  grief  be  digested , and  then  amuse- 
ment will  dissipate  the  remains  of  it.” 

At  dinner,  Mr.  Murphy  entertained  us 
with  the  history  of  Mr.  Joseph  Simpson2,  a 
schoolfellow  of  Dr.  Johnson’s,  a barrister 
at  law,  of  good  parts,  but  who  fell  into  a 
dissipated  course  of  life,  incompatible  with 
that  success  in  his  profession  which  he  once 
had,  and  would  otherwise  have  deservedly 
maintained;  yet  he  still  preserved  a dignity 
in  his  deportment.  He  wrote  a tragedy  on 
the  story  of  Leonidas,  entitled  “ The  Pat- 
riot.” He  read  it  to  a company  of  lawyers, 
who  found  so  many  faults  that  he  wrote  it 
over  again:  so  then  there  were  two  trage- 
dies on  the  same  subject  and  with  the  same 
title.  Dr.  Johnson  told  us,  that  one  of 
them  was  still  in  his  possession.  This  very 
piece  was,  after  his  death,  published  by 
some  person  who  had  been  about  him,  and, 
for  the  sake  of  a little  hasty  profit,  was  fal- 
laciously advertised  so  as  to  make  it  be  be- 
lieved to  have  been  written  by  Johnson 
himself. 

1 [He  probably  may  have  had  some  idea  of 
accompanying  his  friend  Mr.  Saunders  Welsh, 
who,  in  fact,  went  to  Italy  about  the  14th  May 
of  this  year.  See  post,  Feb.  1778. — Ed.] 

2 [See  ante,  v.  i.  p.  150,  his  lettei  to  this 
gentleman. — Ed.] 


59 

I said,  I disliked  the  custom  which  some 
people  had  of  bringing  their  children  into 
company,  because  it  in  a manner  forced  us 
to  pay  foolish  compliments  to  please  their 
parents.  Johnson.  “You  are  right, sir3. 
We  may  be  excused  for  not  caring  much 
about  other  people’s  children,  for  there  are 
many  who  care  very  little  about  their  own 
children.  It  may  be  observed,  that  men 
who,  from  being  engaged  in  business,  or 
from  their  course  of  life  in  whatever  way, 
seldom  see  their  children,  do  not  care  much 
about  them.  I myself  should  not  have  had 
much  fondness  for  a child  of  my  own.” 
Mrs.  Thrale4..  “ Nay,  sir,  how  can 
you  talk  so?”  Johnson.  “At  least,  I 
never  wished  to  have  a child.”  [On 
another  occasion,  when  Mrs.  Thrale  p1^™’ 
was  relating  to  him  that  Dr.  Collier 
(of  the  commons)  had  observed,  that  the 
love  one  bore  to  children  was  from  the  an- 
ticipation one’s  mind  made  while  one  con- 
templated them:  “We  hope,”  says  he, 
“ that  they  will  some  time  make  wise  men, 
or  amiable  women;  and  we  suffer  them  to 
take  up  our  affection  beforehand.  One 
cannot  love  lumps  of  flesh , and  little  infants 
are  nothing  more.”  “ On  the  contrary,” 
said  Johnson,  “ one  can  scarcely  help  wish- 
ing, while  one  fondles  a baby,  that  it  may 
never  live  to  become  a man;  for  it  is  so 
probable  that  when  he  becomes  a man,  he 
should  be  sure  to  end  in  a scoundrel.” 
Girls  were  less  displeasing  to  him;  “for  as 
their  temptations  were  fewer,”  he  said, 
“ their  virtue  in  this  life,  and  happiness  in 
the  next,  were  less  improbable;  and  he 
loved,”  he  said,  “ to  see  a knot  of  little  mis- 
ses dearly.”] 

Mr.  Murphy  mentioned  Dr.  Johnson’s 
having  a design  to  publish  an  edition  of 
Cowley.  Johnson  said,  he  did  not  know 
but  he  should;  and  he  expressed  his  disap- 
probation of  Dr.  Hurd,  for  having  pub- 
lished a mutilated  edition  under  the  title  of 
“ Select  Works  of  Abraham  Cowley.” 
Mr.  Murphy  thought  it  a bad  precedent; 
observing,  that  any  authour  might  be  used 
in  the  same  manner:  and  that  it  was  pleas- 
ing to  see  the  variety  of  an  authour’s  com- 
positions at  different  periods. 

We  talked  of  Flatman’s  Poems ; and 

3 [Yet  he  was  always  kind  to  children,  even 
when  he  blamed  the  parents  for  obtruding  them. 
Miss  Hawkins  tolls  us  that  “ Johnson  was  kind, 
in  his  way,  to  children:  my  father  seldom  observed 
me  with  him  without  recollecting  the  lion  dandling 
the  kid.” — Mem.  .1 — 23.  See  also  post,  circa 
9th  April,  1783. — Ed.] 

4 [It  seems  not  easy  to  account  for  Mrs 
Thrale’s  presence  in  London  on  the  10th  April. 
She  appears  by  the  correspondence  with  Johnson 
to  have  been  at  Bath,  to  which  place  Johnson 
addressed  a letter  to  her  on  the  9th  See  ante. 
p.  59  — Et  ] 


60 


1776.— yETAT.  67. 


Mrs  T hr  ale  observed,  that  Pope  had  part- 
ly borrowed  from  him  “ The  Dying  Chris- 
tian to  his  Soul.”  Johnson  repeated  Roch- 
ester’s verses  upon  Flatman,  which  I think 
by  much  too  severe : 

“ Nor  that  slow  drudge  in  swift  Pindarick  strains, 

Flatman,  who  Cowley  imitates  with  pains, 

And  rides  a jaded  muse,  whipt  with  loose  reins.” 

I like  to  recollect  all  the  passages  that  I 
heard  Johnson  repeat:  it  stamps  a value  on 
them. 

He  told  us  that  the  book  entitled  “ The 
Lives  of  the  Poets,”  by  Mr.  Cibber,  was 
entirely  compiled  by  Mr.  Shiels  l,  a Scotch- 

1 [Here  followed,  in  the  former  editions,  a note 
containing  a long  extract  from  the  Monthly  Re- 
view for  1792,  controverting  the  above  assertion, 
which,  on  account  of  its  length,  the  Editor  has 
thrown  into  the  Appendix;  but  he  must  observe, 
with  more  immediate  reference  to  the  statement 
in  the  text,  that  notwithstanding  the  weight  which 
must  be  given  to  Dr.  Johnson’s  repeated  asser- 
tions on  a subject  in  which  he  alleged  that  he 
had  indisputable  evidence  in  his  own  possession, 
yet  there  are  some  circumstances  which  seem  at 
variance  with  his  statements.  It  is  true  that  the 
title-page  of  the  first  volume  says,  “ compiled  by 
Mr.  Cibber,”  but  all  the  other  volumes  have 
“ compiled  by  Mr.  Cibber  and  other  hands;  ” so 
that  Johnson  was  certainly  mistaken  in  representing 
that  Cibber  was  held  out  as  the  sole  author.  In 
the  third  vol.,  p.  156,  the  life  of  Betterton,  the 
actor,  is  announced  as  “written  by  R.  S.”  no 
doubt  Robert  Shiels,  and  to  it  is  appended  the 
following  note,  “ As  Mr.  Theophilus  Cibber  is 
publishing  (in  another  work")  the  c Lives  and 
Character  of  eminent  Actors,’  he  leaves  to  other 
gentlemen  concerned  in  this  work  the  account 
of  some  players,  who  could  not  be  omitted  here- 
in as  poets.”  A similar  notice  accompanies  the 
Life  of  Booth,  v.  iv.  p.  178;  and  again,  in  a note 
on  the  “ Life  of  Thomson,”  vol.  v.  p.  211,  The- 
ophilus Cibber,  in  his  own  name,  states,  that  he 
read  the  tragedy  of  Agamemnon  to  the  theatri- 
cal synod  with  so  much  applause,  that  he  was 
selected  to  play  the  part  of  Melisander.  These 
circumstances  prove  that  “ a Cibber  ” had  some 
share  in  the  work, — that  there  was  no  intention 
to  conceal  that  it  was  Theophilus , — and  that  Rob- 
ert Shiels  and  others  were  avowed  assistants. 
Mr.  Boswell,  in  a former  passage,  (see  ante,  vol. 
i.  p.  75.)  intimated  that  “some  choice  passages 
of  these  lives  were  written  by  Johnson  himself.” 
That  opinion  the  Editor  thought  that  Johnson’s 
own  assertion  sufficiently  negatived;  but  he  must 
admit,  on  reconsideration,  that  there  is  some 
colour  for  Mr.  Boswell’s  suspicion;  for  it  appears 
that  Johnson  was  at  one  time  employed  to  con- 
tribute to  that  work  the  lives  of,  at  least,  Shaks- 
peare  and  Dryden  (see  ante,  v.  i.  p.  222,  and 
post,  15th  May,  1776),  and  though  he  certainly  did 
not  write  those  lives,  yet  several  passages  throughout 
the  work  are  much  in  his  style.  That,  however, 
might  arise  from  the  imitation  of  Shiels;  but 
what  is  most  important  is,  that  the  plan  in  which 
these  lives  are  written  is  substantially  the  same  as 


man,  one  of  his  amanuenses.  “ The  book 
sellers,”  said  he,  “ gave  Theophilus  Cibber, 
who  was  then  in  prison,  ten  guineas,  to  al- 
low Mr.  Cibber  to  be  put  upon  the  title- 
page,  as  the  authour;  by  this,  a double  im- 
position was  intended;  in  the  first  place 
that  it  was  the  work  of  a Cibber  at  ail; 
and,  in  the  second  place,  that  it  was  the 
work  of  old  Cibber.” 

Mr.  Murphy  said,  that  “ The  Memoirs 
of  Gray’s  Life  set  him  much  higher  in  his 
estimation  than  his  poems  did:  for  you 
there  saw  a man  constantly  at  work  in  lit- 
erature.” Johnson  acquiesced  in  this;  but 
depreciated  the  book,  I thought,  very  un- 
reasonably. For  he  said,  “ I forced  myself 
to  read  it,  only  because  it  was  a common 
topic  of  conversation.  I found  it  mighty 
dull;  and,  as  to  the  style,  it  is  fit  for  the 
second  table.”  Why  he  thought  so  I was 
at  a loss  to  conceive.  He  now  gave  it  as 
his  opinion,  that  “ Akenside  was  a superi- 
our  poet  both  to  Gray  and  Mason.” 

Talking  of  the  Reviews,  Johnson  said, 
“I  think  them  very  impartial:  I do  not 
know  an  instance  of  partiality.”  He  men- 
tioned what  had  passed  upon  the  subject 
of  the  Monthly  and  Critical  Reviews,  in  the 
conversation  with  which  his  Majesty  had 
honoured  him.  He  expatiated  a little  more 
on  them  this  evening.  “The  Monthly 
Reviewers,”  said  he,  “ are  not  Deists;  hut 
they  are  Christians  with  as  little  Christian- 
ity as  may  be;  and  are  for  pulling  down  all 
establishments.  The  Critical  Reviewers 
are  for  supporting  the  constitution  both  in 
church  and  state.  The  Critical  Reviewers, 
I believe,  often  review  without  reading  the 
books  through;  but  lay  hold  of  a topick, 
and  write  chiefly  from  their  own  minds. 
The  Monthly  Reviewers  are  duller  men, 
and  are  glad  to  read  the  books  through.” 

He  talked  of  Lord  Lyttelton’s  extreme 
anxiety  as  an  authour;  observing,  that  “he 
was  thirty  years  in  preparing  his  history, 
and  that  he  employed  a man  to  point  it  for 
him;  as  if  (laughing)  another  man  could 
point  his  sense  better  than  himself2.”  Mr. 
Murphy  said,  he  understood  his  history  was 
kept  back  several  years  for  fear  of  Smollett. 
Johnson.  “ This  seems  strange  to  Mur- 
phy and  me,  who  never  felt  that  anxiety, 
but  sent  what  he  wrote  to  the  press,  and 

that  which  Johnson  adopted  in  his  own  beautiful 
wrork. — Ed.] 

2 [It  may  be  doubted  whether  Johnson’s  dis- 
like of  Lord  Lyttelton  did  not  here  lead  him  into 
an  error.  Persons  not  so  habituated  with  the  de- 
tails of  printing  as  he  was  may  have  been  less 
expert  at  the  use  of  these  conventional  signs. 
Lord  Byron  wrote  to  Mr.  Murray:  “ Do  you 
know  any  one  who  can  stop? — I ra^n  point, 
commas,  and  so  forth,  for  I am,  I fear,  a sad 
hand  at  your  punctuation.” — Motet's  Life  of 
Byron,  vol.  i.  p.  417. — Ed.1 


1776. — iETAT.  67. 


61 


let  it  take  its  chance.'’  Mrs.  Thrale. 
‘‘The  time  has  been,  sir,  when  you  felt 
it.”  Johnson.  “Why  really,  madam,  I 
do  not  recollect  a time  when  that  was  the 
case.” 

Talking  of  “ The  Spectator,”  he  said, 
“ It  is  wonderful  that  there  is  such  a pro- 
portion of  bad  papers,  in  the  half  of  the 
work  which  was  not  written  by  Addison; 
for  there  was  all  the  world  to  write  that 
half,  yet  not  a half  of  that  half  is  good. 
One  of  the  finest  pieces  in  the  English  lan- 
guage is  the  paper  on  Novelty5,  yet  we  do 
not  hear  it  talked  of.  It  was  written  by 
Grove,  a dissenting  teacher .”  He  would 
not,  I perceived,  call  him  ,a  clergyman , 
though  he  was  candid  enough  to  allow  very 
great  merit  to  his  composition.  Mr.  Mur- 
phy said,  he  remembered  when  there  were 
several  people  alive  in  London,  who  en- 
joyed a considerable  reputation  merely  from 
having  written  a paper  in  “ The  Specta- 
tor.” He  mentioned  particularly  Mr.  Ince, 
who  used  to  frequent  Tom’s  coffee-house. 
“ But,”  said  Johnson,  “ you  must  consider 
how  highly  Steele  speaks  of  Mr.  Ince1 2.” 
He  would  not  allow  that  the  paper  on  car- 
rying a boy  to  travel,  signed  Philip  Home- 
bred, which  was  reported  to  be  written  by 
the  Lord  Chancellor  Hardwicke,  had  merit. 
He  said,  “ it  was  quite  vulgar,  and  had  no- 
thing luminous.” 

Johnson  mentioned  Dr.  Barry’s3  System 
of  Physick.  “He  was  a man,”  said  he, 
“ who  had  acquired  a high  reputation  in 
Dublin,  came  over  to  England,  and  brought 
his  reputation  with  him,  but  had  not  great 
success.  His  notion  was,  that  pulsation 
occasions  death  by  attrition;  and  that, 
therefore,  the  way  to  preserve  life  is  to  re- 
tard pulsation.  But  we  know  that  pulsa- 
tion is  strongest  in  infants,  and  that  we  in- 
crease in  growth  while  it  operates  in  its 
regular  course;  so  it  cannot  be  the  cause 
of  destruction.”  Soon  after  this,  he  said 
something  very  flattering  to  Mrs.  Thrale, 
which  I do  not  recollect;  but  it  concluded 
with  wishing  her  long  life.  “ Sir,”  said  I, 
“ if  Dr.  Barry’s  system  be  true,  you  have 
now  shortened  Mrs.  Th rale’s  life,  perhaps 
some  minutes,  by  accelerating  her  pulsa- 
tion.” 

[“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“11th  April,  1776. 

“Dearest  madam, — To  have 
mss"  acted,  with  regard  to  you,  in  a man 
ner  either  unfriendly  or  disrespect- 
ful, would  give  me  great  pain;  and,  I hope, 

1 [Spectator,  No.  626. — Ed.] 

2 [In  the  555th  Number  of  the  Spectator. — 
Ed.] 

3 Sir  Edward  Barry,  Baronet.  [He  published 
a eurioui  work  on  the  Wines  of  the  Ancients. — 

Ed.] 


will  be  always  very  contrary  to  my  inten- 
tion. That  I staid  away  was  merely  acci- 
dental. I have  seldom  dined  from  home; 
and  I did  not  think  my  opinion  necessary  tc 
your  information  in  any  proprieties  of  be- 
haviour. 

“ The  poor  parents  of  the  child  are  much 
grieved,  and  much  dejected.  The  journey 
to  Italy  is  put  off,  but  they  go  to  Bath  on 
Monday.  A visit  from  you  will  be  wel' 
taken,  and  I think  your  intimacy  is  such 
that  you  may  very  properly  pay  it  in  a 
morning.  I am  sure  that  it  will  be  thought 
seasonable  and  kind,  and  I wish  you  not  to 
omit  it.  I am,  dear  madam,  your  most 
humble  servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.”  j 

On  Thursday,  April  11,1  dined  with  him 
at  General  Paoli’s,  in  whose  house  I now 
resided,  and  where  I had  ever  afterwards 
the  honour  of  being  entertained  with  the 
kindest  attention  as  his  constant  guest, 
while  1 was  in  London,  till  I had  a house  of 
my  own  there.  I mentioned  my  having 
that  morning  introduced  to  Mr.  Garrick, 
Count  Neni,  a Flemish  nobleman  of  great 
rank  and  fortune,  to  whom  Garrick  talked 
of  Abel  Drugger  as  a small  part ; and  rela- 
ted, with  pleasant  vanity,  that  a French- 
man, who  had  seen  him  in  one  of  his  low 
characters,  exclaimed,  “ Comment!  je  ne  le 
croispas.  Cen’est pas  Monsieur  Garrick, 
ce  grand  hoihme /”  Garrick  added,  with 
an  appearance  of  grave  recollection,  “ If  I 
were  to  begin  life  again,  I think  I should 
not  play  those  low  characters.”  Upon 
which  I observed,  “ Sir,  you  would  be  in 
the  wrong,  for  your  great  excellence  is  your 
variety  of  playing,  your  representing  so  well, 
characters  so  very  different..”  Johnson. 
“ Garrick,  sir,  was  not  in  earnest  in  what 
he  said:  for,  to  be  sure,  his  peculiar  excel- 
lence is  his  variety;  and,  perhaps,  there  is 
not  any  one  character  which  has  not  been 
as  well  acted  by  somebody  else,  as  he  could 
do  it.”  Boswell.  “ Why  then,  sir,  did 
he  talk  so?”  Johnson.  “Why  sir,  to 
make  you  answer  as  you  did.”  Boswell. 
“ I do  n’t  know,  sir;  he  seemed  to  dip  deep 
into  his  mind  for  reflection.”  Johnson. 
“ He  had  not  far  to  dip,  sir;  he  had  said 
the  same  thing,  probably,  twenty  times 
before.” 

Of  a nobleman  raised  at  a very  early  pe- 
riod to  high  office,  he  said,  “ His  parts,  sir, 
are  pretty  well  for  a lord;  but  would  not  be 
distinguished  in  a man  who  had  nothing 
else  but  his  parts  4.” 

A journey  to  Italy  was  still  in  his  thoughts. 
He  said,  “ A man  who  has  not  been  in  Italy 

4  [Obvious  as  this  allusion  must  have  been  at 
thp  time,  neither  the  editor,  nor  any  of  the 
numerous  persons  who  have  favoured  him  with 
assistance  and  information,  can  satisfactorily  desig- 
nate  the  nobleman  here  meant. — Ed.] 


62 


1776.— /ETAT.  67. 


is  always  conscious  of  an  inferiority,  from 
his  not  having-  seen  what  it  is  expected  a 
man  should  see.  The  grand  object  of  trav- 
elling is  to  see  the  shores  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean. On  those  shores  were  the  four 
great  empires  of  the  world;  the  Assyrian, 
the  Pejaian,  the  Grecian,  and  the  Roman. 
All  out  religion,  almost  all  our  law,  almost 
all  our  arts,  almost;  all  that  sets  us  above 
savages,  has  come  to  us  from  the  shores  of 
the  Mediterranean.”  The  General  observ- 
ed, that  “ The  Mediterranean  would  be 
a noble  subject  for  a poem.” 

We  talked  of  translation.  I said,  I could 
not  define  it,  nor  could  I think  of  a simili- 
tude to  illustrate  it;  but  that  it  appeared  to 
me  the  translation  of  poetry  could  be  only 
imitation.  Johnson.  “You  may  translate 
books  of  science  exactly.  You  may  also 
translate  history,  in  so  far  as  it  is  not  embel- 
lished with  oratory,  -which  is  poetical.  Po- 
etry, indeed,  cannot  be  translated;  and, 
therefore,  it  is  the  poets  that  preserve  lan- 
guages; for  we  would  not  be  at  the  trouble 
to  learn  a language,  if  we  could  have  all 
that  is  written  in  it  just  as  well  in  a transla- 
tion But  as  the  beauties  of  poetry  cannot 
be  preserved  in  any  language  except  that  in 
which  it  was  originally  written,  we  learn  the 
language.” 

A gentleman  maintained  that  the  art  of 
printing  had  hurt  real  learning,  by  dissemi- 
nating idle  writings.  Johnson.  “ Sir,  if 
it  had  not  been  for  the  art  of  printing,  we 
should  now  have  no  learning  at  all;  for 
books  would  have  perished  faster  than  they 
could  have  been  transcribed.”  This  obser- 
vation seems  not  just,  considering  for  how 
many  ages  books  were  preserved  by  writing 
alone  h 

The  same  gentleman  maintained,  that  a 
general  diffusion  of  knowledge  among  a 
people  was  a disadvantage;  for  it  made 
the  vulgar  rise  above  their  humble  sphere. 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  while  knotvledge  is  a dis- 
tinction, those  who  are  possessed  of  it  will 
naturally  rise  above  those  who  are  not. 
Merely  to  read  and  write  was  a distinction 
at  first;  but  we  see  when  reading  and  writ- 
ing have  become  general,  the  common  peo- 
ple keep  their  stations.  And  so,  were  high- 
er attainments  to  become  general,  the  effect 
would  be  the  same.” 

“ Goldsmith,”  he  said,  “ referred  every 
thing  to  vanity;  his  virtues  and  vices  too 
were  from  that  motive.  He  was  not  a so- 


1 The  authour  did  not  recollect  that  of  the 
books  preserved  (and  an  infinite  number  was  lost) 
all  wore  confined  to  two  languages.  In  modern 
limes  and  modern  languages,  France  and  Italy 
alone  produce  more  books  in  a given  time  than 
Greece  and  Rome:  put  England,  Spain,  Germany, 
and  the  northern  kingd  uns  out  of  the  question. — 
Blakeway. 


cial  man.  He  never  exchanged  mind  with 
you  2.” 

We  spent  the  evening  at  Mr.  Hoole’s 
Mr.  Mickle,  the  excellent  translator  of 
“The  Lusiad,”  was  there.  I have  preserv- 
ed little  of  the  conversation  of  this  evening 
Dr.  Johnson  said,  “ Thomson  had  a true 
poetical  genius,  the  power  of  viewing  every 
thing  in  a poetical  light.  His  fault  is  such 
a cloud  of  words  sometimes,  that  the  sense 
can  Jiardly  peep  through.  Shiels,  who 
compiled  ‘ Cibber’s  Lives  of  the  Poets 2  3,5 
was  one  day  sitting  with  me.  I took  dotvn 
Thomson,  and  read  aloud  a large  portion  of 
him,  and  then  asked, — Is  not  this  fine? 
Shiels  having  expressed  the  highest  admira 
tion — Well,  sir  (said  I),  I have  omitted 
every  other  line.” 

1 related  a dispute  between  Goldsmith 
and  Mr.  Robert  Dodsley,  one  day  when 
they  and  I were  dining  at  Tom  Davies’s,  in 
1762.  Goldsmith  asserted,  that  there  was 
no  poetry  produced  in  this  age.  Dodsley 
appealed  to  his  own  Collection,  and  main- 
tained, that  though  you  could  not  find  a 
palace  like  Dryden’s  “ Ode  on  St.  Cecilia’s 
Day,”  you  had  villages  composed  of  very 
pretty  houses;  and  he  mentioned  particular 
ly  “The  Spleen.”  Johnson.  “I  think 
Dodsley  gave  up  the  question.  He  and 
Goldsmith  said  the  same  thing;  only  he 
said  it  in  a softer  manner  than  Goldsmith 
did;  for  he  acknowledged  there  was  no  po- 
etry, nothing  that  towered  above  the  com 
mon  mark.  You  may  find  wit  and  humour 
in  verse,  and  yet  no  poetry.  ‘Hudidras’ 
has  a profusion  of  these;  yet  it  is  not  to  be 
reckoned  a poem.  £ The  Spleen,5  in  Dods- 
ley’s  Collection,  on  which  you  say  he 
chiefly  rested,  is  not  poetry.”  Boswell. 
“ Does  not  Gray’s  poetry,  sir,  tower  above 
the  common  mark?”  Johnson.  “Yes, 
sir;  but  we  must  attend  to  the  difference 
between  what  men  in  general  cannot  do  if 
they  would,  and  what  every  man  may  do  if 
he  would.  Sixteen-string  Jack4  towered 

2 [This  seems  not  easy  to  understand.  Poor 
Goldsmith  was  social  to  a fault;  how  he 
behaved  in  society  is  another  matter;  and  as  to 
“exchanging  mind,”  his  chief  defect  was,  that 
he  had  no  reserve  whatsoever,  and  opened  what- 
ever he  had  in  his  mind  with  the  utmost  confi- 
dence of  indiscretion,  [see  passim'].  Dr.  John- 
son, perhaps,  meant  that  he  was  too  much  of  an 
egotist,  and  thought  too  much  of  personal 
triumph  in  conversation,  to  be  a man  of  agreeable 
social  habits;  yet  we  know  that  Johnson  himself 
always  considered  conversation  as  a kind  of 
gladiatorial  exercise. — Ed.] 

3 See  ante , note,  p.  60 

4 A noted  highwayman,  who,  after  having 

been  several  times  tried  and  acquitted,  was  at 
last  hanged.  He  was  remarkable  for  foppery  in  hi* 
dress,  and  particularly  for  wearing  a bunch  of  sixteen 
strings  at  the  knee*  of  nis  breeche*. — Boswell 


1776. — AST  AT.  67. 


b3 


aoove  tlie  common  mark.”  Boswell. 
“ Then,  sir,  what  is  poetry  ? ” “ Johnson. 

Why,  sir,  it  is  much  easier  to  say  what  it  is 
not.  We  all  know  what  light  is;  but  it  is 
not  easy  to  tell  what  it  is.” 

Kawk.  [Gray,  he  said,  on  another  occa- 
Apoph.  sion,  was  the  very  Torre  1 of  poe- 

p.  214.  try,  he  played  his  coruscations  so 

speciously,  that  his  steel-dust  is  mistaken 
by  many  for  a shower  of  gold  2.] 

On  Friday,  April  12,  1 dined  with  him  at 
our  friend  Tom  Davies’s,  where  we  met 
Mr.  Cradock 3,  of  Leicestershire,  authour 
of  “ Zobeide,”  a tragedy;  a very  pleasing 
gentleman,  to  whom  my  friend  Dr.  Far- 
mer’s very  excellent  Essay  on  the  Learn- 
ing of  Shakspeare  is  addressed;  and  Dr. 
Harwood,  who  has  written  and  published 
various  works;  particularly  a fantastical 
translation  of  the  New  Testament,  in  mod- 
ern phrase,  and  with  a Socinian  twist 4. 

I introduced  Aristotle’s  doctrine,  in  his 
“ Art  of  Poetry,”  of  “ jtaQjtpavc  T m 7rctb»p/.x tocv, 
the  purging  of  the  passions,”  as  the  purpose 
of  tragedy  5.  “ But  how  are  the  passions 

to  be  purged  by  terrour  and  pity?  ” said  I, 
with  an  assumed  air  of  ignorance,  to  incite 
him  to  talk,  for  which  it  was  often  necessary 
to  employ  some  address.  Johnson.  “Why, 
sir,  you  are  to  consider  what  is  the  meaning 
of  purging  in  the  original  sense.  It  is  to 

1 [A  foreigner  of  that  name,  who,  some  years 
ago,  exhibited  a variety  of  splendid  fire-works  at 
Marybone  Gardens.] 

2 [This  and  some  subsequent  extracts  are  from 
a collection  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  “ Apophthegms, 
Sentiments,  Opinions,  and  occasional  Reflec- 
tionsmade  by  Sir  John  Hawkins,  and  pub- 
lished in  the  last  volume  of  his  edition  of  John- 
son’s works. — Ed.] 

3 [Who  has  since  published  Memoirs  of  his 
own  Tim.es,  of  which  the  Editor  has  made  occa- 
sional use. — Ed.] 

4 [He  is  more  advantageously  known  by  a 
work  on  the  classics.  This  poor  man  had,  about 
1783,  a stroke  of  the  palsy,  which  rendered  him 
a cripple,  and,  in  1788,  he  published,  in  the  Eu- 
ropean Magazine,  a letter,  written  to  him  in  1773 
by  Bishop  Lowth,  to  show  that  the  bishop,  though 
no  friend  to  dissenters,  was  kind  and  liberal  to- 
wards him.  Harwood  concludes  his  appeal  by 
saying,  that,  had  he  been  a dishonest  man,  and 
could  have  conformed  to  the  trinitarian  worship 
of  the  church,  he  should  not  have  been  in  indi- 
gent and  necessitous  circumstances.  Bishop 
Lowth,  he  says,  contributed,  to  the  last  year  of 
his  life,  to  relieve  his  wants.  European  Maga- 
zine, 1788,  p.  413.— Ed.] 

5 See  an  ingenious  essay  on  this  subject  by  the 
late  Dr.  Moor,  Greek  professor  at  Glasgow. — 
Boswell.  See  also  a learned  note  on  this  pas- 
sage of  Anstotle,  by  Mr.  Twining,  in  his  admira- 
ble translation  of  the  Poeticks,  in  which  the 

various  explanations  of  other  criticks  are  con- 

sidered, and  in  which  Dr.  Moor’s  essay  is  particu- 
larly discussed. — J.  Boswell. 


expel  impurities  from  the  human  body. 
The  mind  is  subject  to  the  same  imperfec 
tion.  The  passions  are  the  great  movers  of 
human  actions;  but  they  are  mixed  with 
such  impurities,  that  it  is  necessary  they 
should  be  purged  or  refined  by  means  of 
terrour  and  pity.  For  instance,  ambition  is 
a noble  passion;  but  by  seeing  upon  the 
stage,  that  a man  who  is  so  excessively 
ambitious  as  to  raise  himself  by  injustice  is 
punished,  we  are  terrified  at  the  fatal  con- 
sequences of  such  a passion.  In  the  same 
manner  a certain  degree  of  resentment  is 
necessary;  but  if  we  see  that  a man  carries 
it  too  far,  we  pity  the  object  of  it,  and  are 
taught  to  moderate  that  passion.”  My  re- 
cord upon  this  occasion  does  great  injustice 
to  Johnson’s  expression,  which  was  so  for- 
cible and  brilliant,  th  at  Mr.  Cradock  whisper- 
ed me,  “ O that  his  words  were  written  in  a 
book 6 ! ” 

I observed,  the  great  defect  of  the  tragedy 
of  “ Othello  ” was,  that  it  had  not  a moral; 
for  that  no  man  could  resist  the  circum- 
stances of  suspicion  which  were  artfully 
suggested  to  Othello’s  mind.  Johnson. 
“ In  the  first  place,  sir,  we  learn  from 
Othello  this  very  useful  moral,  not  to  make 
an  unequal  match;  in  the  second  place,  we 
learn  not  to  yield  too  readily  to  suspicion. 
The  handkerchief  is  merely  a trick,  though 
a very  pretty  trick;  but  there  are  no  other 
circumstances  of  reasonable  suspicion,  ex- 
cept what  is  related  by  Iago  of  Cassio’s 
warm  expressions  concerning  Desdemona 
in  his  sleep  ; and  that  depended  entirely 
upon  the  assertion  of  one  man.  No,  sir,  I 
think  Othello  has  more  moral  than  almost 
any  play.” 

Talking  of  a penurious  gentleman  of  our 
acquaintance,  Johnson  said,  “ Sir,  he  is 
narrow,  not  so  much  from  avarice,  as  from 
impotence  to  spend  his  money.  He  cannot 
find  in  his  heart  to  pour  out  a bottle  of*  wine; 
but  he  would  not  much  care  if  it  should 
sour.” 

He  said,  he  wished  to  see  “ John  Dennis’s 
Critical  Works”  collected.  Davies  said, 
they  would  not  sell.  Dr.  Jofinson  seemed 
to  think  otherwise. 

Davies  said  of  a well  known  dramatick 
authour7,  that  “he  lived  upon  polled  sto- 
ries, and  that  he  made  his  way  as  Hannibal 
did,  by  vinegar;  having  begun  by  attack 
ing  people,  particularly  the  players.” 

He  reminded  Dr.  Johnson  of  Mr.  Mur- 
phy’s having  paid  him  the  highest  compli- 
ment that  ever  was  paid  to  a layman,  by 
asking  his  pardon  for  repeating  some  oaths 
in  the  course  of  telling  a story. 


6 [Perhaps  in  allusion  to,  “ Oh  that  my  woids 
were  now  written!  Oh  that  they  were  printed  in 
a book!” — Job,  xix.  23. — Hall.] 

7 Probably  Mr.  Cumberland. — Ed.] 


64 


776. — dETAT.  67 


Hawk.  [He  never  suffered  any  one  to 

Apoph.  swear  before  him.  When . 

p'  210,  a libertine,  but  a man  of  some 

note,  was  talking  before  him,  and  interlard- 
ing his  stories  with  oaths,  Johnson  said, 
“ Sir,  all  this  swearing  will  do  nothing  for 
our  story;  I beg  you  will  not  swear.”  The 
narrator  went  on  swearing:  Johnson  said, 
“ I must  again  entreat  you  not  to  swear.” 
He  swore  again;  Johnson  quitted  the 
room.] 

Johnson  and  I supped  this  evening  at  the 
Crown  and  Anchor  tavern,  in  company 
with  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Mr.  Langton, 
Mr.  Nairne,  now  one  of  the  Scotch  judges, 
with  the  title  of  Lord  Dunsinan  i,  and  my 
very  worthy  friend,  Sir  William  Forbes,  of 
Pitsligo. 

We  discussed  the  question,  whether 
drinking  improved  conversation  and  benev- 
olence. Sir  Joshua  maintained,  it  did. 
Johnson.  “No,  sir:  before  dinner  men 
meet  with  great  inequality  of  understand- 
ing; and  those  who  are  conscious  of  their 
inferiority  have  the  modesty  not  to  talk. 
When  they  have  drunk  wine,  every  man 
feels  himself  happy,  and  loses  that  modesty, 
and  grows  impudent  and  vociferous : but  he 
is  not  improved : he  is  only  not  sensible  of 
his  defects.”  Sir  Joshua  said  the  Doctor 
was  talking  of  the  effects  of  excess  in  wine; 
but  that  a moderate  glass  enlivened  the 
mind,  by  giving  a proper  circulation  to  the 
blood.  “lam,”  said  He,  “in  very  good 
spirits,  when  I get  up  in  the  morning.  By 
dinner-time  lam  exhausted;  wine  puts  me 
in  the  same  state  as  when  I got  up:  and 
I am  sure  that  moderate  drinking  makes 
people  talk  better.”  Johnson.  “ No,  sir; 
wine  gives  not  light,  gay,  ideal,  hilarity; 
but  tumultuous,  noisy,  clamorous  merri- 
ment. I have  heard  none  of  those  drunken, 
— nay,  drunken  is  a coarse  word, — none  of 
those  vinous  flights.”  Sir  Joshua.  “Be- 
cause you  have  sat  by,  quite  sober,  and  felt 
an  envy  of  the  happiness  of  those  who  were 
drinking.”  Johnson.  “ Perhaps,  con- 
tempt. And,  sir,  it  is  not  necessary  to  be 
drunk  one’s  self,  to  relish  the  wit.  of  drunk- 
enness. Do  we  not  judge  of  the  drunken 
wit  of  the  dialogue  between  Iago  and  Cassio, 
the  most  excellent  in  its  kind,  when  we  are 
quite  sober?  Wit  is  wit,  by  whatever 
means  it  is  produced;  and,  if  good,  will  ap- 
pear so  at  all  times.  I admit  that  the  spirits 
are  raised  by  drinking,  as  by  the  common 
participation  of  any  pleasure:  cock-fighting 
or  bear-baiting  will  raise  the  spirits  of  a 
company,  as  drinking  does,  though  surely 
they  will  not  improve  conversation.  I also 
admit,  that  there  are  some  sluggish  men 
who  are  improved  by  drinking;  as  there 
are  fruits  which  are  not  good  till  they  are 


1 [See  ante , v i.  p.  338. — Ed.]  I 


rotten.  There  are  such  men,  but  they  are 
medlars.  I indeed  allow  that  there  have 
been  a very  few  men  of  talents  who  were 
improved  by  drinking:  but  I maintain  that 
I am  right  as  to  the  effects  of  drinking  in 
genera] : and  let  it  be  considered,  that  there 
is  no  position,  however  false  in  its  univer- 
sality, which  is  not  true  of  some  particular 
man.”  Sir  William  Forbes  said,  “ Might 
not  a man  warmed  with  wine  be  like  a bot- 
tle of  beer,  which  is  made  brisker  by  being 
set  before  the  fire  ? ” “Nay,”  said  John- 
son, laughing,  “ I cannot  answer  that:  that 
is  too  much  for  me.” 

I observed,  that  wine  did  some  people 
harm,  by  inflaming,  confusing,  and  irrita- 
ting their  minds;  but  that  the  experience 
of  mankind  had  declared  in  favour  of  mod- 
erate drinking.  Johnson.  “ Sir,  I do  not 
say  it  is  wrong  to  produce  self-complacency 
by  drinking;  1 only  deny  that  it  improves 
the  mind.  When  I drank  wine  2 3, 1 scorned 
to  drink  it  when  in  company.  I have 
drunk  many  a bottle  by  myself;  in  the  first 
place,  because  I had  need  of  it  to  raise  my 
spirits : in  the  second  place,  because  I woui’d 
have  nobody  to  witness  its  effects  upon 
me.” 

[At  one  period  of  his  life,  how-  Hawk 
ever,  he  was  reconciled  to  the  Apoph. 
bottle.  Sweet  wines  were  his  p‘  2l5' 
chief  favourites;  when  none  of  these  were 
before  him,  he  would  sometimes  drink  port 
with  a lump  of  sugar  in  every  glass.  The 
strongest  liquors,  and  in  very  large  quanti- 
ties, produced  no  other  effect  on  him  than 
moderate  exhilaration.  Once,  and  but  once, 
he  is  known  to  have  had  his  dose;  a cir- 
cumstance which  he  himself  discovered,  on 
finding  one  of  his  sesquipedalian  words 
hang  fire,  he  then  started  up,  and  gravely 
observed, — I think  it  time  we  should  go  to 
bed.  “ After  a ten  years’  forbearance  of 
every  fluid  except  tea  and  sherbet,  I drank,” 
said  he,  “ one  glass  of  wine  to  the  health  of 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  on  the  evening  of  the 
day  on  which  he  was  knighted.  I never 
swallowed  another  drop,  till  old  Madeira 
was  prescribed  to  me  as  a cor»dial  during 
my  present  indisposition;  but  this  liquor 
did  not  relish  as  formerly,  and  I therefore 
discontinued  it.”] 

He  told  us,  “ almost  all  his  Ramblers  3 


2 [Wine-drinkers  will  not  be  much  affected  by 
the  censure  of  one  who,  when  he  did  drink  wine, 
drank  alone , and  whose  choice  beverage  was 
port  in  hasty  draughts,  sweetened  with  sugar 
or  capillaire.  See  ante,  v.  i.  p.  208. — Ed.] 

3 [See  ante , v.  i.  p.  82;  but  the  editor  must 
observe — on  the  assertion  made  there  by  Mrs. 
Piozzi,  “ that  the  paper  on  Procrastination  was 
written  in  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s  parlour  ” — that 
both  she  and  Mr.  Boswell  appear  to  have  been  in 
error  as  to  the  date  of  the  acquaintance  \ etween 
Sir  Joshua  and  Dr.  Johnson.  See  notet  v.  i.  jx 


1776. — /ETAT.  S7 


65 


were  written  just  as  they  were  wanted  for 
the  press;  that  he  sent  a certain  portion  of 
the  copy  of  an  essay,  and  wrote  the  re- 
mainder, while  the  former  part  of  it  was 
printing.  When  it  was  wanted,  and  he 
had  fairly  sat  down  to  it,  he  was  sure  it 
would  be  done.” 

He  said,  that,  for  general  improvement, 
a man  should  read  whatever  his  immediate 
inclination  prompts  him  to;  though,  to  be 
sure,  if  a man  has  a science  to  learn,  he 
must_regularly  and  resolutely  advance.  He 
added,  “ What  we  read  with  inclination 
makes  a much  stronger  impression.  If  we 
read  without  inclination,  half  the  mind  is 
employed  in  fixing  the  attention;  so  there 
is  but  one  half  to  be  employed  on  what  we 
read.”  He  told  us,  he  read  Fielding’s 
“Amelia  ” through  without  stopping *  l.  He 
said,  “ If  a man  begins  to  read  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a book,  and  feels  an  inclination  to  go 
on,  let  him  not  quit  it,  to  go  to  the  begin- 
ning. He  may,  perhaps,  not  feel  again  the 
inclination.” 

Sir  Joshua  mentioned  Mr.  Cumberland’s 
“ Odes,  ” which  were  just  published.  John- 
son. “Why,  sir,  they  would  have  been 
thought  as  good  as  odes  commonly  are,  if 
Cumberland  had  not  put  his  name  to  them; 
but  a name  immediately  draws  censure,  un- 
less it  be  a name  that  bears  down  every 
thing  before  it.  Nay,  Cumberland  has 
made  his  c Odes  ’ subsidiary  to  the  fame  of 
another  man  2.  They  might  have  run  well 
enough  by  themselves;  but  he  has  not  only 
loaded  them  with  a name,  but  has  made 
them  carry  double.” 

We  talked  of  the  reviews,  and  Dr.  John- 

'  103.  “ The  Rambler  ” was  ended  before  they 

could  have  been  acquainted. — Ed.] 

1 We  have  here  an  involuntary  testimony  to 
the  excellence  of  this  admirable  writer,  to  whom 
we  have  seen  that  Dr.  Johnson  directly  allowed 
so  little  merit, — Boswell.  Johnson  appears  to 
have  been  particularly  pleased  with  the  character 
of  the  heroine  of  this  novel.  “ His  attention  to 
veracity,”  says  Mrs.  Piozzi,  “ was  without  equal 
or  example;”  and  when  I mentioned  Clarissa  as 
a perfect  character,  “ On  the  contrary,”  said  he, 
“ you  may  observe  there  is  always  something 
which  she  prefers  to  truth.”  “ Fielding’s  Amelia 
was  the  most  pleasing  heroine  of  all  the  romances,” 
he  said;  “ but  that  vile  broken  nose,  never  cured, 
ruined  the  sale  of  perhaps  the  only  book,  of 
which,  being  printed  off  (published)  betimes  one 
morning,  a new  edition  was  called  for  before 
night.” — Anecdotes , p.  221. — Malone. 

2 Mr.  Romney,  the  painter,  who  has  now  deserv- 
edly established  a high  reputation. — Boswell. 
[A  curious  work  might  be  written  on  the  reputa- 
tion of  painters.  Horace  Walpole  talks  some- 
where of  “ Ramsey  and  Reynolds  /”  and  Ha- 
ley also  dedicated  his  lyre  (such  as  it  was)  to 
Romney.  What  would  a picture  of  Ramsey  or 
Romney  now  bring  at  an  auction  ? — Ed.] 

VOT..  II.  9 


son  spoke  of  them  as  he  did  at  Thrale’s  3. 
Sir  Joshua  said,  what  I have  often  thought, 
that  he  wondered  to  find  so  much  good  wri- 
ting employed  in  them,  when  the  authcsurs 
were  to  remain  unknown,  and  so  could  not 
have  the  motive  of  fame.  Johnson. 
“ Nay,  sir,  those  who  write  in  them,  write 
well  in  order  to  be  paid  well.” 

[“  HR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“ 15th  April.  1776. 

“ Dearest  madam, — When  you 
called  on  Mrs.  Thrale,  I find  by  in- 
quiry  that  she  was  really  abroad. 

The  same  thing  happened  to  Mrs.  Monta- 
gu, of  which  I beg  you  to  inform  her,  for 
she  went  likewise  by  my  opinion.  The  de- 
nial, if  it  had  been  feigned,  would  not  have 
pleased  me.  Your  visits,  however,  are  kind- 
ly paid,  and  very  kindly  taken. 

“ We  are  going  to  Bath  this  morning; 
but  I could  not  part  without  telling  you  the 
real  state  of  your  visit. — I am,  dearest  mad- 
am, your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

Soon  after  this  day,  he  went  to  Bath  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale.  I had  never  seen 
that  beautiful  city,  and  wished  to  take  the 
opportunity  of  visiting  it  while  Johnson 
was  there.  Having  written  to  him,  I re- 
ceived the  following  answer: 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“ Dear  sir, — Why  do  you  talk  of  neg- 
lect ? When  did  I neglect  you  ? If  you  will 
come  to  Bath,  we  shall  all  be  glad  to  see 
you.  Come,  therefore,  as  soon  as  you  can. 

“ But  I have  a little  business  for  you  at 
London.  Bid  Francis  look  in  the  paper 
drawer  of  the  chest  of  drawers  in  my  bed- 
chamber, for  two  cases;  one  for  the  attor- 
ney-general,  and  one  for  the  solicitor-gener- 
al. They  lie,  I think>;  at  the  top  of  my 
papers;  otherwise  they  are  somewhere  else, 
and  will  give  me  more  trouble. 

“ Please  to  write  to  me  immediately,  if 
they  can  be  found.  Make  my  compliments 
to  all  our  friends  round  the  world,  and 
to  Mrs.  Williams  at  home.— I am,  sir,  your, 
&c.  “ Sam.  Johnson. 

“ Search  for  the  papers  as  soon  as  you 
can,  that,  if  it  is  necessary,  I may  write  to 
you  again  before  you  come  down.” 

On  the  26th  April,  I went  to  Bath;  and 
on  my  arrival  at  the  Pelican  inn,  found  ly- 
ing for  me  an  obliging  invitation  from  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Thrale,  by  whom  I was  agreeably 
entertained  almost  constantly  during  my 
stay.  They  were  gone  to  the  rooms:  but 
there  was  a kind  note  from  Dr.  Johnson, 
that  he  should  sit  at  home  all  the  evening. 


[3  See  ante , p.  60. — Eo.j 


66 


1776.— ^ETAT.  67. 


I went  to  him  directiy,  and  befo.  e Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Thrale  returned,  we  had  by  ourselves 
some  hours  of  tea-drinking  and  talk. 

I shall  group  together  such  of  his  sayings 
as  I preserved  during  the  few  days  that  I 
was  at  Bath. 

Of  a person  1 who  differed  from  him  in 
politicks,  he  said,  ££  In  private  life  he  is  a 
very  honest  gentleman;  but  I will  not  allow 
him  to  be  so  in  publick  life.  People  may  be 
honest,  though  they  are  doing  wrong:  that 
is,  between  their  Maker  and  them.  But  we, 
who  are  suffering  by  their  pernicious  con- 
duct, are  to  destroy  them.  We  are  sure 
that  [Burke]  acts  from  interest.  We  know 
what  his  genuine  principles  were  2.  They 
who  allow  their  passions  to  confound  the 
distinctions  between  right  and  wrong,  are 
criminal.  They  may  be  convinced;  but 
they  have  not  come  honestly  by  their  con- 
viction.” 

It  having  been  mentioned,  I know  not 
with  what  truth,  that  a certain  female  polit- 
ical writer3,  whose  doctrines  he  disliked, 
had  of  late  become  very  fond  of  dress,  sat 
hours  together  at  her  toilet,  and  even  put  on 
rouge:  Johnson.  <c  She  is  better  employed 
at  her  toilet,  than  using  her  pen.  It  is  bet- 
ter she  should  be  reddening  her  own  cheeks, 
than  blackening  other  people’s  characters.” 

He  told  us  that  “ Addison  wrote  Budgell’s 
papers  in  the  Spectator,  at  least  mended 
them  so  much,  that  he  made  them  almost 
his  own;  and  that  Draper,  Tonson’s  part- 
ner, assured  Mrs.  Johnson,  that  the  much 
admired  Epilogue  to  £ The  Distressed  Moth- 
er,’ which  came  out  in  Budgell’s  name,  was 
in  reality  written  by  Addison.” 

*'{  The  mode  of  government  by  one  may 
be  ill  adapted  to  a small  society,  but  is  best 
fc,r  a great  nation  The  characteristick  of 
our  own  government  at  present  is  imbecili- 
ty. The  magistrates  dare  not  call  the 
guards,  for  fear  or  being  hanged.  The 
guards  will  not  come,  for  fear  of  being  given 
up  to  the  biinj  rage  of  popular  juries.” 

Of  the  father--  of  one  of  our  friends  he 
observed,  “ He  ne\  ?r  clarified  his  notions, 
by  filtrating  them  ifirough  other  minds. 
He  had  a canal  upon  his  estate,  where  at 
one  place  the  bank  was  too  vw.  I dug  the 
canal  deeper,”  said  he. 

He  told  me  that  “ so  long  ago  ss  1748 
he  had  read  £ The  Grave,  a Poem  V hut  did 

1 [Mr.  Burke. — Ed.] 

2 [He  means,  that,  in  early  lif?,  th°y,  at  tha 
Club,  knew  that  Burke  was  not  what  Johnson 
would  call  a whig.  Mr.  Burke  ended  as  he  began — 

“ This  sun  of  empire,  where  he  rose,  he  set ! Ed.;) 

3 [Mrs.  Macaulay. — Ed.] 

4 [The  elder  Mr.  Langton. — Hatch.  Mem.  It 
is  not  easy  to  understand  how  any  filtrating 
could  have  cured  a mind  of  such  an  error  as  this. 
--Ed.] 

5 I am  sorry  that  there  are  no  memoirs  of  the 


not  like  it  much.”  I differed  from  him. 
for  though  it  is  not  equal  throughout,  and 
is  seldom  elegantly  correct,  it  abounds  in 
solemn  thought  and  poetical  imagery  be- 
yond the  common  reach.  The  world  has 
differed  from  him;  for  the  poem  has  passed 
through  many  editions,  and  is  still  much 
read  by  people  of  a serious  cast  of  mind. 

A literary  lady  of  large  fortune  was  men- 
tioned, as  one  who  did  good  to  many,  but 
by  no  means  cc  by  stealth,”  and  instead  of 
“ blushing  to  find  it  fame,”  acted  evidently 
from  vanity.  Johnson.  ££  I have  seen  no 
beings  who  do  as  much  good  from  benevo- 
lence, as  she  does,  from  whatever  motive. 

If  there  are  such  under  the  earth,  or  in  the 
clouds,  I wish  they  would  come  up,  or  come 
down.  What  Soame  Jenyns  says  upon 
this  subject  is  not  to  be  minded;  he  is  a wit. 
No,  sir;  to  act  from  pure  benevolence  is  not 
possible  for  finite  beings.  Human  benevo- 
lence is  mingled  with  vanity,  interest,  oi 
some  other  motive.” 

[The  pension  which  Mrs.  Monta- 
gu had  lately  settled  on  Miss  Wil-  D 
liams* * * * * 6  would  naturally  account  for  this  de- 
fence of  that  lady’s  beneficence ; but  it  seems 
also  to  haVe  induced  Johnson  to  speak  of 
her  intellectual  powers  in  a strain  of  pane- 
gyric as  excessive  as  his  former  deprecia- 
tion.] [Miss  Reynolds  relates  that 
she  had  heard  him  speak  of  Mrs. 

Montagu  in  terms  of  high  admiration. 

££  Sir,”  he  would  say,  ££  that  lady  exerts 
more  mind  in  conversation  than  any  person 
I ever  met  with:  sir,  she  displays  such  pow- 
ers of  ratiocination — such  radiations  of 
intellectual  excellence  as  are  amazing!  ”] 

He  would  not  allow  me  to  praise  a lacly 7 * 
then  at  Bath;  observing,  ££  She  does  nol 
gain  upon  me,  sir;  I think  her  empty-head- 
ed.” He  was,  indeed,  a stern  critick  upon 
characters  and  manners.  Even  Mrs.  Thrale 
did  not  escape  his  friendly  animadversion 
at  times.  When  he  and  I were  one  day 
endeavouring  to  ascertain,  article  by  article, 
how  one  of  our  friends8  could  possibly 

Reverend  Robert  Blair,  the  authour  of  this  poem. 
He  was  the  representative  of  the  ancient  family  of 
Blair  of  Blair,  in  Ayrshire;  but  the  estate  had  de 
scended  to  a female,  and  afterwards  passed  to  the 
son  of  her  husband  by  another  marriage.  He  was 

minister  of  the  parish  of  Athelstaneford,  where  Mr 
John  Home  was  his  successor;  so  that  it  may  tru 
' ly  be  called  classick  ground.  His  son,  who  is  of 
the  same  name,  and  a man  eminent  for  talents 

and  learning,  is  now,  with  universal  approbation, 
solicitor-general  of  Scotland.  [He  was  afterwards 

Lord  President  of  the  Court  of  Session,  and  high- 

ly venerated. — Ed.] 

6 [See  ante , p.  21. — Ed.] 

' [This  has  been  supposed  to  be  Mrs  Uannn* 
More  ; yet  i*  seems  hard  tc  conceive  m w*taJ 
wayward  fancy  be  could  cal!  her  “ 
ed.”—  Ed.] 

8 [Mr.  I.angton  — E^.j 


177(5. — JSTAT  67. 


67 


spend  as  much  money  in  his  family  as  he 
told  us  he  did,  she  interrupted  us  by  a live- 
ly extravagant  sally,  on  the  expense  of 
clothing  his  children,  describing  it  in  a very 
ludicrous  and  fanciful  manner.  Johnson 
looked  a little  angry,  and  said,  “ Nay, 
madam,  when  you  are  declaiming,  declaim; 
and  when  you  are  calculating,  calculate.’’ 
At  another  time,  when  she  said,  perhaps 
affectedly,  “ I ffo  n’t  like  to  fly.”  Johnson. 
“ With  your  wings,  madam,  you  must  fly: 
but  have  a care,  there  are  clippers  abroad.” 
How  very  well  was  this  said,  and  how  fully 
has  experience  proved  the  truth  of  it ! But 
have  they  not  clipped  rather  rudely , and 
gone  a great  deal  closer  than  was  necessa- 
ry1? 

[But  though  Dr.  Johnson  would, 
Recoil  as  rs*  Pi°zzl  has  candidly  confessed , 
treat  her  with  occasional  rudeness, 
he  had  a most  sincere  and  tender  regard 
for  her,  and  no  wonder;  for  she  would,  with 
great  consideration  and  kindness,  overlook 
his  foibles  and  his  asperities.  One  day,  at 
her  own  table,  he  spoke  so  very  roughly  to 
her,  that  every  one  present  was  surprised 
that  she  could  bear  it  so  placidly,  and  on 
the  ladies  withdrawing,  Miss  Reynolds  ex- 
pressed great  astonishment  that  Dr.  John- 
son should  speak  so  harshly  to  her,  but  to 
this  she  said  no  more  than  “ O,  dear  good 
man!”  This  simple  reply  appeared  so 
strong  a proof  of  her  generous  and  affection- 
ate friendship,  that  Miss  Reynolds  took  the 
first  opportunity  of  communicating  it  to 
Dr.  Johnson,  repeating  her  own  animad- 
versions which  had  produced  it.  He  was 
much  delighted’  with  the  information;  and 
some  time  after,  as  he  was  lying  back  in  his 
chair,  seeming  to  be  half  asleep,  but  really, 
as  it  turned  out,  musing  on  this  pleasing 
incident,  he  repeated,  in  a loud  whisper, 
“ O,  dear  good  man!”  This  kind  of  solilo- 
quy was  a common  habit  of  his,  when  any 
thing  very  flattering  or  very  extraordinary 
engrossed  his  thoughts.] 

A gentleman  expressed  a wish  to  go  and 
live  three  years  at  Otaheit6,  or  New  Zea- 
land, in  order  to  obtain  a full  acquaintance 
with  people  so  totally  different  from  all  that 
we  have  ever  known,  and  be  satisfied  what 
pure  nature  can  do  for  man.  Johnson. 
“ What  could  you  learn,  sir?  What  can 
savages  tell,  but  what  they  themselves  have 
Seen?  • Of  the  past  or  the  invisible  they  can 
tell  nothing.  The  inhabitants  of  Otaheite 
and  New  Zealand  are  not  in  a state  of  pure 
nature;  for  it  is  plain  they  broke  off  from 
some  other  people.  Had  they  grown  out 

1  [This  alludes  to  the  many  sarcastic  observa- 
tions published  against  Mrs.  Piozzi,  on  her  lamen- 
table marriage,  and  particularly  toBaretti’s  brutal 
strictures  in  the  European  Magazine  for  1788;  so 
brutal,  that  Mr.  Boswell,  with  all  his  enmity  to- 
wards her,  could  not  approve  of  them  — Ed.] 


of  the  ground,  you  might  have  judged  of 
a state  of  pure  nature.  Fanciful  people 
may  talk  of  a mythology  being  amongst 
them;  but  it  must  be  invention.  They 
have  once  had  religion,  which  has  been 
gradually  debased.  And  what  account  of 
their  religion  can  you  suppose  to  be  learnt 
from  savages?  Only  consider,  sir,  our  own 
state:  our  religion  is  in  a book;  we  have  an 
order  of  men  whose  duty  it  is  to  teach  it;  we 
have  one  day  in  the  week  set  apart  for  it, 
and  this  is  in  general  pretty  well  observed : 
yet  ask  the  first  ten  gross  men  you  meet,  and 
hear  what  they  can  tell  of  their  religion.” 

On  Monday,  April  29,  he  and  I made  an 
excursion  to  Bristol,  where  I wras  enter- 
tained with  seeing  him  inquire  upon  the 
spot  into  the  authenticity  of  “ Rowley’s 
poetry,”  as  I had  seen  him  inquire  upon 
the  spot  into  the  authenticity  of  “ Ossian’s 
poetry.”  George  Catcot,  the  pewterer, 
who  was  as  zealous  for  Rowley  as  Dr. 
Hugh  Blair  was  for  Ossian  (I  trust  my 
reverend  friend  will  excuse  the  comparison), 
attended  us  at  our  inn,  and  with  a trium- 
phant air  of  lively  simplicity,  called  out, 
“ I ’ll  make  Dr.  Johnson  a convert.”  Dr. 
Johnson,  at  his  desire,  read  aloud  some  of 
Chatterton’s  fabricated  verses,  while  Catcot 
stood  at  the  back  of  his  chair,  moving  him 
self  like  a pendulum,  and  beating  time  with 
his  feet,  and  now  and  then  looking  into  Dr. 
Johnson’s  face,  wondering  that  he  was  not 
yet  convinced.  We  called  on  Mr.  Barret, 
the  surgeon,  and  saw  some  of  the  originals  , 
as  they  were  called,  which  were  execute/] 
very  artificially;  but  from  a careful  inspec- 
tion of  them,  and  a consideration  of  t’ne 
circumstances  with  which  they  were  at- 
tended, we  were  quite  satisfied  of  the  im- 
posture, which,  indeed,  has  been  cle  arly 
demonstrated  from  internal  evidence,  by 
several  able  cri ticks  2. 

Honest  Catcot  seemed  to  pay  no  atten- 
tion whatever  to  any  objections,  but  insist- 
ed, as  an  end  of  all  controversy,  that  we 
should  go  with  him  to  the  tower  of  the 
church  of  St.  Mary,  Redcliff,  and  view  with 
our  own  eyes  the  ancient  chest  in  which 
the  manuscripts  were  found3.  To  this 
Dr.  Johnson  good-naturedly  agreed;  and, 
though  troubled  with  a shortness  of  breath 
ing,  laboured  up  a long  flight  of  steps,  till 
we  came  to  the  place  where  the  wondrous 
chest  stood.  “ There ,”  said  Catcot,  with 
a bouncing  confident  credulity,  “ there  is 

2 Mr.  Tyrwhitt,  Mr.  Warton,  Mr.  Malone. — 
Boswell. 

3 [This  naivete  resembles  the  style  of  evidence 
which  Johnson  so  pleasantly  ridicules  in  the 
Idler.  “ Jack  Sneaker  is  a hearty  adherent  to 
the  protestant  establishment;  he  has  known  those 
who  saw  the  bed  into  which  the  Pretender  was 
conveyed  in  a warming-pan.” — Idller , No.  10. 
— Ed.] 


68 


1T76. — iETAT.  67. 


the  very  chest  itself.”  After  this  ocular 
demonstration , there  was  no  more  to  be 
said.  He  brought  to  my  recollection  a 
Scotch  Highlander,  a man  of  learning  too, 
and  who  had  seen  the  world,  attesting,  and 
at  the  same  time  giving  his  reasons  for,  the 
authenticity  of  Fingal:  “ I have  heard  all 
that  poem  when  I was  young.”  “ Have 
you,  sir?  Pray  what  have  you  heard?” 
“ I have  heard  Ossian,  Oscar,  and  every 
one  of  them.” 

Johnson  said  of  Chatterton,  “ This  is 
the  most  extraordinary  young  man  that  has 
encountered  my  knowledge.  It  is  wonder- 
ful how  the  whelp  has  written  such  things.” 
Hawk.  [And  of  the  merit  of  the  poems  ad- 
Apoph.  mitted  on  both  sides  of  the  contro- 
p.  208.  versy , he  said,  “ It  is  a sword  that 
cuts  both  ways.  It  is  as  wonderful  that  a 
boy  of  sixteen  years  old  should  have  stored 
his  mind  with  such  a strain  of  ideas  and 
images,  as  to  suppose  that  such  ease  of  ver- 
sification and  elegance  of  language  were 
produced  by  Rowley  in  the  time  of  Edward 
the  Fourth.”] 

We  were  by  no  means  pleased  with  our 
inn  at  Bristol.  “ Let  us  see  now,”  said  I, 
“ how  we  should  describe  it.”  Johnson 
was  ready  with  his  raillery.  “ Describe  it, 
sir?  Why,  it  was  so  bad,  that — Boswell 
wished  to  be  in  Scotland ! ” 

After  Dr.  Johnson  returned  to  London1, 
I was  several  times  with  him  at  his  house, 
where  I occasionally  slept,  in  the  room  that 
had  been  assigned  for  me.  I dined  with 
him  at  Dr.  Taylor’s,  at  General  Ogle- 
thorpe’s, and  at  General  Paoli’s.  To  avoid 
a tedious  minuteness,  I shall  group  together 
what  I have  preserved  of  his  conversation 
during  this  period  also,  without  specifying 
each  scene  where  it  passed,  except  one, 
which  will  be  found  so  remarkable  as  cer- 
tainly to  deserve  a very  particular  relation. 
Where  the  place  or  the  persons  do  not  con- 
tribute to  the  zest  of  the  conversation,  it  is 
unnecessary  to  encumber  my  page  with 
mentioning  them.  To  know  of  what  vin- 
tage our  wine  is,  enables  us  to  judge  of  its 
value,  and  to  drink  it  with  more  relish : but 
to  have  the  produce  of  each  vine  of  one 
vineyard,  in  the  same  year,  kept  separate, 
would  serve  no  purpose.  To  know  that 
our  wine  (to  use  an  advertising  phrase)  is 
“ of  the  stock  of  an  ambassadour  lately  de- 
ceased,” heightens  its  flavour:  but  it  signi- 
fies nothing  to  know  the  bin  where  each 
bottle  was  once  deposited  2. 

1 [It  appears  from  his  letters  to  Mrs.  Thrale, 
that  he  left  Bafh  on  Friday  night,  the  3d  of  May, 
and  arrived  in  London  by  seven  o’clock  next  day. 
On  Sunday,  the  5th,  and  Tuesday,  the  7th,  he 
dined  with  Dr  Taylor:  on  Wednesday,  the  8th, 
with  General  Oglethorpe;  and  on  Thursday,  the 
with  General  Paoli. — Ed.] 

'Notwithstar.dhg  thit  elaborate  illustration, 


cc  Garrick,”  he  observed,  “does  not  jday 
the  part  of  Archer  in  the  ‘ Beaux  Stratagem J 
well.  The  gentleman  should  break  through 
the  footman,  which  is  not  the  case  as  he 
does  it 3.” 

“ Where  there  is  no  education,  as  in  sav- 
age countries,  men  will  have  the  upper  hand 
of  women.  Bodily  strength,  no  doubt,  con- 
tributes to  this;  but  it  would  be  so,  exclu 
sive  of  that;  for  it  is  mind  that  always  gov- 
erns. When  it  comes  to  dry  understand- 
ing, man  has  the  better.” 

# “ The  little  volumes  entitled  ‘ Respub - 
licce 4,’  which  are  very  well  done,  were  a 
bookseller’s  work.” 

“ There  is  much  talk  of  the  misery  which 
we  cause  to  the  brute  creation;  but  they 
are  recompensed  by  existence.  If  they 
were  not  useful  to  man,  and  therefore  pro- 
tected  by  him,  they  would  not  be  nearly  sc 
numerous.”  This  argument  is  to  be  found 
in  the  able  and  benignant  Hutchinson’s 
“ Moral  Philosophy.”  But  the  question 
is,  whether  the  animals  who  endure  such 
sufferings  of  various  kinds,  for  the  service 
and  entertainment  of  man,  would  accept  of 
existence  upon  the  terms  on  which  they 
have  it.  Madame  de  Sevign6,  who,  though 
she  had  many  enjoyments,  felt  with  delicate 
sensibility  the  prevalence  of  misery,  com- 
plains of  the  task  of  existence  having  been 
imposed  upon  her  without  her  consent. 

“ That  man  is  never  happy  for  the  pre 
sent  is  so  true,  that  all  his  relief  from  un 
happiness  is  only  forgetting  himself  for  a 
little  while.  Life  is  a progress  from  want 
to  want,  not  from  enjoyment  to  enjoyment.’ 

“ Though  many  men  are  nominally  in 
trusted  with  the  administration  of  hospitals 
and  other  publick  institutions,  almost  all 
the  good  is  done  by  one  man,  by  whom  the 
rest  aie  driven  on;  owing  to  confidence  in 
him  and  indolence  in  them.” 

“ Lord  Chesterfield’s  Letters  to  his  Son5, 
I think,  might  be  made  a very  pretty  book 
Take  out  the  immorality,  and  it  should  be 
put  into  the  hands  of  every  young  gentle- 
man. An  elegant  manner  and  easiness  of 
behaviour  are  acquired  gradually  and  im- 
perceptibly. No  man  can  say,  ‘ I ’ll  be  gen- 
teel.’ There  are  ten  genteel  women  foi 


drawn  from  the  cellar,  Mr.  Boswell’s  readers  are 

best  pleased  when  his  diligence  has  enabled  him 
to  give  the  actual  dialogue,  with  all  its  details.-^- 
Ed.] 

3 [Garrick,  on  the  other  hand,  denied  that  John- 
son was  capable  of  distinguishing  the  gentleman 
from  the  footman.  See  ante,  p.  44  —Ed.] 

4 [Accounts  of  the  principal  states  of  Europe 
—Ed.] 

5 [“A  pretty  book  ” was  made  up  from  these 
letters  by  the  late  Dr.  Trusler,  entitled  “ Princi- 
ples of  Politeness,”  and  was,  some  years  ago, 
commonly  “ put  into  the  hands  of  young  gentle- 
men.”— Hall.] 


t77t>.-  yETAT.  67 


j>ne  genleel  man,  because  they  are  more 
restrained.  A man  without  some  degree  of 
restraint  is  insufferable;  but  we  are  all  less 
restrained  than  women.  Were  a woman 
sitting  in  company  to  put  out  her  legs  be- 
fore her  as  most  men  do,  we  should  be 
tempted  to  kick  them  in.”  No  man  was  a 
more  attentive  and  nice  observer  of  beha- 
viour in  those  in  whose  company  he  happened 
to  be  than  Johnson,  or,  however  strange  it 
may  seem  to  many,  had  a higher  estimation 
of  its  refinements. 

[Mrs.  Thrale  one  day  commend- 
ed  a young  lady  for  her  beauty 
p’  ' and  pretty  behaviour,  to  whom  she 
thought  no  objections  could  have  been 
made.  “ I saw  her  (said  Dr.  Johnson)  take 
a pair  of  scissors  in  her  left  hand;  and 
though  her  father  is  now  become  a noble- 
man, and  as  you  say  excessively  rich,  I 
should,  were  I a youth  of  quality  ten  years 
hence,  hesitate  between  a girl  so  neglected, 
and  a negro  J.”] 

[It  was  amazing — so  short-sigh t- 
Recol  as  was — k°w  very  observant 

eco  ‘ he  was  of  appearances  in  dress  and 
behaviour,  nay,  even  of  the  deportment  of 
servants  while  waiting  at  table.  One  day, 
as  his  man  Frank  was  attending  at  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds’s  table,  he  observed  with 
some  emotion,  that  he  had  placed  the  salver 
under  his  arm.  Nor  would  the  conduct  of 
the  company — blind  as  he  was  to  his  own 
many  and  strange  peculiarities — escape  his 
animadversion  on  some  occasions.  He 
thought  the  use  of  water  glasses  a strange 
erversion  of  the  idea  of  refinement,  and 
ad  a great  dislike  to  the  use  of  a pocket 
handkerchief  at  meals,  when,  if  he  happen- 
ed to  have  occasion  for  one?,  he  would  rise 
from  his  chair  and  go  to  some  distance, 
with  his  back  to  the  company,  and  perform 
the  operation  as  silently  as  possible.] 

Lord  Elliot  informs  me,  that  one  day 
when  Johnson  and  he  were  at  dinner  in  a 
gentleman’s  house  in  London,  upon  Lord 
Chesterfield’s  Letters  being  mentioned, 
Johnson  surprised  the  company  by  this 
sentence:  “Every  man  of  any  education 
would  rather  be  called  a rascal,  than  ac- 
cused of  deficiency  in  the  graces .”  Mr. 
Gibbon,  who  was  present,  turned  to  a lady 
who  knew  Johnson  well,  and  lived  much 

“ The  child  who  took  a pair  of  scissors  in 
her  left  hand  is  Dow  a woman  of  quality,  highly 
respected,  and  would  cut  us,  I conclude,  most 
deservedly,  if  more  were  said  on  the  subject.” — 
Piozzi  MS.  [The  editor  believes  that  the  la- 
dy was  the  eldest  daughter  of  Mr.  Lyttelton,  af- 
terwards Lord  Westcote,  married  to  Sir  Richard 
Hoare.  She  was  born  in  Jamaica,  and  thence, 
perhaps,  Johnson’s  strange  allusion  to  the  negro, 
[t  was  Johnson’s  hatred  to  all  the  Lytteltons  which 
inflamed  this  little  accident  to  such  a ridiculous 
ize. — Ed.] 


by 

with  him,  gnd  "n  his  quaint  manner,  tapping 
his  box,  addressed  her  thus:  “Do  n’t  you 
think,  madam  (looking  towards  Johnson), 
that  among  all  your  acquaintance,  you 
could  find  one  exception  ? ” The  lady 
smiled,  and  seemed  to  acquiesce  2. 

“ I read  (said  he),  Sharpe’s  Letters  on 
Italy 3 over  again,  when  I was  at  Bath. 
There  is  a great  deal  of  matter  in  them.” 

“ Mrs.  Williams  was  angry  that  Thrale’s 
family  did  not  send  regularly  to  her  every 
time  they  heard  from  me  while  I was  in  the 
Hebrides.  Little  people  are  apt  to  be  jeal- 
ous: but  they  should  not  be  jealous;  for 
they  ought  to  consider,  that  superiour  at- 
tention will  necessarily  be  paid  to  superiour 
fortune  or  rank.  Two  persons  may  have 
equal  merit,  and  on  that  account  may  have 
an  equal  claim  to  attention;  but  one  of 
them  may  have  also  fortune  and  rank,  and 
so  may  have  a double  claim.” 

Talking  of  his  notes  on  Shakspeare,  he 
said,  “ I despise  those  who  do  not  see  that 
I am  right  in  the  passage  where  as  is  ie- 
peated,  and  ( asses  of  great  charge  ’ intro- 


2 [Mr.  Colman,  in  his  “ Random  Records ,” 
lately  published,  has  given  a lively  sketch  of  the 
appearance  and  manners  of  Johnson  and  Gibbon 
in  society.  “ The  learned  Gibbon  was  a curious 
counterbalance  to  the  learned  (may  I not  say  less 
learned  ?)  Johnson.  Their  manners  and  taste,  both 
in  writing  and  conversation,  were  as  different  as 
their  habiliments.  On  the  day  I first  sat  down  with 
Johnson,  in  his  rusty  brown  suit,  and  his  black 
worsted  stockings,  Gibbon  was  placed  opposite  to 
me  in  a suit  of  flowerod  velvet,  with  a bag  and 
sword.  Each  had  his  measured  phraseology ; and 
Johnson’s  famous  parallel,  between  Dryden  and 
Pope,  might  be  loosely  parodied,  in  reference  to 
himself  and  Gibbon. — Johnson’s  style  was  grand, 
and  Gibbon’s  elegant;  the  stateliness  of  the  for- 
mer was  sometimes  pedantick,  and  the  polish  of  the 
latter  was  occasionally  finical.  Johnson  marched 
to  kettle-drums  and  trumpets;  Gibbon  moved  to 
flutes  and  hautboys:  Johnson  hewed  passages 
through  the  Alps,  while  Gibbon  levelled  walks 
through  parks  and  gardens. — Mauled  as  I had 
been  by  Johnson,  Gibbon  poured  balm  upon  my 
braises,  by  condescending,  once  or  twice,  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  to  talk  with  me: — the  great 
historian  was  light  and  playful,  suiting  his  matter 
to  the  capacity  of  the  boy ; but  it  was  done  more 
suo; — still  his  mannerism  prevailed; — still  he  tap- 
ped his  snuff-box, — still  he  smirked,  and  smiled; 
and  rounded  his  periods  with  the  same  air  of  good- 
breeding, as  if  he  were  conversing  with  men. — 
His  mouth  mellifluous  as  Plato’s,  was  a round 
hole,  nearly  in  the  centre  of  his  visage.” — Vol.  i. 
p.  121.— Ed.] 

3 [Mr.  Samuel  Sharpe,  a surgeon,  who  travel- 
led for  his  health,  and  whose  representation  of 
Italian  manners  was  supposed  to  be  tinged  by  the 
ill  humour  of  a valetudinarian.  Baretti  took  up 
the  defence  of  his  country,  and  a smart  controver- 
sy ensued  which  made  some  noise  at  the  time  - - 
Ed.] 


70 


1776.— JETAT.  67 


duced.  That  on  ‘ To  be,  or  not  to  be,’  is 
disputable 1 

A gentleman,  whom  I found  sitting  with 
him  one  morning,  said,  that  in  his  opinion 
the  character  of  an  infidel  was  more  detesta- 
ble than  that  of  a man  notoriously  guilty 
of  an  atrocious  crime.  I differed  from  him, 
because  we  are  surer  of  the  odiousness  of 
the  one,  than  of  the  errour  of  the  other. 
Johnson  “ Sir,  I agree  with  him;  for  the 
infidel  would  be  guilty  of  any  crime  if  he 
were  inclined  to  it.” 

“ Many  things  which  are  false  are  trans- 
mitted from  book  to  book,  and  gain  credit 
in  the  world.  One  of  these  is  the  cry 
against  the  evil  of  luxury.  Now  the  truth 
is,  that  luxury  produces  much  good.  T ake 
the  luxury  of  buildings  in  London.  Does 
it  not  produce  real  advantage  in  the  conve- 
niency  and  elegance  of  accommodation,  and 
this  all  from  the  exertion  of  industry?  Peo- 
ple will  tell  you,  with  a melancholy  face, 
how  many  builders  are  in  gaol.  It  is  plain 
they  are  in  gaol,  not  for  building;  for  rents 
are  not  fallen.  A man  gives  half-a-guinea 
for  a dish  of  green  peas.  How  much  gar- 
dening does  this  occasion?  how  many  la- 
bourers must  the  competition  to  have  such 
things  early  in  the  market  keep  in  employ- 
ment? You  will  hear  it  said,  very  gravely, 
c Why  was  not  the  half-guinea,  thus  spent 
in  luxury,  given  to  the  poor?  To  how 
many  might  it  have  afforded  a good  meal?’ 
Alas!  has  it  not  gone  to  the  industrious 
poor,  whom  it  is  better  to  support  than  the 
idle  poor?  You  are  much  surer  that  you 
are  doing  good  when  you  pay  money  to  those 
who  work,  as  the  recompense  of  their  la- 
bour, than  when  you  give  money  merely 
in  charity.  Suppose  the  ancient  luxury  of 
a dish  of  peacock’s  brains  were  to  be  reviv- 
ed, how  many  carcasses  would  be  left  to 
the  poor  at  a cheap  rate ! and  as  to  the  rout 
that  is  made  about  people  who  are  ruined 
by  extravagance,  it  is  no  matter  to  the  na- 
tion that  some  individuals  suffer.  When 
so  much  general  productive  exertion  is  the 
consequence  of  luxury,  the  nation  does  not 
care  though  there  are  debtors  in  gaol:  nay, 
they  would  not  care  though  their  creditors 
were  there  too  ” 

The  uncommon  vivacity  of  General  Ogle- 
thorpe’s mind,  and  variety  of  knowledge, 
having  sometimes  made  his  conversation 
seem  too  desultory;  Johnson  observed, 


1 It  may  be  observed,  that  Mr.  Malone,  in  his 
very  valuable  edition  of  Shakspeare,  has  fully 
vindicated  Dr.  Johnson  from  the  idle  censures 
which  the  first  of  these  notes  has  given  rise  to. 
The  interpretation  of  the  other  passage,  which  Dr. 
Johnson  allows  to  he  disputable , he  has  clearly 
•iiown  to  be  erroneous. — Boswell.  [The  first 
note  is  on  a passage  in  llamlet,  act  5.  scene  ii. — 
Ed 


“ Oglethorpe,  sir,  never  completes  what  he 
has  to  say.” 

He  on  the  same  account  made  a similar 
remarkon  Patrick  Lord  Elibank;  ‘ Sir,  there 
is  nothing  conclusive  in  his  talk.” 

When  I complained  of  having  dined  at  a 
splendid  table  without  hearing  one  sentence 
of  conversation  worthy  of  being  remember- 
ed, he  said,  “ Sir,  there  seldom  is  any  such 
conversation.”  Boswell.  “Why  then 
meet  at  table?  ” Johnson.  “ Why  to  eat 
and  drink  together,  and  to  promote  kindness; 
and,  sir,  this  is  better  done  when  there  is  no 
solid  conversation : for  when  there  is,  peo- 
ple differ  in  opinion,  and  get  into  bad  hu- 
mour, or  some  of  the  company,  who  are  not 
capable  of  such  conversation,  are  left  out, 
and  feel  themselves  uneasy.  It  was  for  this 
reason  Sir  Robert  Walpole  said,  he  Ed 
always  talked  [coarsely]  at  his  table,  D‘ 
because  in  that  all  could  join.” 

Being  irritated  by  hearing  a gentleman  a 
ask  Mr.  Levet  a variety  of  questions  con- 
cerning him,  when  he  was  sitting  by,  he 
broke  out,  “ Sir,  you  have  but  two  topicks, 
yourself  and  me.  I am  sick  of  both.”  “A 
man  (said  he)  should  not  talk  of  himself, 
nor  much  of  any  particular  person.  He 
should  take  care  not  to  be  made  a proverb; 
and,  therefore,  should  avoid  having  any  one 
topick  of  which  people  can  say,  c We  shall 
hear  him  upon  it.’  There  was  a Dr.  Old- 
field, who  was  always  talking  of  the  Duke 
of  Marlborough.  He  came  into  a coffee- 
house one  day,  and  told  that  his  grace 
had  spoken  in  the  House  of  Lords  for  half 
an  hour.  £ pid  he  indeed  speak  for  half  an 
hour  ?’  (said  BelcMer,  the  surgeon). — ‘ Yes.’ 
— c And  wThat  did  he  say  of  Dr.  Oldfield?  ’ 
— c Nothing.  ’— *c  Why  then,  sir,  he  was  very 
ungrateful;  for  Dr.  Oldfield  could  not  have 
spoken  for  a quarter  of  an  hour,  without 
saying  something  of  him.’  ” 

“ Every  man  is  to  take  existence  on  the 
terms  on  which  it  is  given  to  him.  To 
some  men  it  is  given  on  condition  of  not 
taking  liberties,  which  other  men  may  take 
without  much  harm.  One  may  drink  wine, 
and  be  nothing  the  worse  for  it:  on  another, 
wine  may  have  effects  so  inflammatory  as 
to  injure  him  both  in  body  and  mind,  and 
perhaps  make  him  commit  something  for 
which  he  may  deserve  to  be  hanged.” 

“ Lord  'Hailes’s  ‘ Annals  of  Scotland  ’ 
have  not  that  painted  form  which  is  the 
taste  of  this  age;  but  it  is  a book  which  will 
always  sell,  it  has  such  a stability  of  dates, 
such  a certainty  of  facts,  and  such  a punc- 
tuality of  citation.  I never  before  read 
Scotch  history  with  certainty.” 

1 asked  him  whether  he  would  advise  me 

2 [Probably  Mr.  Boswell  himself,  who  frequent- 
ly practised  this  mode  of  obtaining  information. — 
Ed.] 


1776.— AETAT  67. 


71 


to  read  the  Bible  with  a commentary,  and 
what  commentaries  he  would  recommend. 
Tohnson.  “ To  be  sure,  sir,  I would  have 
you  read  the  Bible  with  a commentary ; and 
I would  recommend  Lowth  and  Patrick  on 
the  Old  Testament,  and  Hammond  on  the 
New.55 

During  my  stay  in  London  this  spring,  I 
solicited  his  attention  to  another  law  case, 
in  which  I was  engaged.  In  the  course  of 
a contested  election  for  the  borough  of 
Dunfermline,  which  I attended  as  one  of 
my  friend  Colonel  (afterward  Sir  Archibald) 
Campbell’s  counsel,  one  of  his  political 
agents — who  was  charged  with  having  been 
unfaithful  to  his  employer,  and  having  de- 
serted to  the  opposite  party  for  a pecuniary 
reward — attacked  very  rudely  in  the  news- 
papers the  Reverend  Mr.  James  Thomson, 
one  of  the  ministers  of  that  place,  on  ac- 
count of  a supposed  allusion  to  him  in  one 
of  his  sermons.  Upon  this  the  minister, 
on  a subsequent  Sunday,  arraigned  him  by 
name  from  the  pulpit  with  some  severity; 
and  the  agent,  after  the  sermon  was  over, 
rose  up  and  asked  the  minister  aloud, 
cc  What  bribe  he  had  received  for  telling  so 
many  lies  from  the  chair  of  verity1?55  I 
was  present  at  this  very  extraordinary  scene. 
The  person  arraigned,  and  his  father  and 
brother,  who  also  had  a share  both  of  the 
reproof  from  the  pulpit  and  in  the  retaliation, 
brought  an  action  against  Mr.  Thomson, 
in  the  Court  of  Session,  for  defamation  and 
damages,  and  I was  one  of  the  counsel  for 
the  reverend  defendant.  The  liberty  of  the 
pulpit  was  our  great  ground  of  defence;  but 
we  argued  also  on  the  provocation  of  the 
previous  attack,  and  on  the  instant  retalia- 
tion. The  Court  of  Session,  however, — 
the  fifteen  judges,  who  are  at  the  same  time 
the  jury, — decided  against  the  minister,  con- 
trary to  my  humble  opinion;  and  several  of 
them  expressed  themselves  with  indignation 
against  him.  He  was  an  aged  gentleman, 
formerly  a military  chap^in,  and  a man  of 
high  spirit  and  honour.  Johnson  was  satis- 
fied that  the  judgment  was  wrong,  and  dic- 
tated to  me,  in  confutation  of  it,  an  argu- 
ment, [which  will  be  found  in  the  Appen- 
dix.] 

When  I read  [the  argument]  to  Mr. 
Burke,  he  was  highly  pleased,  and  exclaim- 
ed, “ Well,  he  does  his  work  in  a workman- 
like manner2.” 

1 [A  Gallicism , which  has,  it  appears,  with 
so  many  others,  become  vernacular  in  Scot- 
land. A pulpit  is  in  French  called  “ chaire  de 
vcrite .” — Ed.] 

2 As  a proof  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  extraordinary 
powers  of  composition,  it  appears  from  the  origi- 
nal manuscript  of  this  excellent  dissertation,  of 
which  he  dictated  the  first  eight  paragraphs  on  the 

10th  of  May,  and  the  remainder  on  the  13th,  that 
there  are  in  the  whole  only  seven  corrections,  or 


Mr.  Thomson  wished  to  bring  the  cause 
by  appeal  before  the  house  of  lords,  but  was 
dissuaded  by  the  advice  of  the  noble  person 
who  lately  presided  so  ably  in  that  most 
honourable  house,  and  who  was  then  attor- 
ney-general.  As  my  readers  will  no  doubt 
be  glad  also  to  read  the  opinion  of  this  emi- 
nent man  upon  the  same  subject,  I shall 
here  insert  it. 

CASE. 

cc  There  is  herewith  laid  before  you, 

“ 1.  Petition  for  the  Reverend  Mr. 
James  Thomson,  minister  of  Dun- 
fermline. 

“ 2.  Answers  thereto 


“ 3.  Copy  of  the  judgment  of  the  Court 
of  Session  upon  both. 

CC 


decree  is  grounded. 

“ These  papers  you  will  please  to  peruse, 
and  give  your  opinion, 

“ Whether  there  is  a probability  of  the 
above  decree  of  the  Court  of  Ses 
sion  being  reversed,  if  Mr.  Thomson 
should  appeal  from  the  same? 55 

“I  don’t  think  the  appeal  advisable;  not 
only  because  the  value  of  the  judgment  is 
in  no  degree  adequate  to  the  expense;  but 
because  there  are  many  chances,  that  upon 
the  general  complexion  of  the  case,  the  im- 
pression will  be  taken  to  the  disadvantage 
of  the  appellant. 

“ It  is  impossible  to  approve  the  style  ol 
that  sermon.  But  the  complaint  was  not 
less  ungracious  from  that  man,  who  had  be- 
haved so  ill  by  his  original  libel,  and  at  the 
time  when  he  received  the  reproach  he  com- 
plains of.  In  the  last  article  all  the  plaintiffs 
are  equally  concerned.  It  struck  me  also 
with  some  wonder,  that  the  judges  should 
think  so  much  fervour  apposite  to  the  occa- 
sion of  reproving  the  defendant  for  a little 
excess. 

tc  Upon  the  matter,  however,  I agree  with 
them  in  condemning  the  behaviour  of  the 
minister,  and  in  thinking  it  a subject  fit  for 
ecclesiastical  censure;  and  even  for  an  ac- 
tion, if  any  individual  could  qualify 3 a 
wrong,  and  a damage  arising  from  it.  " But 
this  I doubt.  The  circumstance  of  publish- 
ing the  reproach  in  a pulpit,  though  ex- 
tremely indecent,  and  culpable  in  another 
view,  does  not  constitute  a different  sort  of 
wrong,  or  any  other  rule  of  law  than  would 

rather  variations,  and  those  not  considerable.  Such 
were  at  once  the  vigorous  and  accurate  emanations 
of  his  mind. — Boswell. 

3  It  is  curious  to  observe  that  Lord  Thurlow 
has  here,  perhaps,  in  compliment  to  North  Brit- 
ain, made  use  of  a term  of  the  Scotch  law,  which 
to  an  English  reader  may  require  explanation. 
To  qualify  a wrong,  is  to  point  out  and  estabiisn 
it — Boswell. 


72 


1776.— ^ETAT.  67 


have  obtained,  if  the  same  words  had  been 
pronounced  elsewhere.  I do  n’t  know  whe- 
ther there  be  any  difference  in  the  law. of 
Scotland,  in  the  definition  of  slander,  before 
the  commissaries,  or  the  Court  of  Session. 
The  common  law  of  England  does  not  give 
way  to  actions  for  every  reproachful  word. 
An  action  cannot  be  brought  for  general 
damages  upon  any  words  which  import  less 
than  an  offence  cognizable  by  law;  conse- 
quently no  action  could  have  been  brought 
here  for  the  words  in  question.  Both  laws 
admit  the  truth  to  be  a justification  in  ac- 
tion for  words;  and  the  law  of  England 
does  the  same  in  actions  for  libels.  The 
judgment,  therefore,  seems  to  me  to  have 
been  wrong,  in  that  the  court  repelled  that 
defence.  (C  E.  Thurlow.” 

I am  now  to  record  a very  curious  inci- 
dent in  Dr.  Johnson’s  life,  which  fell  under 
my  own  observation;  of  which  pars  magna 
fui,  and  which  I am  persuaded  will,  with 
the  liberal-minded,  be  much  to  his  credit. 

My  desire  of  being  acquainted  with  cele- 
brated men  of  every  description  had  made 
me,  much  about  the  same  time,  obtain  an 
introduction  to  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  and  to 
John  Wilkes,  Esq.  Two  men  more  differ- 
ent could  perhaps  not  be' selected  out  of  all 
mankind.  They  had  even  attacked  one 
another  with  some  asperity  in  their  writings; 
yet  I lived  in  habits  of  friendship  with  both. 
I could  fully  relish  the  excellence  of  each; 
for  I have  ever  delighted  in  that  intellec- 
tual chymistry,  which  can  separate  good 
qualities  from  evil  in  the  same  person. 

Sir  John  Pringle,  “ mine  own  friend  and 
my  father’s  friend,”  between  whom  and 
Dr.  Johnson  I in  vain  wished  to  establish 
an  acquaintance,  as  I respected  and  lived 
in  intimacy  with  both  of  them,  observed  to 
me  once,  very  ingeniously,  “ It  is  not  in 
friendship  as  in  mathematicks,  where  two 
things,  each  equal  to  a third,  are  equal  be- 
tween themselves.  You  agree  with  John- 
son as  a middle  quality,  and  you  agree  with 
me  as  a middle  quality;  but  Johnson  and  I 
should  not  agree.”  Sir  John  was  not  suf- 
ficiently flexible;  so  I desisted;  knowing, 
indeed,  that  the  repulsion  was  equally 
strong  on  the  part  of  Johnson;  who,  I know 
not  from  what  cause,  unless  his  being  a 
Scotchman,  had  formed  a very  erroneous 
opinion  of  Sir  John.  But  I conceived  an 
irresistible  wish,  if  possible,  to  bring  Dr. 
Johnson  and  Mr.  Wilkes  together.  How 
to  manage  it,  was  a nice  and  difficult  mat- 
ter. [for  Johnson’s  dislike  of  Mr. 
Reyn.  Wfikes  was  so  great  that  it  extend- 
ed  even  to  his  connexions.  He  hap- 
pened to  dine  one  day  at  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds’s with  a large  and  distinguished  com- 
pany, amongst  which  were  Mr.  Wilkes’s 
brother,  Israel,  and  his  lady.  In  the  course 


of  conversation,  Mr.  Israel  Wilkes  was 
about  to  make  some  remark,  when  John- 
son suddenly  stopped  him  with,  “ I hope, 
sir,  what  you  are  going  to  say  may  be  bet- 
ter worth  hearing  than  what  you  have  al 
ready  said.”  This  rudeness  shocked  and 
spread  a gloom  over  the  whole  party,  par 
ticularly  as  Mr.  Israel  Wilkes  was  "a  gen- 
tleman of  a very  amiable  character  and  of 
refined  taste,  and,  what  Dr.  Johnson  little 
suspected,  a very  loyal  subject.  Johnson 
afterwards  owned  to  Miss  Reynolds  that  he 
was  very  sorry  that  he  had  “ snubbed 
Wilkes,  as  his  wife  was  present.”  Miss 
Reynolds  replied  that  he  should  be  sorry  for 
many  reasons.  “ No,”  said  Johnson,  who 
was  very  reluctant  to  apologize  for  offences 
of  this  nature  ; “ no,  I only  regret  it  be- 
cause his  wife  was  by.”  Miss  Reynolds 
believed  that  he  had  no  kind  of  motive  for 
this  incivility  to  Mr.  I.  Wilkes  but  disgust 
at  his  brother’s  political  principles.] 

My  worthy  booksellers  and  friends,  Mes- 
sieurs Dilly  in  the  Poultry,  at  whose  hospi- 
table and  well-covered  table  I have  seen  a 
greater  number  of  literary  men  than  at  any 
other,  except  that  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 
had  invited  me  to  meet  Mr.  "Wilkes  and 
some  more  gentlemen  on  Wednesday,  May 
15.  “Pray,”  said  I,  “let  us  have  Dr. 
Johnson.”  “What,  with  Mr.  Wilkes? 
not  for  the  world,”  said  Mr.  Edward  Dilly: 
“Dr.  Johnson  would  never  forgive  me.” 
“ Come,”  said  I,  “ if  you  ’ll  let  me  negotiate 
for  you,  I -will  be  answerable  that  all  shall 
go  well.”  Dilly.  “ Nay,  if  you  will  take 
it  upon  you,  I am  sure  I shall  be  very  hap- 
py to  see  them  both  here.” 

Notwithstanding  the  high  veneration 
which  I entertained  for  Dr.  Johnson,  I was 
sensible  that  he  was  sometimes  a little  ac- 
tuated by  the  spirit  of  contradiction,  and  by 
means  of  that  I hoped  I should  gain  my 
point.  I was  persuaded  that  if  I had  come 
upon  him  with  a direct  proposal,  “ Sir,  will 
you  dine  in  company  with  Jack  Wilkes?” 
he  would  have  flown  into  a passion,  and 
would  probably  have  answered,  “ Dine 
with  Jack  Wilkes,  sir ! I ’d  as  soon  dine  with 
Jack  Ketch  b”  I,  therefore,  while  we  were 
sitting  quietly  by  ourselves  at  his  house  in 
an  evening,  took  occasion  to  open  my  plan 
thus:  “Mr.  Dilly,  sir,  sends  his  respectful 
compliments  to  you,  and  would  be  happy 
if  you  would  do  him  the  honour  to  dine 
with  him  on  Wednesday  next  along  with 
me,  as  I must  soon  go  to  Scotland.”  John- 
son. “ Sir,  I am  obliged  to  Mr.  Dilly. 
I will  wait  upon  him — .”  Boswell. 

“ Provided,  sir,  I suppose,  that  the  compa- 
ny which  he  is  to  have  is  agreeable  to 


1 This  has  been  circulated  as  if  actually  said  b) 
Johnson;  when  the  truth  is  it  wai  only  supposed 
by  me. — Boswell 


1776.— AT.  67 


73 


you?  ” Johnson  “ What  do  you  mean, 
sir?  What  do  you  take  me  for?  Do  you 
think  I am  so  ignorant  of  the  world  as  to 
imagine  that  I am  to  prescribe  to  a gentle- 
man what  company  he  is  to  have  at  his 
table? 53  Boswell.  “ I beg  your  pardon, 
sir,  for  wishing  to  prevent  you  from  meet- 
ing people  whom  you  might  not  like. 
Perhaps  he  may  have  some  of  what  he  calls 
his  patriotick  friends  with  him.”  Johnson. 
“Well,  sir,  and  what  then?  What  care  I 
for  his  patriotich  friends')  Poh!”  Bos- 
well. “I  should  not  be  surprised  to  find 
Jack  Wilkes  there.”  Johnson.  “ And  if 
Jack  Wilkes  should  be  there,  what  is  that  to 
we,  sir?  My  dear  friend,  let  us  have  no 
more  of  this.  I am  sorry  to  be  angry  with 
you;  but  really  it  is  treating  me  strangely 
to  talk  to  me  as  if  I could  not  meet  any 
company  whatever,  occasionally.”  Bos- 
well. “Pray  forgive  me,  sir:  I meant 
well.  But  you  shall  meet  whoever  comes, 
for  me.”  Thus  I secured  him,  and  told 
Dilly  that  he  would  find  him  very  well 
pleased  to  be  one  of  his  guests  on  the  day 
appointed. 

Upon  the  much  expected  Wednesday,  I 
called  on  him  about  half  an  hour  before 
dinner,  as  I often  did  when  we  were  to  dine 
out  together,  to  see  that  he  was  ready  in 
time,  and  to  accompany  him.  I found  him 
buffeting  his  books,  as  upon  a former  occa- 
sion1, covered  with  dust,  and  making  no 
preparation  for  going  abroad.  “ How  is 
this,  sir?”  said  I.  “Don’t  you  recollect 
that  you  are  to  dine  at  Mr.  Dilly’s?” 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  I did  not  think  of  going 
to  Dilly’s:  it  went  out  of  my  head.  I have 
ordered  dinner  at  home  with  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams.55 Boswell.  “ But,  my  dear  sir, 
you  know  you  were  engaged  to  Mr.  Dilly, 
and  I told  him  so.  He  will  expect  you,  and 
will  be  much  disappointed  if  you  don’t 
come.”  Johnson.  “You  must  talk  to 
Mrs.  Williams  about  this.” 

Here  was  a sad  dilemma.  I feared  that 
what  I was  so  confident  I had  secured 
would  yet  be  frustrated.  He  had  accus- 
tomed himself  to  show  Mrs.  Williams  such 
a degree  of  humane  attention,  as  frequently 
imposed  some  restraint  upon  him;  and  I 
Knew  that  if  she  should  be  obstinate,  he 
would  not  stir.  I hastened  down  stairs  to 
the  blind  lady’s  room,  and  told  her  I was  in 
great  uneasiness,  for  Dr.  Johnson  had  en- 
gaged to  me  to  dine  this  day  at  Mr.  Dilly’s, 
but  that  he  had  told  me  he  had  forgotten  his 
engagement,  and  had  ordered  dinner  at  home. 
“Yes,  sir,”  said  she,  pretty  peevishly,  “Dr. 
Johnson  is  to  dine  at  home.”  “ Madam,” 
said  I,  “ his  respect  for  you  is  such,  that  I 
know  he  will  not  leave  you,  unless  you  abso- 
lutely desire  it.  But  as  you  have  so  much  of 
his  company,  I hope  you  will  be  good 


1 See  page  51  of  this  volume. — Boswell. 

vol  ii.  10 


enough  to  forego  it  for  a -day,  as  Mr.  Dilly 
is  a very  worthy  man,  has  frequently  had 
agreeable  parties  at  his  house  tor  Dr.  John- 
son, and  will  be  vexed  if  the  Doctor  neglects 
him  to-day.  And  then,  madam,  be  pleased 
to  consider  my  situation;  I carried  the 
message,  and  I assured  Mr.  Dilly  that  Dr. 
Johnson  was  to  come;  and  no  doubt  he  has 
made  a dinner,  and  invited  a company,  and 
boasted  of  the  honour  he  expected  to  have. 
I shall  be  quite  disgraced  if  the  Doctor  is 
not  there.”  She  gradually  softened  to  my 
solicitations,  which  were  certainly  as  earn- 
est as  most  entreaties  to  ladies  upon  any 
occasion,  and  was  graciously  pleased  to  em 
power  me  to  tell  Dr.  Johnson,  “ that,  all 
things  considered,  she  thought  he  should 
certainly  go.”  I flew  back  to  him,  still  in 
dust,  and  careless  of  what  should  be  the 
event,  “ indifferent  in  his  choice  to  go  or 
stay;”  but  as  soon  as  I had  announced  to 
him  Mrs.  Williams’s  consent,  he  roared, 
“ Frank,  a clean  shirt,”  and  was  very  soon 
dressed.  When  I had  him  fairly  seated  in 
a hackney-coach  with  me,  I exulted  as  much 
as  a fortune-hunter  who  has  got  an  heiress 
into  a post-chaise  with  him  to  set  out  lor 
Gretna-Green. 

When  we  entered  Mr.  Dilly’s  drawing- 
room, he  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  a 
company  he  did  not  know.  I kept  myself 
snug  and  silent,  watching  how  he  would 
conduct  himself.  I observed  him  whisper- 
ing to  Mr.  Dilly,  “ Who  is  that  gentleman, 
sir?  “ Mr.  Arthur  Lee.”  Johnson. 
“ Too,  too,  too  ” (under  his  breath),  which 
was  one  of  his  habitual  mutterings.  Mr. 
Arthur  Lee  could  not  but  be  very  obnoxious 
to  Johnson,  for  he  was  not  only  a patriot , 
but  an  American.  He  was  afterwards 
minister  from  the  United  States  at  the 
court  of  Madrid.  “ And  who  is  the  gentle- 
man in  lace?”  “Mr.  Wilkes,  sir.”  This 
information  confounded  him  still  more;  he 
had  some  difficulty  to  restrain  himself,  and, 
taking  up  a book,  sat  down  upon  a window- 
seat  and  read,  or  at  least  kept  his  eye  upon  it 
intently  for  some  time,  till  he  composed 
himself.  His  feelings,  I dare  say,  were  awk- 
ward enough.  But  he  no  doubt  recollected 
his  having  rated  me  for  supposing  that  he 
could  be  at  all  disconcerted  by  any  company, 
and  he,  therefore,  resolutely  set  himself  to 
behave  quite  as  an  easy  man  of  the  world, 
who  could  adapt  himself  at  once  to  the  dis- 
position and  manners  of  those  whom  he 
might  chance  to  meet. 

The  cheering  sound  of  “ Dinner  is  upon  the 
table,”  dissolved  his  reverie,  and  we  all  sat 
down  without  any  symptom  of  ill  humour. 
There  were  present,  beside  Mr.  Wilkes  and 
Mr.  Arthur  Lee,  who  was  an  old  companion 
of  mine  when  he  studied  physick  at  Edin- 
burgh, Mr.  (now  Sir  John)  Miller2,  Dr 

2 [Of  Bath  Easton  See  ante , vol  » p.  516 

-Ed  ] 


74 


1776.—  /ETAT.  67. 


LetUom,  and  Mr.  Slater,  the  drug-gist.  Mr. 
Wilkes  placed  himself  next  to  Dr.  Johnson, 
and  behaved  to  him  with  so  much  attention 
and  politeness,  that  he  gained  upon  him  in- 
sensibly. No  man  ate  more  heartily  than 
Johnson,  or  loved  better  what  was  nice  and 
delicate.  Mr.  Wilkes  was  very  assiduous 
in  helping  him  to  some  fine  veal.  “ Pray 
give  rrie  leave,  sir — It  is  better  here— A 
little  of  the  brown — Some  fat,  sir — A little 
of  the  stuffing — Some  gravy — Let  me  have 
the  pleasure  of  giving  you  some  butter — 
Allow  me  to  recommend  a squeeze  of  this 
orange;  or  the  lemon,  perhaps,  may  have 
more  zest.”  c£  Sir;  sir,  I am  obliged  to  you, 
sir,”  cried  Johnson,  bowing,  and  turning 
his  head  to  him  with  a look  for  some  time 
of  “ surly  virtue  Vs  hut,  in  a short  while,  of 
complacency. 

Foote  being  mentioned,  Johnson  said, 
tc  He  is  not  a good  mimick.”  One  of  the 
company  added,  cc  A merry-andrew,  a buf- 
foon.5’ Johnson.  “ But  he  has  wit  too, 
and  is  not  deficient  in  ideas,  or  in  fertility 
and  variety  of  imagery,  and  not  empty  of 
reading;  he  has  knowledge  enough  to  fill 
up  his  part.  One  species  of  wit  he  has  in 
an  eminent  degree,  that  of  escape.  You 
drive  him  into  a corner  with  both  hands;  but 
he ’s  gone,  sir,  when  you  think  you  have 
got  him — like  an  animal  that  jumps  over 
your  head. — Then  he  has  a great  range  for 
wit;  he  never  lets  truth  stand  between  him 
and  a jest,  and  he  is  sometimes  mighty 
coarse.  Garrick  is  under  many  restraints 
from  which  Foote  is  free.”  Wilkes. 
“ Garrick’s  wit  is  more  like  Lord  Chester- 
field’s.” Johnson.  “ The  first  time  I was 
in  company  with  Foote  was  at  Fitzher- 
bert’s.  Having  no  good  opinion  of  the 
fellow,  I was  resolved  not  to  be  pleased; 
and  it  is  very  difficult  to  please  a man 
against  his  will.  I went  on  eating  my  din- 
ner pretty  sullenly,  affecting  not  to  mind 
him.  But  the  dog  was  so  very  comical, 
that  I was  obliged  to  lay  down  my  knife 
and  fork,  throw  myself  back  upon  my  chair, 
and  fairly  laugh  it  out.  No,  Sir,  he  was 
irresistible2.  He  upon  one  occasion  expe- 
rienced, in  an  extraordinary  degree,  the 
efficacy  of  his  powers  of  entertaining. 
Amongst  the  many  and  various  modes 
which  he  tried  of  getting  money,  he  became 
a partner  with  a small-beer  brewer,  and  he 
was  to  have  a share  of  the  profits  for  pro- 
curing customers  amongst  his  numerous 
acquaintance.  Fitzherbert  was  one  who 
took  his  small-beer;  but  it  was  so  bad  that 
the  servants  resolved  not  to  drink  it.  They 

1 Johnson’s  “ London,  a Poem,”  v.  145. — 
Boswell. 

2 Foote  told  me,  that  Johnson  said  of  him, 
“ For  loud,  obstreperous,  broad-faced  mirth,  I 
know  not  his  equal.” — Boswell.  [See  ante, 
p 32.— Ex>.] 


were  at  some  loss  hctt  to  notify  their  reso 
lution,  being  afraid  of  offending  their  mas- 
ter, who  they  knew  liked  Foote  much  as  a 
companion.  At  last  they  fixed  upon  a little 
black  boy,  who  was  rather  a favourite,  to 
be  their  deputy,  and  deliver  their  remon- 
strance; and,  having  invested  him  with  the 
whole  authority  of  the  kitchen,  he  was  to 
inform  Mr.  Fitzherbert,  in  all  their  names, 
upon  a certain  day,  that  they  would  drink 
Foote’s  small-beer  no  longer.  On  that  day 
Foote  happened  to  dine  at  Fitzherbert’s, 
and  this  boy  served  at  table;  he  was  so 
delighted  with  Foote’s  stories,  and  merri- 
ment, and  grimace,  that  when  he  went  down 
stairs,  he  told  them,  £ This  is  the  finest 
man  I have  ever  seen.  I will  not  deliver 
your  message.  I will  drink  his  small 
beer.’  ” 

Somebody  observed  that  Garrick  could 
not  have  done  this.  Wilkes.  “ Garrick 
would  have  made  the  small- beer  still  smaller. 
He  is  now  leaving  the  stage;  but  he  will 
play  Scrub  all  his  life.”  I knew  that  John- 
son would  let  nobody  attack  Garrick  but 
himself,  as  Garrick  said  to  me,  and  I had 
heard  him  praise  his  liberality;  so  to  bring 
out  his  commendation  of  his  celebrated 
pupil,  I said,  loudly,  “ I have  heard  Gar- 
rick is  liberal.”  Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir,  I 
know  that  Garrick  has  given  away  more 
money  than  any  man  in  England  that  I am 
acquainted  with,  and  that  not  from  ostenta- 
tious views.  Garrick  was  very  poor  when 
he  began  life;  so  when  he  came  to  have 
money,  he  probably  was  very  unskilful  in 
giving  away,  and  saved  when  he  should 
not.  But  Garrick  began  to  be  liberal  as 
soon  as  he  could;  and  I am  of  opinion,  the 
reputation  of  avarice  which  he  has  had  has 
been  very  lucky  for  him,  and  prevented  his 
having  many  enemies.  You  despise  a man 
for  avarice,  but  do  not  hate  him.  Garrick 
might  have  been  much  better  attacked  for 
living  with  more  splendour  than  is  suitable 
to  a player;  if  they  had  had  the  wit  to  have 
assaulted  him  in  that  quarter,  they- might 
have  galled  him  more.  But  they  have 
kept  clamouring  about  his  avarice,  which 
has  rescued  him  from  much  obloquy 
and  envy.” 

Talking  of  the  great  difficulty  of  obtain 
ing  authentick  information  for  biography. 
Johnson  told  us,  “When  I was  a young 
fellow,  I wanted  to  write  the  ‘ Life  of 
Dryden  3,’  and,  in  order  to  get  materials,  I 
applied  to  the  only  two  persons  then  alive 
who  had  seen  him;  these  were  old  Swin- 
ney  4,  and  old  Cibber.  Swinney’s  informa- 

3 [This  was  probably  for  “ Cibber’s  Lives,” 
as  well  as  the  “ Life  of  Shukspeare,”  mentioned 
ante , p.  60,  n. — i d.] 

4 Owen  M‘Swinney,  who  died  in  1754,  and 
bequeathed  his  fortune  to  Mrs.  Woffington,  tho 
actress.  He  had  been  a manager  of  Drury-lane 


1776.— JET  AT.  67. 


75 


tion  was  no  more  than  this,  ‘ That  at  Will’s 
coffee-house  Dryden  had  a particular  chair 
for  himself,  which  was  set  by  the  fire  in 
winter,  and  was  then  called  his  winter 
chair;  and  that  it  was  carried  out  for  him 
to  the  balcony  in  summer,  and  was  then 
called  his  summer  chair.’  Cibber  could  tell 
no  more  but c that  he  remembered  him  a 
decent  old  man,  arbiter  of  critical  disputes 
at  Will’s.’  You  are  to  consider  that  Cib 
ber  was  then  at  a great  distance  from  Dry- 
den, had  perhaps  one  leg  only  in  the  room, 
and  durst  not  draw  in  the  other.”  Bos- 
well. “ Yet  Cibber  was  a man  of  obser- 
vation ?”  Johnson.  “ I think  not.  ” 
Boswell.  “ Y ou  will  allow  his  ‘ Apology  ’ 
to  be  well  done.”  Johnson.  “ Very  well 
done,  to  be  sure,  sir.  That  book  is  a 
striking  proof  of  the  justice  of  Pope’s  re- 
mark : 

* Each  might  his  several  province  well  command, 
Would  all  but  stoop  to  what  they  understand.’  ” 

Boswell.  “ And  his  plays  are  good.” 
Johnson.  “ Yes;  but  that  was  his  trade; 
V esprit  du  corps ; he  had  been  all  his  life 
among  players  and  play-writers.  I won- 
dered that  he  had  so  little  to  say  in  conver- 
sation, for  he  had  kept  the  best  company, 
and  learnt  all  that  can  be  got  by  the  ear. 
He  abused  Pindar  to  me,  and  then  showed 
me  an  ode  of  his  own,  with  an  absurd 
couplet,  making  a linnet  soar  on  an  eagle’s 
wing  l.  I told  him  that  when  the  ancients 
made  a simile,  they  always  made  it  like 
something  real.” 

Mr.  Wilkes  remarked,  that  “ among  all 
the  bold  flights  of  Shakspeare’s  imagina- 
tion, the  boldest  was  making  Birnam-wood 
march  to  Dunsinane;  creating  a wood 
where  there  never  was  a shrub ; a wood  in 
Scotland!  ha!  ha!  ha!”  And  he  also  observed, 
that  “ the  clannish  slavery  of  the  Highlands 
of  Scotland  was  the  single  exception  to  Mil- 
ton’s  remark  of  ‘the  mountain  nymph, 
sweet  Liberty,’  being  worshipped  in  all 
hilly  countries.”  “ When  I was  at  Inver- 
ary,” said  he,  “ on  a visit  to  my  old  friend 
Archibald,  Duke  of  Argyle,  his  dependants 
congratulated  me  on  being  such  a favourite 
of  his  grace.  I said,  ‘ It  is,  then,  gentle- 
men, truly  lucky  for  me;  for  if  I had  dis- 
pleased the  duke,  and  he  had  wished  it, 
there  is  not  a Campbell  among  you  but 
would  have  been  ready  to  bring  John 
Wilkes’s  head  to  him  in  a charger.  It 
would  have  been  only 
* Off  with  his  head!  so  much  for  Aylesbury 
I was  then  member  for  Aylesbury.” 

theatre,  and  afterwards  of  the  Queen’s  theatre  in 
the  Haymarket.  He  was  also  a dramatick  wri- 
ter, having  produced  a comedy  entitled  “ The 
Quacks,  or  Love ’s  the  Physician,”  1705,  and  two 
operas. — M alone. 

1 See  ante,  v.  i.  p.  181  — Boswelj 


Dr.  Johnson  and  Mr.  Wilkes  talked  of 
the  contested  passage  in  Horace’s  “ Art  of 
Poetry,”  Difficile  est  propria  communia 
dicer e.  M r.  Wilkes,  according  to  my  note, 
gave  the  interpretation  thus:  “ It  is  difficult 
to  speak  with  propriety  of  common  things; 
as,  if  a poet  had  to  speak  of  Queen  Caro- 
line drinking  tea,  he  must  endeavour  to 
avoid  the  vulgarity  of  cups  and  saucers.” 
But,  upm  reading  my  note,  he  tel.fe  me  that 
he  meant  to  say,  that  “ the  word  com- 
munia being  a Roman  law  term,  signifies 
here  things  communis  juris,  that  is  to  say, 
what  have  never  yet  been  treated  by  any 
body;  and  this  appears  clearly  from  what 
followed, 

* Tuque 

Rectius  Iliacum  carmen  deducis  in  actus, 

Quam  si  proferres  ignota  indictaque  primus. ' 

You  will  easier  make  a tragedy  out  of  the 
Iliad  than  on  any  subject  not  handled  be- 
fore9.” Johnson.  “He  means  that  it  is 


2 My  very  pleasant  friend  himself,  as  well  as 
others  who  remember  old  stories,  will  no  doubt 
be  surprised,  when  I observe,  that  John  Wilkes 
here  shows  himself  to  be  of  the  Warburtonian 
school.  It  is  nevertheless  true,  as  appears  from 
Dr.  Hurd  the  bishop  of  Worcester’s  very  elegant 
commentary  and  notes  on  the  “Epistola  ad  Pi- 
sones.”  It  is  necessary,  to  a fair  consideration 
of  the  question,  that  the  whole  passage  in  which 
the  words  occur  should  be  kept  in  view: 

“ Si  quid  inexpertum  scenae  committis,  et  audes 
Personam  formare  novam,  servetur  ad  imum 
Qualis  ab  incepto  processerit,  et  sibi  constet. 
Difficile  est  proprie  communia  dicere : tuque 
Rectids  Iliacum  carmen  deducis  in  actus, 

Qukm  si  proferres  ignota  indictaque  primus. 

Publica  materies  privati  juris  erit,  si 

Non  circa  vilem  patulumque  moraberis  orbem, 

Nec  verbum  verbo  curabis  reddere  fidus 
Interpres ; nec  desilies  imitator  in  arctum 
Unde  pedem  proferre  pudor  vetat  aut  operis  lex.” 

The  “ Commentary  ” thus  illustrates  it:  “ But 
the  formation  of  quite  new  characters  is  a work  of 
great  difficulty  and  hazard.  For  here  there  is  no 
generally  received  and  fixed  archetype  to  work 
after,  but  every  one  judges  of  common  right  ac- 
cording to  the  extent  and  comprehension  of  his 
own  idea;  therefore  he  advises  to  labour  and  refit 
old  characters  and  subjects,  particularly  those 
made  known  and  authorized  by  the  practice  of 
Homer  and  the  epic  writers.”  The  note  is, 
“ Difficile  est  proprie • communia  dicere .” 
Lambin’s  comment  is  “ Communia  hoc  loco  ap- 
pellat  Horatius  argumenta  fabularum  a nullo  adhuc 
tractata:  et  ita,  quae  cuivis  exposita  sunt  et  in 
medio  quodammodo  posita,  quasi  vacua  et  anemi- 
ne  occupata.”  And  that  this  is  the  true  meaning 
of  communia  is  evidently  fixed  by  the  words  ig- 
nota indictaque , which  are  explanatory  of  it;  so 
that  the  sense  given  it  in  the  commentary  is  un- 
questionably the  right  one.  Yet,  notwithstanding 
the  clearness  of  the  case,  a late  critick  has  this 
j strange  passage:  “ Difficile  quidein  esse  proprie 
j communia  dicere,  hoc  est,  materiem  vulgarem, 
notam  et  e medio  petitam,  ita  immutare  atque 
[ exornare,  ut  nova  et  scriptori  propria  videatur, 


76 


1773.— ATAT.  67. 


difficult  to  appropriate  to  particular  persons 
qualities  which  are  common  to  all  mankind, 
as  Homer  has  done  ” 

Wilkes.  “ We  have  no  city-poet  now: 
that  is  an  office  which  has  gone  into  disuse. 
The  last  was  Elkanah  Settle.  There  is 
something  in  names  which  one  cannot  help 
feeling.  Now  Elkanah  Settle  sounds  so 
queer , who  can  expect  much  from  that 
name?  We  should  have  no  hesitation  to 
give  it  for  John  Dryden,  in  preference  to 
Elkanah  Settle,  from  the  names  only,  with- 
out kno wipg  their  different  merits.”  John- 
son. t£  I suppose,  sir,  Settle  did  as  well  for 
alderman  in  his  time,  as  John  Home  could 
do  now.  Where  did  Beckford  and  Tre- 
cothick  learn  English?” 

Mr.  Arthur  Lee  mentioned  some  Scotch 
who  had  taken  possession  of  a barren  part 

nkro  concedimus;  et  maximi  procul  dubio  ponderis 
ista  est  observatio.  Sed  omnibus  utrinque  collatis, 
et  turn  difficilis  turn  venusti,  tam  judicii  quam 
ingenii  ratione  habita,  major  videtur  esse  gloria 
fabulam  formare  penitus  novam,  quam  veterem, 
utcunque  mutatam  de  novo  exhibere.” — Poet. 
Prcel.  v.  ii.  p.  164.  Where,  having  first  put  a 
wrong  construction  on  the  word  cojnmunia,  be 
employs  it  to  introduce  an  impertinent  criticism. 
For  where  does  the  poet  prefer  the  glory  of  refit- 
ting old  subjects  to  that  of  inventing  new  ones  ? 
The  contrary  is  implied  in  what  he  urges  about 
the  superior  difficulty  of  the  latter,  from  which  he 
dissuades  his  countrymen,  only  in  respect  of  their 
abilities  and  inexperience  in  these  matters;  and  in 
order  to  cultivate  in  them,  which  is  the  main 
view  of  the  epistle,  a spirit  of  correctness,  by 
sending  them  to  the  old  subjects,  treated  by  the 
Greek  writers.  For  my  own  part  (with  all  def- 
erence for  Dr.  Hurd,  who  thinks  the  case  clear), 
I consider  the  passage,  “ Difficile  est  proprie 
communia  dicere ,”  to  be  a crux  for  the  criticks 
on  Horace.  The  explication  which  my  Lord  of 
Worcester  treats  with  so  much  contempt  is,  never- 
theless, countenanced  by  authority  which  I find 
quoted  by  the  learned  Baxter  in  his  edition  of 
Horace,  “ Difficile  est  proprie  communia  di- 
cere, h.  e.  res  vulgares  disertis  verbis  enarrare, 
vel  humile  thema  cum  dignitate  tractare.  Difficile 
est  co?7imunes  res  propriis  explicare  verbis. 
Vet.  Schol.”  I was  much  disappointed  to  find 
that  the  great  critick,  Dr.  Bentley,  has  no  note 
upon  this  very  difficult  passage,  as  from  his  vigor- 
ous and  illuminated  mind  I should  have  expected 
to  receive  more  satisfaction  than  I have  yet  had. 
Sanadon  thus  treats  of  it:  “ Proprie  communia 
dicere:  c’est  a dire,  qu’il  n’est  pas  aise  de  former 
& ces  personnages  d’imagination,  des  caracteres 
particuliers  et  cependant  vraisemblables.  Comme 
l’on  a ete  le  maitre  de  les  former  tels  qu’on  a 
voulu,  les  fautes  que  l’on  fait  en  cela  sont  moins 
pardonnables.  C’est  pourquoi  Horace  conseille 
de  prendre  toujours  des  sujets  connus,  tels  que 
sont  par  exemple  ceux  que  l’on  peut  tirer  des 
poemes  d’Homere.”  And  Dacier  observes  upon 
it,  “ Apres  avoir  marque  les  deux  qualites  qu’il 
faut  donner  aux  personnages  qu’on  invente,  il 
conseille  aux  poetes  tragiques,  de  n’user  pas  trop 


of  America,  and  wondered  why  they  should 
choose  it  Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  all  bar- 
renness is  comparative.  The  Scotch  would 
not  know  it  to  be  barren.”  Boswell. 
“ Come,  come,  he  is  flattering  the  English. 
You  have  now  been  in  Scotland,  sir,  and 
say  if  you  did  not  see  meat  and  drink 
enough  there.”  Johnson.  “Why,  yes, 
sir;  meat  and  drink  enough  to  give  the  in- 
habitants sufficient  strength  to  run  away 
from  home.”  All  these  quick  and  lively 
sallies  were  said  sportively,  quite  in  jest, 
and  with  a smile,  which  showed  that  he 
meant  only  wit.  Upon  this  topick  he  and 
Mr.  Wilkes  could  perfectly  assimilate;  here 
was  a bond  of  union  between  them,  and  1 
was  conscious  that  as  both  of  them  had 
visited  Caledonia,  both  were  fully  satisfied 
of  the  strange  narrow  ignorance  of  those 


facilement  de  cette  liberte  qu'ils  out  d’en  in- 
venter, car  il  est  tres  difficile  de  reussir  dans  ces 
nouveaux  caracteres.  Il  est  mal  aise,  dit  Hor- 
ace, de  traiter  proprement,  c’est  it  dire,  con- 
venablement  des  sujets  communs;  c’est  a dire, 
des  sujets  inventes,  et  qui  n’ont  aucun  fondement 
ni  dans  l’histoire  ui  dans  la  fable;  et  il  les  appelle 
communs,  parcequ’ils  sont  en  disposition  a tout  le 
monde,  et  que  tout  le  monde  a le  droit  de  les  in- 
venter, et  qu’ils  sont,  comme  on  dit,  au  premier 
occupant.”  See  his  observations  at  large  on  this 
expression  and  the  following.  After  all,  I cannot 
help  entertaining  some  doubt  whether  the  words 
Difficile  est  proprie  communia  dicere  may 
not  have  been  thrown  in  by  Horace  to  form  a 
separate  article  in  a “ choice  of  difficulties  ” which 
a poet  has  to  encounter  who  chooses  a new  sub- 
ject; in  which  case  it  must  be  uncertain  which  of 
the  various  explanations  is  the  true  one,  and  eve- 
ry reader  has  a right  to  decide  as  it  may  strike 
his  own  fancy.  And  even  should  the  words  be 
understood,  as  they  generally  are,  to  be  connected 
both  with  what  goes  before  and  what  comes  after, 
the  exact  sense  cannot  be  absolutely  ascertained; 
for  instance,  whether  proprie  is  meant  to  signify 
in  an  appropriated  manner,  as  Dr.  Johnson 
here  understands  it,  or,  as  it  is  often  used  by  Ci- 
cero, with  propriety  or  elegantly.  In  short,  it  is 
a rare  instance  of  a defect  in  perspicuity  in  an  ad- 
mirable writer,  who,  with  almost  every  species  of 
excellence,  is  peculiarly  remarkable  for  that  qual- 
ity. The  length  of  this  note  perhaps  requires  an 
apology.  Many  of  my  readers,  I doubt  not,  will 
admit  that  a critical  discussion  of  a passage  in  a 
favourite  classick  ^ very  engaging. — Boswell. 
[This  passage  was  the  subject  of  an  ingenious 
discussion  between  the  young  Marquis  de  Sevigne 
and  M.  Dacier,  which  will  be  found,  together  with 
Sanadon’s  and  Dumarsais’  opinions,  in  the  last 
volume  of  the  best  edition  of  Madame  de  Sevigne  ’a 
letters.  It  seems  to  result  from  the  whole  discus- 
sion that,  in  the  ordinary  meaning  of  the  words, 
the  passage  is  obscure,  and  that,  to  make  sense, 
we  must  either  alter  the  words,  or  assign  to  them 
an  unusual  interpretation.  All  commentators  are 
agreed — by  the  help  of  the  context — what  the 
general  meaning  must  be,  but  no  one  seems  abli 
verbutn  verbo  reddere  fidw  nterpres. — Ed.} 


1776  — ASTAT.  67. 


77 


who  imagine  that  it  is  a land  of  famine. 
But  they  amused  themselves  with  persever- 
ing in  the  old  jokes.  When  I claimed  a 
superiority  for  Scotland  over  England  in 
one  respect,  that  no  man  can  be  arrested 
there  for  a debt  merely  because  another 
swears  it  against  him;  but  there  must  first 
be  the  judgment  of  a court  of  law  ascertain- 
ing its  justice;  and  that  a seizure  of  the 
person,  before  judgment  is  obtained,  can 
take  place  only  if  his  creditor  should  swear 
that  he  is  about  to  fly  from  the  country,  or, 
as  it  is  technically  expressed,  is  in  medita- 
tionefugce.  Wilkes.  tc  That,  I shornd 
thinkj  may  be  safely  sworn  of  all  the  Scotch 
nation.”  Johnson  (to  Mr.  Wilkes). 
“ You  must  know,  sir,  I lately  took  my 
friend  Boswell,  and  showed  him  genuine 
civilized  life  in  an  English  provincial  town. 
I turned  him  loose  at  Lichfield,  my  native 
city,  that  he  might  see  for  once  real  civility; 
for  you  know  he  lives  among  savages  in 
Scotland,  and  among  rakes  in  London.” 
Wilkes.  ee  Except  when  he  is  with 
grave,  sober,  decent  people,  like  you  and 
me.”  Johnson  (smiling).  cc  And  we 
ashamed  of  him.” 

They  were  quite  frank  and  easy.  John- 
son told  the  story  of  his  asking  Mrs.  Macau- 
lay to  allow  her  footman  to  sit  down  with 
them,  to  prove  the  ridiculousness  of  the 
argument  for  the  equality  of  mankind;  and 
he  said  to  me  afterwards,  with  a nod  of 
satisfaction,  :e  You  saw  Mr.  Wilkes  ac- 
quiesced.” Wilkes  talked  with  all  imagina- 
ble freedom  of  the  ludicrous  title  given  to 
the  attorney^eneral,  Diabolus  regis;  ad- 
ding, “ I have  reason  to  know  something 
about  that  officer;  for  I was  prosecuted  for 
a libel.”  Johnson,  who  many  people 
would  have  supposed  must  have  been  fu- 
riously angry  at  hearing  this  talked  of  so 
lightly,  said  not  a word.  He  was  now, 
indeed , “ a good-humoured  fellow.” 

After  dinner  we  had  an  accession  of  Mrs. 
Knowles,  the  Quaker  lady,  well  known  for 
her  various  talents,  and  of  Mr.  Alderman 
Lee  h Amidst  some  patriotick  groans, 
somebody  (I  think  the  alderman)  said, 
‘c  Poor  old  England  is  lost.”  Johnson. 
“ Sir,  it  is  not  so  much  to  be  lamented  that 
old  England  is  lost,  as  that  the  Scotch  have . 
found  it1 2.”  Wilkes.  “ Had  Lord  Bute 

1 [It  is  to  this  gentleman  that  allusion  is  suppo- 
sed to  be  made  in  the  following  anecdote:  “ Some 
one  mentioned  a gentleman  of  that  party  for  hav- 
ing behaved  oddly  on  an  occasion  where  faction 
was  not  concerned:  ‘ Is  he  not  a citizen  of  Lon- 
don, a native  of  North  America,  and  a whig?’ 
said  Johnson.  ‘ Let  him  be  absurd,  I beg  of  you: 
when  a monkey  is  too  like  a man,  it  shocks  one.’  ’ ’ 
— Piozzi , p.  64. — Ed.] 

2 It  would  not  become  me  to  expatiate  on  this 

strong  and  pointed  remark,  in  which  a very  great 

deal  of  meaning  is  condensed. — Boswell. 


governed  Scotland  only,  I should  not  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  write  his  eulogy,  and 
dedicate  c Mortimer’  to  him.” 

Mr.  Wilkes  held  a candle  to  show  a fine 
print  of  a beautiful  female  figure  which  hung 
in  the  room,  and  pointed  out  the  elegant  con- 
tour of  the  bosom  with  the  finger  of  an  arch 
connoisseur.  He  afterwards  in  a conversa 
tion  with  me  waggishly  insisted,  that  all  the 
time  Johnson  showed  visible  signs  of  a fer- 
vent admiration  of  the  corresponding  charms 
of  the  fair  Quaker. 

This  record,  though  by  no  means  so  per* 
feet  as  I could  wish,  will  serve  to  give  a no- 
tion of  a very  curious  interview,  which  was 
not  only  pleasing  at  the  time,  but  had  the 
agreeable  and  benignant  effect  of  reconciling 
any  animosity,  and  sweetening  any  acidity, 
which,  in  the  various  bustle  of  political  con 
test,  had  been  produced,  in.  the  minds  of 
two  men,  who,  though  widely  different,  had 
so  many  things  in  common — classical  learn- 
ing, modern  literature,  wit  and  humour,  and 
ready  repartee — that  it  would  have  been 
much  to  be  regretted  if  they  had  been  for 
ever  at  a distance  from  each  other. 

Mr.  Burke  gave  me  much  credit  for  this 
successful  negotiation;  and  pleasantly  said, 
“ that  there  was  nothing  equal  to  it  in  the 
whole  history  of  the  corps  diplomatique .” 

I attended  Dr.  Johnson  home,  and  had 
the  satisfaction  to  hear  him  tell  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams how  much  he  had  been  pleased  with 
Mr.  Wilkes’s  company,  and  what  an  agree- 
able day  he  had  passed. 

[The  following  is  Dr.  Johnson’s  £d 
own  good-humoured  account  to  Mrs.  D‘ 
Thrale  of  this  meeting. 

“ For  my  part  I begin  to  settle,  Letters, 
and  keep  company  with  grave  alder-  voi.  i.  ’ 
men.  I dined  yesterday  in  the  Poul-  p>  325- 
try  with  Mr.  Alderman  Wilkes,  and  Mr. 
Alderman  Lee,  and  Councillor  Lee,  his 
brother.  There  sat  you  the  while  thinking, 
c What  is  Johnson  doing?’  What  should 
he  be  doing?  He  is  breaking  jokes  with 
Jack  Wilkes  upon  the  Scotch.  Such, 
madam,  are  the  vicissitudes  of  things* 
And  there  was  Mrs.  Knowles,  the  Quaker, 
that  works  the  sutile  pictures3,  who  is  a 
great  admirer  of  your  conversation.”] 

I talked  a good  deal  to  him  of  the  cele- 
brated Margaret  Caroline  Rudd,  whom  I 
had  visited,  induced  by  the  fame  of  her  tal- 
ents, address,  and  irresistible  power  of  fas- 
cination4. To  a lady  who  disapproved  of 
my  visiting  her,  he  said  on  a former  occa- 


3 [Mrs.  Piozzi  had  printed  this  “ futile  pic 
tures.”  They  were  copies  of  pictures  in  needle 
work. — Ed.] 

4 [See  ante , p.  38.  Her  power  of  fascination 
was  celebrated,  because  it  was  the  fashion  to 
suppose  that  she  had  fascinated  her  lover  to  the 
gallows. — Ed.] 


78 


1776.— JET  AT.  6T. 


sion,  “ Nay,  madam,  Boswell  is  in  the 
right;  I should  have  visited  her  myself, 
were  it  not  that  they  have  now  a trick  of 
putting  every  thing  into  the  newspapers.” 
This  evening  he  exclaimed,  “ I envy  him 
his  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Rudd.” 

I mentioned  a scheme  which  I had  of 
making  a tour  to  the  Isle  of  Man,  and  giv- 
ing a full  account  of  it;  and  that  Mr.  Burke 
had  playfully  suggested  as  a motto, 

“ The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  Man.” 

Johnson.  “ Sir,  you  will  get  more  by  the 
book  than  the  jaunt  will  cost  you;  so  you 
will  have  your  diversion  for  nothing,  and 
add  to  your  reputation.” 

[“TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ 14th  May,  1776. 

Letters,  “ [Boswell]  goes  away  on  Thurs- 
voi.  i.  ’ day  very  well  satisfied  with  his  jour- 
p.  324.  Some  great  men 1 have  prom- 

ised to  obtain  him  a place;  and  then  a fig 
for  his  father  and  his  new  wife  2.”] 

On  the  evening  of  the  next  day  I took 
leave  of  him,  being  to  set  out  for  Scotland. 
I thanked  him,  with  great  warmth,  for  all 
his  kindness.  “Sir,”  said  he,  “you  are 
very  welcome.  Nobody  repays  it  with 
more.” 

How  very  false  is  the  notion  that  has 
gone  round  the  world  of  the  rough,  and 
passionate,  and  harsh  manners  of  this  great 
and  good  man!  That  he  had  occasional  sal- 
lies of  heat  of  temper,  and  that  he  was 
sometimes,  perhaps,  too  “ easily  provoked  ” 
by  absurdity  and  folly,  and  sometimes  too 
desirous  of  triumph  in  colloquial  contest, 
must  be  allowed.  The  quickness  both  of 
his  perception  and  sensibility  disposed  him 
to  sudden  explosions  of  satire;  to  which  his 
extraordinary  readiness  of  wit  was  a strong 
and  almost  irresistible  incitement.  To 
adopt  one  of  the  finest  images  in  Mr. 
Home’s  “ Douglas,” 

“ On  each  glance  of  thought 

Decision  followed,  as  the  thunderbolt 
Pursues  the  flash  ! ” 

I admit  that  the  beadle  within  him  was  often 
so  eager  to  apply  the  lash,  that  the  judge 
had  not  time  to  consider  the  case  with  suf- 
ficient deliberation. 

1 [This  place  he  never  obtained,  and  the  criti- 
cal reader  will  observe  several  passages  in  this 
work,  the  tone  of  which  may  be  attributed  to  his 
disappointment  in  this  point.  See  ante , p.  31. 
— Ed.] 

2 [Lord  Auchinl  jck  had  lately  married  Eliza- 
beth Boswell,  sister  of  Claude  Irvine  Boswell,  af- 
terwards a lord  of  session,  by  the  title  of  Lord 
Balmuto.  She  was  the  cousin  germain  of  her 
nusband.  Of  this  marriage  there  was  no  issue. — 
Ed.] 


That  he  was  occasionally  remarkable 
for  violence  of  temper  may  be*  granted;  but 
let  us  ascertain  the  degree,  and  not  let  it 
be  supposed  that  he  was  in  a perpetual 
rage,  and  never  without  a club  in  his  hand, 
to  knock  down  every  one  who  approached 
him.  On  the  contrary,  the  truth  is,  that 
by  much  the  greatest  part  of  his  time  he 
was  civil,  obliging,  nay,  polite  in  the  true 
sense  of  the  word;  so  much  so,  that  many 
gentlemen  who  were  long  acquainted  with 
him  never  received,  or  even  heard  a strong 
expression  from  him. 

[(tDR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ 18th  May,  1776. 

“ [Boswell]  went  away  on  Thurs-  Letters, 
day  night  with  no  great  inclination  voi.  i.  pp. 
to  travel  northward  ; but  who  can  S30’  334, 
contend  with  destiny?  He  says  he  had  a 
very  pleasant  journey.  He  carries  with 
him  two  or  three  good  resolutions;  I hope 
they  will  not  mould  on  the  road.” 

“ TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ 22d  May,  1776. 

“ On  Friday  and  Saturday  I dined  with 
Dr.  Taylor,  who  is  in  discontent,  but  re- 
solved not  to  stay  much  longer  to  hear  the 
opinions  of  lawyers,  who  are  all  against  him. 
On  Sunday  I dined  at  Sir  Joshua’s  house 
on  the  hill  [Richmond],  with  the  Bishop  ot 
St.  Asaph  [Shipley]  : the  dinner  was  good, 
and  the  bishop  is  knowing  and  conversi- 
ble.”] 

[This  praise  of  Sir  Joshua’s  din-  £d 

ner  was  not  a matter  of  course;  for  D' 

his  table,  though  very  agreeable,  was  not 
what  is  usually  called  a good  one,  as  ap- 
pears from  the  following  description  given 
of  it  by  Mr.  Courtenay  (a  frequent  and  fa- 
vourite guest)  to  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  and 
which  is  not,  the  editor  hopes,  misplaced 
in  a work  in  which  Sir  Joshua  and  his  so 
ciety  have  so  considerable  a share. 

“ There  was  something,”  said  Courtenay, 
“ singular  in  the  style  and  economy  of  Sir 
Joshua’s  table  that  contributed  to  pleasantry 
and  good-humour;  a coarse  inelegant  plen 
ty,  without  any  regard  to  order  and  ar- 
rangement. A table,  prepared  for  seven 
or  eight,  was  often  compelled  to  contain  fif- 
teen or  sixteen.  When  this  pressing  diffi- 
culty was  got  over,  a deficiency  of  knives, 
forks,  plates,  and  glasses  succeeded.  The 
attendance  was  in  the  same  style;  and  it 
was  absolutely  necessary  to  call  instantly 
for  beer,  bread,  or  wine,  that  you  might  be 
supplied  with  them  before  the  first  course 
was  over.  He  was  once  prevailed  on  to 
furnish  the  table  with  decanters  and  glasses 
at  dinner,  to  save  time,  and  prevent  the  tar- 
dy manoeuvres  of  two  or  three  occasional 
undisciplined  domestics.  As  these  acceler* 


1776. — /ETAT.  67. 


79 


ating  utensils  were  demolished  in  the  course 
of  service,  Sir  Joshua  could  never  be  per- 
suaded to  replace  them.  But  these  trifling 
embarrassments  only  served  to  enhance 
the  hilarity  and  singular  pleasure  of  the  en- 
tertainment. The  wine,  cookery,  and  dish- 
es were  but  little  attended  to;  nor  was  the 
fish  or  venison  ever  talked  of  or  recom- 
mended. Amidst  this  convivial,  anima- 
ted bustle  among  his  guests,  our  host  sat 
perfectly  composed;  always  attentive  to 
what  was  said,  never  minding  what  was 
eat  or  drank,  but  left  every  one  at  perfect 
liberty  to  scramble  for  himself.  Temporal 
and  spiritual  peers,  physicians,  lawyers, 
actors,  and  musicians,  composed  the  motley 
group,  and  played  their  parts  without  dis- 
sonance or  discord.  At  five  o’clock  pre- 
cisely dinner  was  served,  whether  all  the 
invited  guests  were  arrived  or  not.  Sir 
Joshua  was  never  so  fashionably  ill-bred 
as  to  wait  an  hour  perhaps  for  two  or  three 
persons  of  rank  or  title,  and  put  the  rest  of 
the  company  out  of  humour  by  this  invidi- 
ous distinction.  His  friends  and  intimate 
acquaintance  will  ever  love  his  memory,  and 
will  long  regret  those  social  hours,  and  the 
cheerfulness  of  that  irregular,  convivial  ta- 
ble, which  no  one  has  attempted  to  revive 
or  imitate,  or  was  indeed  qualified  to  sup- 
ply ”] 

[,;TO  henry  thrale,  esq. 

“3d  June,  1776. 

Letters  “ My  Mistress  writes  as  if  she  was 
voi.  i.  afraid  that  I should  make  too  much 
p-  337‘  haste  to  see  her.  Pray  tell  her  that 
there  is  no  danger.  The  lameness  of  which 
I made  mention  in  one  of  my  notes  has  im- 
proved into  a very  serious  and  troublesome 
fit  of  the  gout.  I creep  about  and  hang  by 
both  hands.  I enjoy  all  the  dignity  of 
lameness.  I receive  ladies  and  dismiss  them 
sitting.  ‘ Painful  pre-eminence ! 3 ”] 

The  following  letters  concerning  an  epi- 
taph which  he  wrote  for  the  monument  of 
Dr.  Goldsmith,  in  Westminster-abbey,  af- 
ford at  once  a proof  of  his  unaffected  mod- 
esty, his  carelessness  as  to  his  own  writings, 
and  of  the  great  respect  which  he  enter- 
tained for  the  taste  and  judgment  of  the 
excellent  and  eminent  person  to  whom  the 
first  and  last  are  addressed: 

“ DR.  JOHNSON  TO  SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS. 

“ 16th  May,  1776. 

“Dear  sir, — I have  been  kept  away 
from  you,  I know  not  well  how,  and  of 
these  vexatious  hindrances  I know  not  when 
there  will  be  an  end.  I therefore  send  you 
the  poor  dear  doctor’s  epitaph.  Read  it 
first  yourself;  and  if  you  then  think  it 
right,  show  it  to  the  club.  I am,  you 
know,  willing  to  be  corrected.  If  you 
think  any  thing  much  amiss,  keep  it  to 


yourself  till  we  come  together.  I have 
sent  two  copies,  but  prefer  the  card.  Th» 
dates  must  be  settled  by  Dr.  Percy.  I am . 
sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

[“miss  REYNOLDS  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“ Richmond-hill,  2l9t  June,  1776. 

“ Sir, — You  saw  by  my  last  letter 
that  I knew  nothing  of  your  illness, 
and  it  was  unkind  of  you  not  to  tell 
me  what  had  been  the  matter  with  you, 
and  you  should  have  let  me  know  how  Mrs. 
Thrale  and  all  the  family  were;  but  that 
would  have  been  a sad  transgression  of  the 
rule  you  have  certainly  prescribed  to  your 
self  of  writing  to  some  sort  of  people  just 
such  a number  of  lines.  Be  so  good  as  to 
favour  me  with  Dr.  Goldsmith’s  epitaph; 
and  if  you  have  no  objection  I should  be 
very  glad  to  send  it  to  Dr.  Beattie.  1 am 
writing  now  to  Mrs.  Beattie,  and  can 
scarce  hope  she  will  ever  excuse  my  shame- 
ful neglect  of  writing  to  her,  but  by  sending 
her  something  curious  for  Dr.  Beattie. 

“ I do  n’t  know  whether  my  brother  ever 
mentioned  to  you  what  Dr.  Beattie  said  in 
a letter  he  received  from  him  the  beginning 
of  last  month.  As  I have  his  letter  here, 
I will  transcribe  it.  ‘In  my  third  essay, 
which  treats  of  the  advantages  of  classical 
learning,  I have  said  something  of  Dr. 
Johnson,  which  I hope  will  please  him;  I 
ought  not  to  call  it  a compliment,  for  it  ex- 
presses nothing  but  the  real  sentiments  of 
my  heart.  I can  never  forget  the  many 
and  great  obligations  I am  under  to  his  ge- 
nius and  to  his  virtue,  and  I wish  for  an 
opportunity  of  testifying  my  gratitude  to 
the  world.’ 

“ My  brother  says  he  has  lost  Dr.  Gold- 
smith’s epitaph,  otherwise  I would  not 
trouble  you  for  it.  Indeed  I should  or  I 
ought  to  have  asked  if  you  had  any  objection 
to  my  sending  it,  before  I did  send  it. — I 
am,  my  good  sir,  your  obliged  and  obedi- 
ent humble  servant,, 

“Frances  Reynolds.’ 

<cDR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“21st  June,  1776. 

“Dearest  madam, — You  are  as  naugh- 
ty as  you  can  be.  I am  willing  enough  to 
write  to  you  when  you  have  any  thing  to 
say.  As  for  my  disorder,  as  Sir  Joshua 
saw  me,  I fancied  he  would  tell  you,  and 
that  I needed  not  tell  you  myself. 

“ Of  Dr.  Goldsmith’s  epitaph,  I sent  Sii 
Joshua  two  copies,  and  had  none  myself 
If  he  has  lost  it,  he  has  not  done  well.  Bui 
I suppose  I can  recollect  it,  and  will  send  it 
to  you. — I am,  madam,  your  most  humble 
servant,  Sam.  Johnson. 

“ P.  S. — All  the  Thrales  are  well,  and 
Mrs.  Thrale  has  a great  regard  for  Mis* 
Reynolds.”] 


80 


1776. — JEl  AT.  67. 


“ TO  SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS. 

“22d  June,  1776. 

“ Sir, — Miss  Reynolds  has  a mind  to 
Bend  the  epitaph  to  Dr.  Beattie;  I am  very 
willing,  but  having  no  copy,  cannot  imme- 
diately recollect  it.  She  tells  me  you  have 
lost  it.  Try  to  recollect,  and  put  down  as 
much  as  you  retain;  you  perhaps  may  have 
kept  what  I have  dropped.  The  lines  for 
which  I am  at  a loss  are  something  of* 
rerum  civilium  sive  naturalium  ].  It  was 
a sorry  trick  to  lose  it;  help  me  if  you  can. 

•I  am,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

Sam.  Johnson. 

ct  The  gout  grows  better,  but  slowly.” 

It  was,  I think,  after  I had  left  London 
m this  year,  that  this  epitaph  gave  occasion 
to  a remonstrance  to  the  monarch  of  litera- 
ture, for  an  account  of  which  I am  indebted 
to  Sir  William  F orbes,  of  Pitsligo. 

That  my  readers  may  have  the  subject 
more  fully  and  clearly  before  them,  I shall 
insert  the  epitaph: 

“OLIVARII  GOLDSMITH, 

Poet®,  Physici,  Historici, 

Q,ui  nullum  fere  scribendi  genus 
Non  tetigit, 

Nullum  quod  tetigit  non  omavit: 

Sive  risus  essent  movendi, 

Sive  lacrym®, 

Affectuum  potens  at  lenis  dominator: 
Ingenio  sublimis,  vividus,  versatilis, 
Oratione  grandis,  nitidus,  venustus: 

Hoc  monumento  memoriam  coluit 
t Sodalium  amor, 

Amicorum  tides, 

Lectorum  veneratio. 

Natus  in  Hibernia  Fomi®  Longfordiensis, 

In  loco  cui  nomen  Pallas, 

Nov.  xxix.  mdccxxxi.  2; 

Eblan®  literis  institutus; 

Obiit  Londini, 

April,  iv.  mdcclxxiv.” 

Sir  William  Forbes  writes  to  me  thus: 
“ I enclose  the  Round  Robin.  This  Jew 
d' esprit  took  its  rise  one  day  at  dinner  at 
our  friend  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s.  All  the 
company  present,  except  myself,  were 
friends  and  acquaintance  of  Dr.  Goldsmith. 
The  epitaph  written  for  him  by  Dr.  John- 
son became  the  subject  of  conversation,  and 
various  emendations  were  suggested,  which 
it  was  agreed  should  be  submitted  to  the 
Doctor’s  consideration.  But  the  question 
was,  who  should  have  the  courage  to  pro- 
pose them  to  him?  At  last  it  was  hinted, 

1 [These  words  must  have  been  in  the  other 
copy.  They  are  not  in  that  which  was  preferred. 

-Em]. 

2 This  was  a mistake,  which  was  not  discover- 
ed till  after  Goldsmith’s  monument  was  put  up 
in  Westminster  Abbey.  He  was  bom  Nov.  29, 
1728;  and  therefore,  when  he  died  he  was  in  his 
forty-sixth  year. — Malone 


that  there  could  be  no  way  so  gcxd  as  tnat 
of  a Round  Robin,  as  the  sailors  call  it, 
which  they  make  use  of  when  they  enter 
into  a conspiracy,  so  as  not  to  let  it  be 
known  who  puts  his  name  first  or  last  tc 
the  paper.  This  proposition  was  instantly 
assented  to;  and  Dr.  Barnard,  dean  of 
Derry,  now  bishop  of  Killaloe  3,  drew  up  an 
address  to  Dr.  Johnson  on  the  occasion,  re- 
plete with  wit  and  humour,  but  which  it 
was  feared  the  Doctor  might  think  treated 
the  subject  with  too  much  levity.  Mr. 
Burke  then  proposed  the  address  as  it  stands 
in  the  paper  in  writing,  to  which  I had  the 
honour  to  officiate  as  clerk. 

“ Sir  Joshua  agreed  to  carry  it  to  Dr. 
Johnson,  who  received  it  with  much  good 
humour  4,  and  desired  Sir  Joshua  to  tell  the 

3 This  prelate,  who  was  afterwards  translated 
to  the  see  of  Limerick,  died  at  Wimbledon  in 
Surrey,  June  7,  1806,  in  his  eightieth  year.  The 
original  Round  Robin  remained  in  his  possession; 
the  paper  which  Sir  William  Forbes  transmitted 
to  Mr.  Boswell  being  only  a copy. — Malone. 
[The  engraving  published  by  Mr.  Boswell  was 
not  an  exact  far.  simile  of  the  whole  of  this  curi- 
ous paper  (which  is  of  the  size  called  foolscap , 
and  too  large  to  be  folded  into  an  ordinary  vol- 
ume), but  of  the  signatures  only ; and,  in  later 
editions,  even  these  have,  by  successive  copying, 
lost  some  of  their  original  accuracy.  By  the  fa 
vour  of  the  Earl  of  Balcarras  (to  whom  the  papei 
has  descended  from  his  aunt,  Lady  Anne,  the  wid 
ow  of  the  son  of  Bishop  Barnard)  the  Editor  has 
been  enabled  to  present  his  readers  with  a fresh 
and  more  accurate  fac  simile  of  the  signatures. — 
Ed.] 

4 He,  however,  upon  seeing  Dr.  Warton’s 
name  to  the  suggestion,  that  the  epitaph  should  be 
in  English,  observed  to  Sir  Joshua,  “ I wonder 
that  Joe  Warton,  a scholar  by  profession,  should 
be  such  a fool.”  He  said  too,  “ I should  have 
thought  Mund  Burke  would  have  had  more  sense.  ’ ’ 
Mr.  Langton,  who  was  one  of  the  company  a. 
Sir  Joshua’s,  like  a sturdy  scholar,  resolutely  re- 
fused to  sign  the  Round  Robin.  This  epitaph  is 
engraved  upon  Dr.  Goldsmith’s  monument  with- 
out any  alteration.  At  another  time,  when  some- 
body endeavoured  to  argue  in  favour  of  its  being 
in  English,  Johnson  said,  “ The  language  of  the 
country  of  which  a learned  man  was  a native  is 
not  the  language  fit  for  his  epitaph,  which  should 
be  in  ancient  and  permanent  language.  Consider, 
sir,  how  you  should  feel,  were  you  to  find  at 
Rotterdam  an  epitaph  upon  Erasmus  in  Dutch  !** 
For  my  own  part,  I think  it  would  be  best  to 
have  epitaphs  written  both  in  a learned  language 
and  in  the  language  of  the  country;  so  that  they 
might  have  the  advantage  of  being  more  univer- 
sally understood,  and  at  the  same  time  be  secured 
of  classical  stability.  I cannot,  however,  but  bo 
of  opinion,  that  it  is  not  sufficiently  discriminative. 
Applying  to  Goldsmith  equally  the  epithets  of 
“ Poetce,  Historici,  Physici ,”  is  surely  not 
right;  for  as  to  his  claim  to  the  last  of  those  epi- 
thets, I have  heard  Johnson  himself  say,  “ Gc  Id- 
smith,  sir,  will  give  us  a very  fine  book  upon  \he 


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81 


gentlemen,  that  he  would  aiter  tne  epitaph 
in  any  manner  they  pleased,  as  to  the  sense 
of  it,  but  he  would  never  consent  to  dis- 
grace the  walls  of  Westminster  Abbey, 
with  an  English  inscription *  1 2 3 4 *. 

“ I consider  this  Round  Robin  as  a spe- 
cies of  literary  curiosity  worth  preserving, 
as  it  marks,  in  a certain  degree.  Dr.  John- 
son’s character.” 

My  readers  are  presented  with  a faithful 
1 1 anscript  of  a paper,  which  1 doubt  not  of 
their  being  desirous  to  see. 

'E.  Gibbon.  Jos.  Wart  on.  Edm.  Burke. 

“ We  the  Circumscribers,  having  read  with  ^ 
f,  great  pleasure  an  intended  epitaph  for  the  monu-  § 

intht  of  Dr.  Goldsmith;  which,  considered  ab-  ^ 
”5  stracted'.y,  appears  to  be,  for  elegant  composition,  3 
2 and  masterly  style,  in  every  respect  worthy  of  the  » 
g pen  of  its  learned  author ; are  yet  of  opinion,  that  =: 

. the  character  of  the  deceased  as  a writer,  particu-  „ 
^ larly  as  a poet,  is,  perhaps,  not  delineated  with  * 

, all  the  exactness  which  Dr.  Johnson  is  capable  ^ 
« of  giving  it.  We,  therefore,  with  deference  to  his  « 
~ superior  judgment,  humbly  request  that  he  would,  o 
i at  least,  take  the  trouble  of  revising  it ; and  of  g" 
vi  making  such  additions  and  alterations  as  he  shall  3 
pj  think  proper  on  a further  perusal.  But  if  we  S' 

. might  venture  to  express  our  wishes,  they  would  4. 

lead  us  to  request  that  he  would  write  the  epitaph 
. in  English,  rather  than  in  Latin  ; as  we  think  the  £ 
"H  memory  of  so  eminent  an  English  writer  ought  to  ? 
c be  perpetuated  in  the  language  to  which  his  O 

works  are  likely  to  be  so  lasting  an  ornament,  2. 
^ which  we  also  know  to  have  been  the  opinion  of  5 
gj  the  late  doctor  himself.’-'  3 

W.  Forbes.  J.  Reynolds.  William  Vachell  5.] 

Sir  William  Forbes’s  observation  is  very 
just.  - The  anecdote  now  related  proves,  in 
the  strongest  manner,  the  reverence  and 

subject;  but  if  he  can  distinguish  a cow  from  a 
horse,  that,  I believe,  may  be  the  extent  of  his 
knowledge  of  natural  history.”  His  book  is,  in- 
deed, an  excellent  performance,  though  in  some 
instances  he  appears  to  have  trusted  too  much  to 
Buffifn,  who,  with  all  his  theoretical  inge- 
nuity and  extraordinary  eloquence,  I suspect  had 
little  actual  information  in  the  science  on  which 
he  wrote  so  admirably.  For  instance,  he  tells  us 
that  the  cow  sheds  her  horns  every  two  years;  a 
most  palpable  errour,  which  Goldsmith  has  faith- 
fully transferred  into  his  book.  It  is  wonderful 
that  Buffon,  who  lived  so  much  in  the  country,  at 
his  noble  seat,  should  have  fallen  mto  such  a 
blunder.  I suppose  he  has  confounded  the  cow 
with  the  deeTi — Boswell. 

1 [See  ante , v.  i.  p.  373,  on  the  subject  of 
English  inscriptions  to  English  writers. — Ed.] 

2 [See  post,  sub  3d  Oct.  1782. — Ed.] 

3 [There  would  be  no  doubt  that  this  was 
Thomas  Franklin,  D.D.  the  translator  of  Sopho- 
cles and  Lucian,  but  that  the  Biog.  Diet,  and  in- 
deed the  Doctor’s  own  title-pages,  spell  his  name 
Franck\ in.  See  post,  sub  1780,  ad  finem.  lie 
died  in  1784,  set.  63. — Ed.] 

4 [Anthony  Charnier,  Esq.  one  of  the  club,  M. 

P.  for  Tamworth,  and  Under-Secretary  of  State 
from  1775  till  his  death,  12th  Oct.  1780. — Ed.] 

6  [All  that  the  editor  has  been  able  to  discover 

of  this  gentleman  is  that  he  was  a friend  of  Sir 
Joshua’s,  and  attended  his  funeral  — Ed.] 

VOL.  11.  1 1 


awe  with  which  Johnson  was  regarded,  by 
some  of  the  most  eminent  men  of*  his  time 
in  various  departments,  and  even  by  such 
of  them  as  lived  most  with  him;  while  it 
also  confirms  what  I have  again  and  again 
inculcated,  that  he  was  by  no  means  ot 
that  ferocious  and  irascible  character  which 
has  been  ignorantly  imagined  6. 

This  hasty  composition  is  also  to  be  re- 
marked as  one  of  the  thousand  instances 
which  evince  the  extraordinary  promptitude 
of  Mr.  Burke;  who,  while  he  is  equal  to 
the  greatest  things,  can  adorn  the  least: 
can,  with  equal  facility,  embrace  the  vast 
and  complicated  speculations  of  politicks  01 
the  ingenious  topicks  of  literary  investiga 
tion  7. 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  BOSWELL. 

“ ieth  May,  1776. 

“ Madam, — You  must  not  think  me  un 
civil  in  omitting  to  answer  the  letter  with 
which  you  favoured  me  some  time  ago.  I 
imagined  it  to  have  been  written  without 
Mr.  Boswell’s  knowledge,  and  therefore 
supposed  the  answer  to  require,  what  1 
could  not  find,  a private  conveyance. 

£C  The  difference  with  Lord  Auchinleck 
is  ; ■ w over;  and  since  young  Alexander 
ha;;  appeared,  I hope  no  more  difficulties 
will  prise  among  you;  for  I sincerely  wish 
you  all  happy.  Do  not  teach  the  young 
ones  to  dislike  me,  as  you  dislike  me  your- 
self; but  let  me  at  least  have  Veronica’s 
kindness,  because  she  is  my  acquaintance. 

u You  will  now  have  Mr.  Boswell  home, 
it  is  well  that  you  have  him;  he  has  led  a 
wild  life  I have  taken  him  to  Lichfield, 
and  he  has  followed  Mr.  Thrale  to  Bath 
Pray  take  care  of  him,  and  tame  him.  The 
only  thing  in  which  I have  the  honour  to 
agree  with  you  is,  in  loving  him;  and  while 
we  are  so  much  of  a mind  in  a matter  of  so 
much  importance,  our  other  quarrels  will,  1 
hope,  produce  no  great  bitterness.  I am, 
madam,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ MR.  BOSWELL  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“ Edinburgh,  25th  June,  1776 

“ You  have  formerly  complained  that  my 
letters  were  too  long.  There  is  no  dangei 
of  that  complaint  being  made  at  present; 
for  I find  it  difficult  for  me  to  write  to  you 
at  all.  [Here  an  account  of  having  been 
afflicted  with  a return  of  melancholy  or  bad 
spirits.] 

“ The  boxes  of  books8  which  you  sent 

6 [Most  readers  would  draw  a directly  contrary 
conclusion. — Ed.] 

7 Besides  this  Latin  epitaph,  Johnson  honoured 
the  memory  of  his  friend  Goldsmith  with  a shor’ 
one  in  Greek. — Boswell.  [See  ante , v.  i.  p 
478.— Ed.] 

8 l pori  a settlement  of  our  account  of  expense* 


82 


1776.— vETAT.  67. 


to  me  are  arrived;  but  I hate  not  yet  ex- 
amined the  contents.  * * * * 

cc  I send  you  Mr.  Maclaurin’s  paper  for 
the  negro  who  claims  his  freedom  in  the 
court  of  session.” 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MR.  BOSWELL. 

“2d  July,  1776. 

“ Dear  sir, — These  black  fits,  of  which 
you  complain,  perhaps  hurt  your  memory 
as  well  as  your  imagination.  When  did  I 
complain  that  your  letters  were  too  long  1 ? 
Your  last  letter,  after  a very  long  delay, 
brought  very  bad  news.  [Here  a series  of 
reflections  upon  melancholy,  and — what  I 
could  not  help  thinking  strangely  unreason- 
able in  him  who  had  suffered  so  much  from 
it  himself — a good  deal  of  severity  and  re- 
proof, as  if  it  were  owing  to  my  own  fault, 
or  that  I was,  perhaps,  affecting  it  from  a 
desire  of  distinction.] 

“ Read  Cheyne’s  ‘ English  Malady; 5 but 
do  not  let  him  teach  you  a foolish  notion 
that  melancholy  is  a proof  of  acuteness. 

* # * # * 

“ To  hear  that  you  have  not  opened  your 
boxes  of  books  is  very  offensive.  The  ex- 
amination and  arrangement  of  so  many 
volumes  might  have  afforded  you  an  amuse- 
ment very  seasonable  at  present,  and  useful 
for  the  whole  of  life.  I am,  I confess,  very 
angry  that  you  manage  yourself  so  ill.  * * 
“ I do  not  now  say  any  more,  than  that 
I am,  with  great  kindness  and  sincerity, 
dear  sir,  your  humble  servant, 

c£  Sam.  Johnson. 

cc  It  was  last  year  determined  by  Lord 
Mansfield  in  the  court  of  king’s  bench,  that 
a negro  cannot  be  taken  out;  of  the  king- 
dom without  his  own  consent.” 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MR.  BOSWELL. 

“ 16th  July,  1776. 

“ Dear  sir, — I make  haste  to  write 
again,  lest  my  last  letter  should  give  you 
too  much  pain.  If  you  are  really  oppress- 
ed with  overpowering  and  involuntary  mel- 
ancholy, you  are  to  be  pitied  rather  than 
reproached.  * # * * 

“ Now,  my  dear  Bozzy,  let  us  have  done 
with  quarrels  and  with  censure.  Let  me 
know  whether  I have  not  sent  you  a pretty 
library.  There  are,  perhaps,  many  books 
among  them  which  you  never  need  read 
through;  but  there  are  none  which  it  is  not 
proper  for  you  to  know,  and  sometimes  to 


on  a tour  to  the  Hebrides,  there  was  a balance 
due  to  me,  which  Dr.  Johnson  those  to  discharge 
by  sending  books. — Boswell. 

1  Baretti  told  me  that  Johnson  complained  of 
my  writing  very  long  letters  to  him  when  I was 
upon  the  continent;  which  was  most  certainly 
true;  but  it  seems  rny  friend  did  not  remember  it. 
— Boswell. 


consult.  Of  these  books,  of  which  the  use 
is  only  occasional,  it  is  often  sufficient  tc 
know  the  contents,  that,  when  any  ques- 
tion arises,  you  may  know  where  to  look 
for  information. 

“ Since  I wrote,  I have  looked  over  Mi 
Maclaurin’s  plea,  and  think  it  excellent. 
How  is  the  suit  carried  on?  If  by  sub- 
scription, I commission  you  to  contribute,  in 
my  name,  what  is  proper.  Let  nothing  be 
wanting  in  such  a case.  Dr.  Drummond2 
I see,  is  superseded.  His  father  would 
have  grieved:  but  he  lived  to  obtain  the 
pleasure  of  his  son’s  election,  and  died  be- 
fore that  pleasure  was  abated. 

“ Langton’s  lady  has  brought  him  a,  girl, 
and  both  are  well:  I dined  with  him  the 
other  day.  * * * * 

“ It  vexes  me  to  tell  you,  that  on  the 
evening  of  the  29th  of  May  I was  seized  by 
the  gout,  and  am  not  quite  well.  The  pain 
has  not  been  violent,  but  the  weakness  and 
tenderness  were  very  troublesome;  and  what 
is  said  to  be  very  uncommon,  it  has  not  al 
leviated  my  other  disorders.  Make  use  of 
youth  and  health  while  you  have  them; 
make  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Boswell.  I 
am,  my  dear  sir,  your  most  affectionate 
“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“MR.  BOSWELL  TO  DR.  JOHNSON 

“Edinburgh,  18th  July,  1776. 

“ My  dear  sir, — Your  letter  of  the  2d 
of  this  month  was  rather  a harsh  medicine; 
but  I was  delighted  with  that  spontaneous 
tenderness,  which,  a few  days  afterwards, 
sent  forth  such  balsam  as  your  next  brought 
me.  I found  myself  for  some  time  so  ill 
that  all  I could  do  was  to  preserve  a decent 
appearance,  while  all  within  was  weakness 
and  distress.  Like  a reduced  garrison  that 
has  some  spirit  left,  I hung  out  flags,  and 
planted  all  the  force  I could  muster,  upon 
the  walls.  I am  now  much  better,  and  I 
sincerely  thank  you  for  your  kind  attention 
and  friendly  counsel. 

####*# 

“ Count  Manucci 3 * came  here  last  weex 
from  travelling  in  Ireland.  I have  shown 
him  what  civilities  I could  on  his  account, 
on  yours,  and  on  that  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Thrale.  He  has  had  a fall  from  his  horse, 
and  been  much  hurt.  I regret  this  unlucky 

2 The  son  of  Johnson's  old  friend,  Mr.  Wil- 
liam Drummond.  (See  ante , v.  i.  p.  235,  and 
459.)  He  was  a young  man  of  such  distinguished 
merit,  that  he  was  nominated  to  one  of  the  medi- 
cal professorships  in  the  college  of  Edinburgh, 
without  solicitation,  while  he  was  at  Naples. 
Having  other  views,  he  did  not  accept  of  the 
honour,  and  soon  afterwards  died. — Boswell. 

3 A Florentine  nobleman,  mentioned  by  John- 

son in  his  “ Notes  of  his  Tour  in  France.”  1 had 
the  pleasure  of  becoming  acquainted  with  him  in 

London,  in  the  spring  of  this  year. — Boswell. 


1776.— JETAT.  67. 


33 


accident,  for  he  seems  to  be  a very  amiable 
man.” 

As  the  evidence  of  what  I have  mentioned 
at  ihe  beginning  c-f  this  year,  I select  from 
his  private  register  the  following  passage: 

“ July  25,  1776.  O God,  who  hast  or- 
dained that  whatever  is  to  be  desired  should 
be  sought  by  labour,  and  who,  by  thy  bless- 
ing, bringest  honest  labour  to  good  effect, 
look  with  mercy  upon  my  studies  and  en- 
deavours. Grant  me,  O Lord,  to  design 
only  what  is  lawful  and  right;  and  afford 
me  calmness  of  mind,  and  steadiness  of  pur- 
pose, that  I may  so  do  thy  will  in  this  short 
life,  as  to  obtain  happiness  in  the  world  to 
come,  for  the  sake  of  Jesus  Christ  our 
Lord.  Amen.” 

It  appears  from  a note  subjoined,  that 
this  was  composed  when  he  “ purposed  to 
apply  vigorously  to  study,  particularly  of 
the  Greek  and  Italian  tongues.” 

Such  a purpose,  so  expressed,  at  the  age 
of  sixty-seven,  is  admirable  and  encour- 
aging; and  it  must  impress  all  the  thinking 
part  of  my  readers  with  a consolatory  con 
fidence  in  habitual  devotion,  when  they  see 
a man  of  such  enlarged  intellectual  powers 
as  Johnson,  thus  in  the  genuine  earnestness 
of  secrecy,  imploring  the  aid  of  that  Su- 
preme Being,  “ from  whom  cometh  down 
every  good  and  every  perfect  gift.” 

tcT0  SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS. 

“ 3d  Aug.  1776. 

cc  Sir, — A young  man,  whose  name  is 
Paterson,  offers  himself  this  evening  to  the 
Academy.  He  is  the  son  of  a man1  for 
whom  I have  long  had  a kindness,  and  is 
now  abroad  in  distress.  I shall  be  glad  that 
you  will  be  pleased  to  show  him  any  little 
countenance,  or  pay  him  any  small  dis- 
tinction. How  much  it  is  in  your  power  to 
favour  or  to  forward  a young  man  I do  not 
know;  nor  do  I know  how  much  this  can- 
didate deserves  favour  by  his' personal  mer- 
it, or  what  hopes  his  proficiency  may  now 
give  of  future  eminence.  I recommend  him 
as  the  son  of  my  friend.  Your  character 
and  station  enable  you  to  give  a young 
man  great  encouragement  by  very  easy 
means.  You  have  heard  of  a man  who 
asked  no  other  favour  of  Sir  Robert  Wal- 
pole, than  that  he  would  bow  to  him  at  his 
levee. — I am,  sir,  your  most  humble  ser- 
vant, “Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ MR.  BOSWELL  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“ Edinburgh,  Aug.  SO,  1776. 

(After  giving  him  an  account  of  my  hav- 
ing examined  the  chests  of  books  which  he 

1 Samuel  Paterson,  formerly  a bookseller, 

latterly  an  auctioneer,  and  well  known  for  his 
skill  in  forming  catalogues  of  books.  He  died  in 

London,  Oct.  29,  1802. — Malone.  [See ante, 

v i.  p.  292. — Ed  ] 


had  sent  tome,  and  which  contfined  what 
may  be  truly  called  a numerous  and  miscel 
laneous  stall  library,  thrown  together  a. 
random: — ) 

“Lord  Hailes  was  against  the  decree  in 
the  case  of  my  client,  the  minister;  not  that 
he  justified  the  minister,  but  because  the 
parishioner  both  provoked  and  retorted.  1 
sent  his  lordship  your  able  argument  upon 
the  case  for  his  perusal.  His  observation 
upon  it  in  a letter  to  me  was,  ‘ Dr.  John- 
son’s Suasorium  is  pleasantly2 *  and  artfully 
composed.  I suspect,  however,  that  he  has 
not  convinced  himself;  for  I believe  that  he 
is  better  read  in  ecclesiastical  history,  than 
to  imagine  that  a bishop  or  a presbyter  has 
a right  to  begin  censure  or  discipline  & 
cathedra  V 

###### 

“ For  the  honour  of  Count  Manucci,  as 
well  as  to  observe  that  exactness  of  truth 
which  you  have  taught  me,  I must  correct 
what  I said  in  a former  letter.  He  did  not 
fall  from  his  horse,  which  might  have  been 
an  imputation  on  his  skill  as  an  officer  of 
cavalry:  his  horse  fell  with  him. 

“ I have,  since  I saw  you,  read  every 
word  of  c Granger  s Biographical  History.’ 
It  has  entertained  me  exceedingly,  and  I do 
not  think  him  the  whig  that  you  supposed. 
Horace  Walpole’s  being  his  patron  is,  in- 
deed, no  good  sign  of  his  political  principles. 
But  he  denied  to  Lord  Mountstuart  that  he 
was  a whig,  and  said  he  had  been  accused 
by  both  parties  of  partiality.  It  seems  hr 
was  like  Pope, — 

* While  tories  call  me  whig,  and  whigs  a tory.’ 

I wish  you  would  look  more  into  his  book; 
and  as  Lord  Mountstuart  wishes  much  to 
find  a proper  person  to  continue  the  work 
upon  Granger’s  plan,  and  has  desired  I 
•would  mention  it  to  you,  if  such  a man  oc- 
curs, please  to  let  me  know.  His  lordship 
will  give  him  generous  encouragement 4 ” 

“TO  MR.  ROBERT  LEVETT. 

“ Briglithelmstone,  21st  Oct.  1776. 

“D  ear  sir, — Having  spent  about  six 
weeks  at  this  place,  we  have  at  length  re- 


2 Why  his  lordship  uses  tke  epithet  pleasantly, 
when  speaking  of  a grave  piece  of  reasoning,  I 
cannot  conceive.  But  different  men  have  differ- 
ent notions  of  pleasantry.  I happened  to  sit  by  a 
gentleman  one  evening  at  the  Opera-house  in 
London,  who,  at  the  moment  when  Medea  ap- 
peared to  be  in  great  agony  at  the  thought  of 
killing  her  children,  turned  to  me  with  a smile, 
and  said  “ Funny  enough.” — Boswell. 

3 Dr.  Johnson  afterwards  told  me,  that  he  was 
of  opinion  that  a clergyman  had  this  right. — Bos- 
well. 

4 [Lord  Mountstuart,  afterwards  first  Marquis  of 
Bute,  had  also  patronised,  in  a similar  manner. 
Sir  John  Hill’s  immense  “ Vegetable  System  ” 
(twenty-six  vols.  folio!);  but  Sir  John’s  widow 


84 


1776.— JET  AT.  b7. 


solved  on  returning.  I expect  tn  see 
you  all  in  Fleet-street  on  the  30th  of  this 
month. 

“ I did  not  go  into  the  sea  till  last  Fri- 
day’* 1, but  think  to  go  most  of  this  week, 
though.  I know  not  that  it  does  me  any 
good.  My  nights  are  very  restless  and 
tiresome,  but  I am  otherwise  well. 

“ I have  written  word  of  my  coming  to 
Mrs.  Williams.  Remember  me  kindly  to 
Francis  and  Betsey2-  I am,  sir,  your  hum- 
ble servant,  ;c  Sam.  Johnson3 *.” 

I again  wrote  to  Dr.  Johnson  on  the  21st 
of  Oct.,  informing  him,  that  my  father  had, 
in  the  most  liberal  manner,  paid  a large 
debt  for  me,  and  that  I had  now  the  happi- 
ness of  being  upon  very  good  terms  with 
him;  to  which  he  returned  the  following 
answer : 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ Bolt-court,  16th  Nov.  1776. 

“D  ear  sir, — I had  great  pleasure  in 
hearing  that  you  are  at  last  on  good  terms 
with  your  father. ' Cultivate  his  kindness 
by  all  honest  and  manly  means.  Life  is  but 
short:  no  time  can  be  afforded  but  for  the 
indulgence  of  real  sorrow,  or  contests  upon 
questions  seriously  momentous.  Let  us  not 
throw  away  any  of  our  days  upon  useless 
resentment,  or  contend  who  shall  hold  out 
longest  in  stubborn  malignity.  It  is  best 
not  to  be  angry;  and  best,  in  the  next  place, 
to  be  quickly  reconciled.  May  you  and 
your  father  pass  the  remainder  of  your  time 
in  reciprocal  benevolence! 

* * ‘ # # # # 

“Do  you  ever  hear  from  Mr.  Langton? 
I visit  him  sometimes,  but  he  does  not  talk. 
I do  not  like  his  scheme  of  life;  but  as  I am 
not  permitted  to  understand  it,  I cannot  set, 
any  thing  right  that  is  wrong.  His  chil- 
dren are  sweet  babies. 

“ I hope  my  irreconcileable  enemy,  Mrs. 
Boswell,  is  well.  Desire  her  not  to  trans- 
mit her  malevolence  to  the  young  people. 


published,  in  1788,  “ An  Address  to  the  Public,” 
in  which  she  alleged  that  Lord  Bute  had  acted 
very  penuriously  in  that  matter. — Ed.] 

1 [Johnson  was  a good  swimmer.  “ One  of 
the  bathing-men  at  Brighton  seeing  him  swim, 
said,  ‘ Why,  sir,  you  must  have  been  a stout- 
hearted gentleman  forty  years  ago.’  ** — Piozzi, 
p.  87. — Ed.] 

2 His  female  servant. — Malone. 

3 Fur  this  and  Dr.  Johnson’s  other  letters  to 

Mr.  Levett,  I am  indebted  to  my  old  acquaintance 
Mr.  Nathaniel  Thomas,  whose  worth  and  inge- 
nuity have  been  long  known  to  a respectable 
though  not  a wide  circle,  and  whose  collection  of 
medals  would  do  credit  to  persons  of  greater  op- 

ulence.— Boswell.  Mr.  Nathaniel  Thomas, 
who  was  many  years  editor  of  the  “ St.  James’s 
Clnonicle,”  died  March  1,  1795. — Mai  I 


Let  me  have  Alexander,  and  Veronica,  and 
Euphemia,  for  my  friends. 

“ Mrs.  Williams,  whom  you  may  reckon 
as  one  of  your  well-wishers,  is  in  a feeble 
and  languishing  state,  with  little  hopes  of 
growing  better.  She  went  for  some  part  of 
the  autumn  into  the  country,  but  is  little 
benefited;  and  Dr.  Lawrence  confesses  that 
his  art  is  at  an  end.  Death  is,  however,  at 
a distance:  ana  what  more  than  that  can 
we  say  of  ourselves  ? I am  sorry  for  hej 
pain,  and  more  sorry  for  her  decay.  Mr 
Levett  is  sound,  wind  and  limb. 

“ I was  some  weeks  this  autumn  at 
Brighthelmstone.  The  place  was  very  dull, 
and  I was  not  well : the  expedition  to  the 
Hebrides  was  the  most  pleasant  journey 
that  I ever  made.  Such  an  effort  annually 
would  give  the  world  a little  diversification. 

“Every  year,  however,  we  cannot 
wander,  and  must  therefore  endeavour  to 
spend  our  time  at  home  as  well  as  we  can. 
I believe  it  is  best  to  throw  life  into  a 
method,  that  every  hour  may  bring  its 
employment,  and  every  employment  have 
its  hour.  Xenophon  observes,  in  his 
‘ Treatise  of  (Economy,5  that  if  every  thing 
be  kept  in  a certain  place,  when  any  thing 
is  worn  out  or  consumed,  the  vacuity  -which 
it  leaves  will  show  what  is  wanting;  so  if 
every  part  of  time  has  its  duty,  the  hour  will 
call  into  remembrance  its  proper  engage- 
ment. 

“ I have  not  practised  all  this  prudence 
myself,  but  1 have  suffered  much  for  want 
of  it;  and  I would  have  you,  by  timely 
recollection  and  steady  resolution,  escape 
from  those  evils  which  have  lain  heavy 
upon  me. — I am,  my  dearest  Boswell,  your 
most  humble  servant,  “Sam.  Johnson.” 

On  the  16ih  of  November,  I informed 
him  that  Mr.  Strahan  had  sent  me  twelve 
copies  of  the  “ Journey  to  the  Western 
Islands,”  handsomely  bound,  instead  of  the 
twenty  copies  which  were  stipulated,  but 
which,  I supposed,  were  to  be  only  in 
sheets;  requested  to  know  how  they  should 
be  distributed;  and  mentioned  that  I had 
another  son  born  to  me,  who  was  named 
David,  and  was  a sickly  infant. 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“21st  Dec.  1776. 

“ Dear  sir, — I have  been  for  some  time 
ill  of  a cold,  which,  perhaps,  I made  an 
excuse  to  myself  for  not  writing,  when  in 
reality  I know  not  what  to  say. 

“ The  books  you  must  at  last  distribute 
as  you  think  best,  in  my  name,  or  your 
own,  as  you  are  inclined,  or  as  jtou  judge 
most  proper.  Every  body  cannot  be 
obliged;  but  I wish  that  nobody  may  be 
offended.  Do  the  best  you  can. 

“ I congratulate  you  on  the  increase  ofyoui 


1777.— JETAT.  68. 


8$ 


family,  and  hope  that  little  David  is  by  this 
time  well,  and  his  mamma  perfectly  re- 
covered. I am  much  pleased  to  hear  of  the 
re-establishment  of  kindness  between  you 
and  your  father.  Cultivate  his  paternal 
tenderness  as  much  as  you  can.  To  live 
at  variance  at  all  is  uncomfortable;  and 
variance  with  a father  is  still  more  uncom- 
fortable. Besides  that,  in  the  whole  dis- 
pute you  have  the  wrong  side;  at  least  you 
gave  the  first  provocations,  and  some  of 
them  very  offensive.  Let  it  now  be  all 
over.  As  you  have  no  reason  to  think  that 
your  new  mother  has  shown  you  any  foul 
play,  treat  her  with  respect,  and  with  some 
degree  of  confidence;  this  will  secure  your 
father.  When  once  a discordant  family 
has  felt  the  pleasure  of  peace  they  will  not 
willingly  lose  it. , If  Mrs.  Boswell  would  but 
be  friends  with  me,  we  might  now  shut  the 
temple  of  Janus. 

“ What  came  of  Dr.  Memis’s  cause?  Is 
the  question  about  the  negro  determined? 
Has  Sir  Allan  any  reasonable  hopes? 
What  is  become  of  poor  Macquarry?  Let 
me  know  the  event  of  all  these  litigations. 
I wish  particularly  well  to  the  negro  and 
Sir  Allan. 

“ Mrs.  Williams  has  been  much  out  of 
order;  and  though  she  is  something  better, 
is  likely,  in  her  physician’s  opinion,  to  en- 
dure her  malady  for  life,  though  she  may, 
perhaps,  die  of  some  other.  Mrs.  Thrale 
is  big,  and  fancies  that  she  carries  a boy:  if 
it  were  very  reasonable  to  wish  much  about 
it,  I should  wish  her  not  to  be  disappointed. 
The  desire  of  male  heirs  is  not  appendant 
only  to  feudal  tenures.  A son  is  almost 
necessary  to  the  continuance  of  Thrale’s 
fortune;  for  what  can  misses  do  with  a 
brew-house  ? Lands  are  fitter  for  daughters 
than  trades. 

“ Baretti  went  away  from  Thrale’s  in 
some  whimsical  fit  of  disgust,  or  ill-nature, 
without  taking  any  leave.  It  is  well  if  he 
finds  in  any  other  place  as  good  an  habita- 
tion, and  as  many  conveniences.  He  has  got 
five-and- twenty,  guineas  by  translating  Sir 
Joshua’s  Discourses  into  Italian,  and  Mr. 
Thrale  gave  him  an  hundred  in  the  spring; 
so  that  he  is  yet  in  no  difficulties. 

“ Colman  has  bought  Foote’s  patent, 
and  is  to  allow  Foote  for  life  sixteen  hun- 
dred pounds  a year,  as  Reynolds  told  me, 
and  to  allow  him  to  play  so  often  on  such 
terms  that  he  may  gain  four  hundred 
pounds  more.  What  Colman  can  get  by 
this  bargain  i,  but  trouble  and  hazard,  I da 
not  see. — I am,  dear  sir,  your  humble 
servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 


1 It  turned  out,  however,  a very  fortunate  bar- 
gain; for  Foote,  though  not  then  fifty-six,  died  at 
an  inn  in  Dover,  in  less  than  a year,  October 
21st,  1777.— Malowe. 


The  Reverend  Dr.  Hugh  Biair,  who  had 
long  been  admired  as  a preacher  at  Edin- 
burgh, thought  now  of  diffusing  his  excel- 
lent sermons  more  extensively,  and  increas- 
ing his  reputation,  by  publishing  a collec- 
tion of  them.  He  transmitted  the  manu- 
script to  Mr.  Strahan,  the  printer,  who, 
after  keeping  it  for  some  time,  wrote  a let- 
ter to  him,  discouraging  the  publication. 
Such  at  first  was  the  unpropitious  state  of 
one  of  the  most  successful  theological  books 
that  has  ever  appeared.  Mr.  Strahan, 
however,  had  sent  one  of  the  sermons  to 
Dr.  Johnson  for  his  opinion:  and  after  his 
unfavourable  letter  to  Dr.  Blair  had  been 
sent  off,  he  received  from  John^pn,  on 
Christmas-eve,  a note  in  which  was  the 
following  paragraph: 

“ I have  read  over  Dr.  Blair’s  first  sermon 
with  more  than  approbation:  to  say  it  is 
good,  is  to  say  too  little.” 

I believe  Mr.  Strahan  had  very  soon  after 
this  time  a conversation  with  Dr.  Johnson 
concerning  them;  and  then  he  very  candid- 
ly wrote  again  to  Dr.  Blair,  enclosing 
Johnson’s  note,  and  agreeing  to  purchase 
the  volume,  for  which  he  and  Mr.  Cadell 
gave  one  hundred  pounds.  The  sale  was 
so  rapid  and  extensive,  and  the  approbation 
of  the  public  so  high,  that,  to  their  honour 
be  it  recorded,  the  pioprietors  made  Dr. 
Blair  a present  first  of  one  sum,  and  after- 
wards of  another,  of  fifty  pounds,  thus  vol- 
untarily doubling  the  stipulated  price;  and, 
when  he  prepared  another  volume,  they 
gave  him  at  once  three,  hundred  pounds, 
being  in  all  five  hundred  pounds,  by  an 
agreement  to  which  I am  a subscribing  wit- 
ness; and  now  for  a third  octavo  volume 
he  has  received  no  less  than  six  hundred 
pounds. 

In  1777  [he  began  the  year  with  ed. 
a serious  indisposition.  The  follow- 
ing letter  affords  a strong  proof  of  his 
anxiety  for  society,  and  the  effort  he  would 
make,  even  over  disease,  to  enjoy  it.] 

[“TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ Wednesday,  15th  January,  1 in  the  morning,  1777. 

“ Omnium  rerum  vicissiiudo ! The  Lett, 
night  after  'ast  Thursday  wras  so  v.i.  p 
bad  that  I took  ipecacuanha  the  next  343‘ 
day.  The  next  night  was  no  better.  On 
Saturday  I dined  with  Sir  Joshua.  The 
night  was  such  as  1 was  forced  to  rise  and 
pass  some  hours  in  a chair,  wdth  great  la- 
bour of  respiration.  I found  it  now  time 
to  do  something,  and  went  to  Dr.  Law- 
rence, and  told  him  I would  do  what  he 
should  order,  without  reading  the  prescrip- 
tion. He  sent  for  a chirurgeon,  and  took 
about  twelve  ounces  of  blood,  and  in  the 
afternoon  I got  sleep  in  a chair. 

“ At  night,  when  I came  to  lie  down, 
after  trial  of  an  hour  or  two,  I found  sleep 


86 


1776.—  ^ETAT.  67. 


Impracticable,  and  ti  erefore  did  what  the 
doctor  permitted  in  a case  of  distress;  I rose, 
and  opening  the  orifice,  let  out  about  ten 
ounces  more.  Frank  and  I were  but  awk- 
ward; but,  with  Mr.  Levett’s  help,  we 
stopped  the  stream,  and  I lay  down  again, 
though  to  little  purpose;  the  difficulty  of 
treathing  allowed  no  rest.  I slept  again 
m the  daytime,  in  an  erect  posture.  The 
doctor  has  ordered  me  a second  bleeding, 
which  I hope  will  set  my  breath  at  liberty. 
Last  night  I could  lie  but  a little  at  a time. 

“Yet  I do  not  make  it  a matter  of  much 
form.  I was  to-day  at  Mrs.  Gardiner’s. 
When  I have  bled  to-morrow,  I will  not 
give  up  Langton  nor  Paradise.  But  I beg 
that  you  will  fetch  me  away  on  Friday.  I 
do  not  know  but  clearer  air  may  do  me 
good;  but  whether  the  air  be  clear  or  dark 
*et  me  come  to  you. — I am,  &c. 

“ * To  sleep,  or  not  to  sleep — .’  ”] 

It  appears  from  his  “ Prayers  and  Medi- 
tations,” that  Johnson  suffered  much  from 
a state  of  mind  “ unsettled  and  perplexed,” 
and  from  that  constitutional  gloom,  which, 
together  with  his  extreme  humility  and 
anxiety  with  regard  to  his  religious  state, 
made  him  contemplate  himself  through  too 
dark  and  unfavourable  a medium.  It  may 
be  said  of  him,  that  he  “ saw  God  in  clouds.” 
Certain  we  may  be  of  his  injustice  to  him- 
self in  the  following  lamentable  paragraph, 
which  it  is  painful  to  think  came  from  the 
contrite  heart  of  this  great  man,  to  whose 
labours  the  world  is  so  much  indebted  : 

“ When  I survey  my  past  life,  I discover 
nothing  but  a barren  waste  of  time,  with 
some  disorders  of  body,  and  disturbances  of 
the  mind  very  near  to  madness,  which  I 
hope  He  that  made  me  will  suffer  to  exten- 
uate many  faults,  and  excuse  many  defi- 
ciencies.” 

But  we  find  his  devotions  in  this  year  emi- 
nently fervent;  and  we  are  comforted  by 
observing  intervals  of  quiet,  composure, 
and  gladness. 

On  Easter-day  we  find  the  following  em- 
phatick  prayer: 

“'Almighty  and  most  merciful  Father, 
who  seest  all  our  miseries,  and  knowest  all 
our  necessities,  look  down  upon  me  and 
pity  me.  Defend  me  from  the  violent  in- 
cursion of  evil  thoughts,  and  enable  me  to 
form  and  keep  such  resolutions  as  may  con- 
duce to  the  discharge  of  the  duties  which 
thy  providence  shall  appoint  me;  and  so 
help  me,  by  thy  Holy  Spirit,  that  my  heart 
mav  surely  there  be  fixed  where  true  joys 
are  to  be  found,  and  that  I may  serve  thee 
with  pure  affection  and  a cheerful  mind. 
Have  mercy  upon  me,  O God,  have  mercy 
upon  me!  Years  and  infirmities  oppress 
me;  terrour  and  anxiety  beset  me.  Have 
mer(  y upon  me,  my  Creator  and  my  Judge ! 


[In  all  dangers  protect  me1;]  in  all  per- 
plexities relieve  and  free  me;  and  so  help 
me  by  thy  Holy  Spirit,  that  I may  now  so 
commemorate  the  death  of  thy  Son  our 
Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  as  that,  when  this 
short  and  painful  life  shall  have  an  end,  I 
; may,  for  his  sake,  be  received  to  everlasting 
happiness.  Amen.” 

While  he  was  at  church,  the  agreeable 
impressions  upon  his  mind  are  thus  com- 
memorated : 

“ On  Easter-day  I was  at  church  ear.y, 
and  there  prayed  over  my  prayer,  and  com- 
mended Tetty  and  my  other  friends.  I 
was  for  some  time  much  distressed,  ^but  at 
last  obtained,  I hope,  from  the  God  of 
Peace,  more  quiet  than  I have  enjoyed  for 
a long  time.  I had  made  no  resolution,  but 
as  my  heart  grew  lighter,  my  hopes  revived, 
and  my  courage  increased;  and  I wrote 
with  my  pencil  in  my  Common  Praye* 
Book, 

Vita  ordinanda. 

Biblia  legenda. 

Theologiae  opera  danda. 

Serviendum  et  laetandum. 

“ I then  went  to  the  altar,  having,  I be 
lieve,  again  read  my  prayer.  I then  wen 
to  the  table  and  communicated,  praying 
for  some  time  afterwards,  but  the  particu- 
lar matter  of  my  prayer  I do  not  remember. 

“ I dined,  by  an  appointment,  with  Mrs 
Gardiner,  and  passed  the  afternoon  with 
such  calm  gladness  of  mind  as  it  is  very 
long  since  I felt  before.  I came  home,  and 
began  to  read  the  Bible.  I passed  the 
night  in  such  sweet  uninterrupted  sleep  as 
I have  not  known ^ since  I slept  at  Fort 
Augustus. 

“ On  Monday  I dined  with  Sheward,  on 
Tuesday  with  Paradise.  The  mornings 
bave  been  devoured  by  company,  and  one 
intrusion  has,  through  the  whole  week, 
succeeded  to  another. 

“ At  the  beginning  of  the  year  I pro- 
posed to  myself  a scheme  of  life,  and  a 
plan  of  study;  but  neither  life  has  been  rec- 
tified, nor  study  followed.  Days  and 
months  pass  in  a dream;  and  I am  afraid 
that  my  memory  grows  less  tenacious,  and 
my  observation  less  attentive.  If  I am  de- 
caying, it  is  time  to  make  haste.  My 
nights  are  restless  and  tedious,  and  my  days 
drowTsy.  The  flatulence  which  torments 
me  has  sometimes  so  obstructed  my  breath, 
that  the  act  of  respiration  became  not  only 
voluntary  but  laborious  in  a decumbent 
posture.  By  copious  bleeding  I was  re- 
lieved, but  not  cured. 

“ I have  this  year  omitted  church  on 
most  Sundays,  intending  to  supply  the  de- 
ficience  in  the  week.  So  that  1 owe  twelve 


1 [These  words  are  in  the  original. — Hall.] 


1777.— yETAT.  68. 


87 


attendances  on  worshi} . I will  make  no 
more  such  superstitious  stipulations,  which 
entangle  the  mind  with  unbidden  obliga- 
tions.” 

Pioz-'i  [It  was  about  this  time  1 that  Mrs. 
p.Tle’  Thrale,  who  had  just  recovered  from 
,27-  illness  and  confinement,  went  into  his 
room  in  the  morning  of  her  birthday,  and 
said  to  him,  “ Nobody  sends  me  any  verses 
now,  because  lam  five-and-thirty  years  old; 
and  Stella  was  fed  with  them  till  forty-six, 

I remember.”  Upon  which  he  burst  out 
suddenly,  without  the  least  previous  hesita- 
tion, and  without  having  entertained  the 
smallest  intention  towards  it  half  a minute 
before : — 

Oft  in  danger,  yet  alive, 

We  are  come  to  thirty-five; 

Long  may  better  years  arrive, 

Better  years  than  thirty-five. 

Could  philosophers  contrive 
Life  to  stop  at  thirty-five, 

Time  his  hours  should  never  drive 
O’er  the  bounds  of  thirty-five. 

High  to  soar,  and  deep  to  dive, 

Nature  gives  at  thirty-five. 

Ladies,  stock  and  tend  your  hive, 

Trifle  not  at  thirty-five: 

For,  howe’er  we  boast  and  strive, 

Life  declines  from  thirty-five: 

He  that  ever  hopes  to  thrive 
Must  begin  by  thirty-five; 

And  all  who  wisely  wish  to  wive 
Must  look  on  Thrale  at  thirty-five. 

t;  And  now,”  said  he,  as  I was  writing  them 
down,  “ you  may  see  what  it  is  to  come  for 
poetry  to  a Dictionary-maker  ; you  may  ob- 
serve that  the  rhymes  run  in  alphabetical 
order  exactly.”  Ancl  so  they  do.  Dr. 
Johnson  did  indeed  possess  an  almost  Tus- 
Hawk.  can  Power  of  improvisation.]  [He 
Apoph.  was  much  pleased  with  the  Italian 
p.  205.  improvisator  e,  whom  he  saw  at 
Streatham,  and  with  whom  he  talked  much 
in  Latin.  He  told  him,  if  he  had  not  been 
a witness  to  his  faculty  himself,  he  should 
not  have  thought  it  possible.  He  said, 
Isaac  Hawkins  Browne  had  endeavoured  at 
it  in  English,  but  could  not  get  beyond  thir- 
ty verses.] 

Mr.  Steevens,  whose  generosity  is  well 
known,  joined  Dr.  Johnson  in  kind  assis- 
tance to  a female  relation  of  Dr.  Goldsmith, 
and  desired  that  on  her  return  to  Ireland 
she  would  procure  authentick  particulars  of 
the  life  of  her  celebrated  relation.  Concern- 
ing her  is  the  following  letter: 

“TO  GEORGE  STEEVENS,  ESQ,. 

“ 25th  February,  1777. 

“ Dear  sir, — You  will  be  glad  to  hear 
that  from  Mrs.  Goldsmith,  whom  we  la- 


1  [The  editor  doubts  whether  this  extract  should 
not  be  placed  under  the  year  1779.  See  post. 
Sept.  9th,  1779,  note.— Ed.] 


mented  as  drowned,  I have  received  a letter 
full  of  gratitude  to  us  all,  with  promise  to 
make  the  inquiries  which  we  recommended 
to  her. 

“ I would  have  had  the  honour  of  convey- 
ing this  intelligence  to  Miss  Caulfield,  but 
that  her  letter  is  not  at  hand,  and  I know 
not  the  direction.  You  will  tell  the  good 
news. — I am,  sir,  your  most,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson  ” 

“MR.  BOSWELL  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“Edinburgh,  I4tli  February,  1777. 

“ My  dear  sir, — My  state  of  epistolary 
accounts  with  you  at  present  is  extraordina- 
ry. The  balance,  as  to  number,  is  on  your 
side.  I am  indebted  to  you  for  two  letters: 
one  dated  the  16th  of  November,  upon 
which  very  day  I wrote  to  you,  so  that 
our  letters  were  exactly  exchanged;  and  one 
dated  the  21st  of  December  last. 

“ My  heart  was  warmed  with  gratitude 
by  the  truly  kind  contents  of  both  of  them  ; 
and  it  is  amazing  and  vexing  that  I have 
allowed  so  much  time  to  elapse  without 
writing  to  you.  But  delay  is  inherent  in 
me,  by  nature  or  by  bad  habit.  I waited 
till  I should  have  an  opportunity  of  paying 
you  my  compliments  on  a new  year.  I 
have  procrastinated  till  the  year  is  no  longer 
new. 

***** 

“ Dr.  Memis’s  cause  was  determined 
against  him,  with  40/.  costs.  The  lord  pre- 
sident, and  two  other  of  the  judges,  dissent- 
ed from  the  majbrity  upon  this  ground: 
that  although  there  may  have  been  no  in- 
tention to  injure  him  by  calling  him  doctor 
of  medicine , instead  of  physician , yet,  as 
he  remonstrated  against  the  designation  be- 
fore the  charter  was  printed  off,  and  repre- 
sented that  it  was  disagreeable,  and  even 
hurtful  to  him,  it  was  ill-natured  to  refuse 
to  alter  it,  and  let  him  have  the  designation 
to  which  he  was  certainly  entitled.  My 
own  opinion  is,  that  our  court  has  judged 
wrong.  The  defendants  were  in  maid  fide,  to 
persist  in  naming  him  in  a way  that  he  dis- 
liked. You  remember  poor  Goldsmith, 
when  he  grew  important,  and  wished  to  ap- 
pear Doctor  Major  1 could  not  bear  your 
calling  him  Goldy.  Would  it  not  have 
been  wrong  to  have  named  him  so  in  your 
‘ Preface  to  Shakspeare,5  or  in  any  serious 
permanent  writing  of  any  sort?  The  diffi- 
culty is,  whether  an  action  should  be  allow- 
ed on  such  petty  wrongs.  De  minimis  non 
curat  lex. 

“ The  negro  cause  is  not  yet  decided.  A 
memorial  is  preparing  on  the  side  of  slavery, 
I shall  send  you  a copy  as  soon  as  it  is  print- 
ed. Maclaurin  is  made  happy  by  your  ap- 
probation of  his  memorial  lor  the  black. 

“ Macquarry  was  here  in  the  winter,  and 


2 See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  353  — Ed  ] 


38 


1777. — iETAT  68. 


we  passed  an  evening  together.  The  sale 
of  his  estate  cannot  be  prevented. 

“ Sir  Allan  Maclean’s  suit  against  the 
Duke  of  Argyle,  for  recovering  the  ancient 
inheritance  of  his  family,  is  now  fairly  be- 
fore all  our  judges.  I spoke  for  him  yester- 
day, and  Maclaurin  to-day;  Crosbie  spoke 
to-day  against  him.  Three  more  counsel 
are  to  be  heard,  and  next  week  the  cause 
will  be  determined.  I send  you  the  infor- 
mations, or  cases,  on  each  side,  which  I 
hope  you  will  read.  You  said  to  me  when 
we  were  under  Sir  Allan’s  hospitable  roof, 
c I will  help  you  with  my  pen.5  You  said 
it  with  a generous  glow;  and  though  his 
Grace  of  Argyle  did  afterwards  mount  you 
upon  an  excellent  horse,  upon  which  ‘ you 
looked  like  a bishop,’  you  must  not  swerve 
from  your  purpose  at  Inchkenneth.  I wish 
you  may  understand  the  points  at  issue, 
amidst  our  Scotch  law  principles  and 
phrases.” 

Here  followed  a full  state  of  the  case,  in 
which  I endeavoured  to  make  it  as  clear  as 
I could  to  an  Englishman  who  had  no  know- 
ledge of  the  formularies  and  technical  lan- 
guage of  the  law  of  Scotland. 

“ I shall  inform  you  how  the  cause  is  de- 
cided here.  But  as  it  may  be  brought  un- 
der the  review  of  our  judges,  and  is  cer- 
tainly to  be  carried  by  appeal  to  the  house 
of  lords,  the  assistance  of  such  a mind  as 
yours  will  be  of  consequence.  Your  paper 
on  Vicious  Intromission »is  a noble  proof  of 
what  you  can  do  even  in  Scotch  law. 
****** 

“ I have  not  yet  distributed  all  your  books. 
Lord  Hailes  and  Lord  Monboddo  have  each 
received  one,  and  return  you  thanks.  Mon- 
boddo dined  with  me  lately,  and  having 
drank  tea,  we  were  a good  while  by  our- 
selves; and  as  I knew  that  he  had  read  the 
*'  Journey  5 superficially,  as  he  did  not  talk 
of  it  as  i wished,  I brought  it  to  him,  and 
read  aloud  several  passages;  and  then  he 
talked  so,  that  I told  him  he  was  to  have  a 
copy  from  the  authour.  He  begged  that 
might  be  marked  on  it.  * * * * * 

“ I ever  am,  my  dear  sir,  your  most  faith- 
ful and  affectionate  humble  servant, 

“ James  Boswell.” 

“ SIR  ALEXANDER  DICK  TO  DR.  SAMUEL 
JOHNSON. 

“ Prestonfield,  17th  February,  1777. 

“ Sir, — I had  yesterday  the  honour  of 
receiving  your  book  of  your  c Journey  to 
the  Western  Islands  of  Scotland,’  which 
you  was  so  good  as  to  send  me,  by  the  hands 
of  our  mutual  friend,  Mr.  Boswell,  of  Auch- 
inleck;  for  which  I return  you  my  most 
hearty  thanks;  and,  after  carefully  reading 
t ove  again,  shall  deposit  it  in  my  little 


collection  of  choice  books,  next  our  worthy 
friend’s  ‘ Journey  to  Corsica.5  As  there 
are  many  things  to  admire  in  both  perfor- 
mances, I have  often  wished  that  no  travels 
or  journey  should  be  published  but  those 
undertaken  by  persons  of  integrity,  and  ca- 
pacity to  judge  well  and  describe  faithfully, 
and  in  good  language,  the  situation,  condi 
tion,  and  manners  of  the  countries  passed 
through.  Indeed,  our  country  of  Scotland, 
in  spite  of  the  union  of  the  crowns,  is  still 
in  most  places  so  devoid  of  clothing  or  cov 
er  from  hedges  and  plantations,  that  it  was 
well  you  gave  your  readers  a sound  rnoni 
toire  wiih  respect  to  that  circumstance 
The  truths  you  have  told,  and  the  purity  ot 
the  language,  in  which  they  are  expressed, 
as  your  c Journey  5 is  universally  read,  may, 
and  already  appear  to  have  a very  good 
effect.  For  a man  of  my  acquaintance, 
who  has  the  largest  nursery  for  trees  and 
hedges  in  this  country,  tells  me,  that  of  late 
the  demand  upon  him  for  these  articles  is 
doubled,  and  sometimes  tripled.  I have, 
therefore,  listed  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  in 
some  of  my  memorandums  of  the  principal 
planters  and  favourers  of  the  enclosures, 
under  a name  which  I took  the  liberty  to 
invent  from  the  Greek  Papadendrion 
Lord  Auchinleck  and  some  few  more  are  of 
the  list.  I am  told  that  one  gentleman  ir 
the  shire  of  Aberdeen,  viz.  Sir  Archibald 
Grant,  has  planted  above  fifty  millions  of 
trees  on  a piece  of  very  wild  ground  ai 
Monimusk:  I must  inquire  if  he  has  fenced 
them  well,  before  he  enters  my  list;  foi 
that  is  the  soul  of  enclosing.  I began  my 
self  to  plant  a little,  our  ground  being  too 
valuable  for  much,  and  that  is  now  fifty 
years  ago;  and  the  trees,  now  in  my  seven- 
ty-fourth year,  I look  up  to  with  reverence, 
and  show  them  to  my  eldest  son,  now  in  his 
fifteenth  year;  and  they  are  the  full  height 
of  my  country-house  here,  where  I had  the 
pleasure  of  receiving  you,  and  hope  again  to 
have  that  satisfaction  with  our  mutual  friend, 
Mr.  Boswell.  I shall  always  continue,  with 
the  ti  uest  esteem,  dear  Doctor,  your  much 
obliged  and  obedient  humble  servant, 

“Alexander  Dick  V* 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“18th  February,  1777. 

“ Dear  sir, — It  is  so  long  since  I heard 
any  thing  from  you1 2,  that  1 am  not  easy 
about  it;  write  something  to  me  next  post. 
When  you  sent  your  last  letter,  every  thing 
seemed  to  be  mending;  I hope  nothing  has 


1 For  a character  of  this  very  amiable  man,  see 
ante , vol.  i.  p.  336,  and  the  Biographical  Dic- 
tionary. He  died  in  1785. — Boswell. 

2 By  the  then  course  of  the  post,  my  long  let 
ter  of  the  14th  had  not  yet  reached  him. — Bos- 
well 


* 


1777. — /ETAT.  68. 


89 


.ately  grown  worse.  I suppose  young 
Alexander  continues  to  thrive,  and  Veron- 
ica is  now  very  pretty  company.  I do  not 
suppose  the  lady  is  yet  reconciled  to  me; 
yet  let  ner  know  that  I love  her  very  well, 
and  value  her  very  much. 

“Dr  Blair  is  printing  some  sermons.  If 
they  are  all  like  the  first,  which  I have  read, 
they  are  sermones  aurei,  ac  auro  magis 
aurei.  It  is  excellently  written,  both  as  to 
doctrine  and  language.  Mr.  Watson’s 
book  1 seems  to  he  much  esteemed. 
****** 

“ Poor  Beauclerk  still  continues  very  ill. 
Langton  lives  on  as  he  used  to  do.  His 
children  are  very  pretty,  and,  I think,  his 
lady  loses  her  Scotch  2.  Paoli  I never  see. 

“ I have  been  so  distressed  by  difficulty 
of  breathing,  that  I lost,  as  was  computed, 
six-and-thirty  ounces  of  blood  in  a few  days. 

I am  better,  but  not  well. 

“ I wish  you  would  be  vigilant  and  get 
me  Graham’s  c Telemachus,’  that  was 
printed  at  Glasgow,  a very  little  book;  and 
‘ Johnstoni  Poemata  3,’  another  little  book, 
printed  at  Mkldleburgh. 

“ Mrs.  Williams  sends  her  compliments, 
and  promises  that  when  you  come  hither 
she  will  accommodate  you  as  well  as  ever 
she  can  in  the  old  room.  She  wishes  to 
know  whether  you  sent  her  book  to  Sir 
Alexander  Gordon. 

“ My  dear  Boswell,  do  not  neglect  to 
write  to  me;  for  your  kindness  is  one  of  the 
pleasures  of  my  life,  which  I should  be  sorry 
to  lose.  I am,  sir,  your  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“to  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“ Edinburgh,  24th  February,  1777. 

“Dear  sir, — Your  letter  dated  the  18th 
instant,  I had  the  pleasure  to  receive  last 
post.  Although  my  late  long  neglect,  or 
rather  delay,  was  truly  culpable,  I am  tempt- 
ed not  to  regret  it,  since  it  has  produced  me 
so  valuable  a proof  of  your  regard.  I did, 
indeed,  during  that  inexcusable  silence, 
sometimes  divert  the  reproaches  of  my  own 
mind,  by  fancying  that  I should  hear  again 
from  you,  inquiring  with  some  anxiety 
about  me,  because,  for  aught  you  knew,  I 
might  have  been  ill. 

“You  are  pleased  to  show  me  that  my 
kindness  is  of  some  consequence  to  you. 
My  heart  is  elated  at  the  thought.  Be 
assured,  my  dear  sir,  that  my  affection  and 
reverence  for  you  are  exalted  and  steady. 
I do  not  believe  that  a more  perfect  attach- 
ment ever  existed  in  the  history  of  man- 

1  History  of  Philip  the  Second. — Boswell. 

2 [Lady  Rothes  was  a native  of  England,  but 
»he  had  lived  long  in  Scotland,  and  never,  it  is 
said,  entirely  lost  the  accent  she  had  acquired 
there. — Ei>.] 

3 [See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  353. — Ed.] 

VOL  II  12 


kind.  And  it  is  a noble  attachment,  for 
the  attractions  are  genius,  learning,  and 
piety. 

“Your  difficulty  of  breathing  alarms  me, 
and  brings  into  my  imagination  an  event, 
which,  although,  in  the  natural  course  of 
things,  I must  expect  at  some  period,  I 
cannot  view  with  composure. 

* * * * # * 

“ My  wife  is  much  honoured  by  what 
you  say  of  her.  She  begs  you  may  accept 
of  her  best  compliments.  She  is  to  send 
you  some  marmalade  of  oranges  cf  her  own 
making. 

*****  * 

“I  ever  am,  my  dear  sir,  your  most 
obliged  and  faithful  humble  servant, 

“James  Boswell.” 

[“  DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  ASTON 
“ Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  8th  March,  177 

“ Dear  madam, — As  we  pass  on 
through  the  journey  of  life,  we  meet, 
and  ought  to  expect,  many  unpleas- 
ing occurrences,  but  many  likewise  encoun- 
ter us  unexpected.  I have  this  morning 
heard  from  Lucy  of  your  illness.  I heard 
indeed  in  the  next  sentence  that  you  are  to 
a great  degree  recovered.  May  your  re- 
covery, dearest  madam,  be  complete  and 
lasting  ! The  hopes  of  paying  you  the 
annual  visit  is  one  of  the  few  solaces  with 
which  my  imagination  gratifies  me,  and  my 
wish  is,  that  I may  find  you  happy. 

“ My  health  is  much  broken  ; my  nights 
are  very  restless,  and  will  not  be  made  more 
comfortable  by  remembering  that  one  of  the 
friends  whom  I value  most  is  suffering 
equally  with  myself. 

“ Be  pleased,  dearest  lady,  to  let  me  know 
how  you  are  ; and  if  writing  be  trouble- 
some, get  dear  Mrs.  Gastrell  to  write  for 
you.  I hope  she  is  well  and  able  to  assist 
you  ; and  wish  that  you  may  so  well  recover, 
as  to  repay  her  kindness,  if  she  should 
want  you.  May  you  both  live  long  happy 
together  ! I am,  dear  madam,  your  most 
humble  servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ.. 

“ 14th  March,  1777. 

“ De\r  sir, — I have  been  much  pleased 
with  your  late  letter,  and  am  glad  that  my 
old  enemy,  Mrs  Boswell,  begins  to  feel 
some  remorse.  As  to  Miss  Veronica’s 
Scotch,  I think  it  cannot  be  helped.  An 
English  maid  you  might  easily  have  ; but 
she  would  still  imitate  the  greater  number, 
as  they  would  be  likewise  those  whom  she 
must  most  respect.  Her  dialect  will  not  be 
gross.  Her  mamma  has  not  much  Scotch, 
and  you  have  yourself  very  little.  1 hope 
she  knows  my  name,  and  does  not  call  me 
Johnston .4 

4 Johnson  is  the  mast  common  English  forino- 


90 


1777.— /ET  AT.  68. 


► 


“ The  immediate  cause  of  my  writing  is 
this  : One  Shaw,  who  seems  a modest  and 

a decent  man,  b&*r  written  an  Erse  Gram- 
mar, which  a very  learned  Hig]  dander, 
Macbean,  has.  ai  my  request,  examined 
and  approved. 

“ The  hook  is  wiry  little,  but  Shaw 
has  been  persuade  1 by  his  friends  to  set  it 
at  half  a guinea,  though  I advised  only  a 
crown,  and  thought  myself  liberal.  You, 
whom  the  authour  considers  as  a great 
encourager  of  ingenious  men,  will  receive  a 
parcel  of  his  proposals  and  receipts.  1 have 
undertaken  to  give  you  notice  of  them,  and 
to  solicit  your  countenance  You  must  ask 
no  poor  man,  because  the  price  is  really  too 
high.  Yet  such  a work  deserves  patronage. 

“It  is  proposed  to  augment  our  club 
from  twenty  to  thirty,  of  which  I am  glad; 
for  as  we  have  several  in  it  whom  I do  not 
much  like  to  consort  with  t,  I am  for  redu- 
cing it  to  a mere  miscellaneous  collection  of 
conspicuous  men,  without  any  determinate 
character.  ***** 

I am,  dear  sir,  most  affectionately  yours, 
“ Sam.  Johnson. 

‘ My  respects  to  madam,  to  Veronica,  to 
Alexander,  to  Euphemia,  to  David.” 

[ “ TO  MRS.  ASTON. 

“ 15th  March,  1777. 

“ Dearest  madam, — The  letter  with 
Pemb.  wh;ch  i was  favoured,  by  the  kind- 
ness of  Mrs.  Gastrell,  has  contributed 
very  little  to  quiet  my  solicitude.  I am  in- 
deed more  frighted  than  by  Mrs.  Porter’s 
account.  Yet  since  you  have  had  strength 
to  conquer  your  disorder  so  as  to  obtain  a 
partial  recovery,  I think  it  reasonable  to 
believe,  that  the  favourable  season  which  is 
now  coming  forward  may  restore  you  to 
your  former  health.  Do  not,  dear  madam, 
lose  your  courage,  nor  by  despondence  or 
inactivity  give  way  to  the  disease.  Use 
such  exercise  as  you  can  bear,  and  excite 
cheerful  thoughts  in  your  own  mind.  Do 
not  harass  your  faculties  with  laborious  at- 
tention : nothing  is,  in  my  opinion,  of  more 
mischievous  tendency  in  a state  of  body  like 
yours,  than  deep  meditation  or  perplexing 
solicitude.  Gaiety  is  a duty,  when  health 
requires  it.  Entertain  yourself  as  you  can 
with  small  amusements  or  light  conversa- 
tion, and  let  nothing  but  your  devotion  ever 
make  you  serious.  But  while  I exhort  you, 
my  dearest  lady,  to  merriment,  I am  very 

tion  of  the  surname  from  John ; Johnsfow  the 
Scotch.  My  illustrious  friend  observed  that  many 
North  Britons  pronounced  his  name  in  their  own 
way  — Boswell. 

1 On  account  of  their  differing  from  him  as  to 
religion  and  politicks. — Boswell.  [Messrs. 

Burke,  Beauclerk,  Fox,  &c.  It  was  about  this 
*ime  that  Mr.  Sheridan,  Lord  Upper-Ossory,  Dr. 
Marlay,  and  Mr.  Dunning  were  admitted. — Ed.] 


serious  myself.  The  loss  or  dangei  of  a 
friend  is  not  to  be  considered  with  indiffer- 
ence ; but  I derive  some  consolation  from 
the  thought,  that  you  do  not  languish  unat- 
tended; that  you  are  not  in  the  hands  of 
strangers  or  servants,  but  have  a sister  at 
hand  to  watch  your  wants  and  supply  them. 
If,  at  this  distance,  I can  be  of  any  use,  by 
consulting  physicians,  or  for  any  other  pur- 
pose, I hope  you  will  employ  me.  I have 
thought  on  a journey  to  Staffordshire;  and 
hope,  in  a few  weeks,  to  climb  Stow  Hill, 
and  to  find  there  the  pleasure  which  I have 
so  often  found.  Let  me  hear  again  from 
you.  I am,  dear  madam,  your  most  hum 
ble  servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

“MR.  BOSWELL  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“ Edinburgh,  4th  April,  1777. 

After  informing  him  of  the  death  of  my 
little  son  David,  and  that  I could  not  come 
to  London  this  Spring  : 

“ I think  it  hard  that  I should  be  a whole 
year  without  seeing  you.  May  I presume 
to  petition  for  a meeting  with  you  in  the 
autumn  ? You  have,  I believe,  seen  all  the 
cathedrals  in  England,  except  that  of-  Car- 
lisle. If  you  are  to  be  with  Dr.  Taylor,  at 
Ashbourne,  it  would  not  be  a great  journey 
to  come  thither.  We  may  pass  a few  most 
agreeable  days  there  by  ourselves,  and  I will 
accompany  you  a good  part  of  the  way  to 
the  southward  again.  Pray  think  of  this. 

“ You  forget  that  Mr.  Shaw’s  Erse  Gram- 
mar was  put  into  your  hands  by  myself  last 
year.  Lord  Eglintoune  put  it  into  mine. 
I am  glad  that  Mr.  Macbean  approves  of  it. 
I have  received  Mr.  Shaw’s  proposals  for 
its  publication,  which  I can  perceive  are 
written  by  the  hand  of  a master.  * * * 

“Pray  get  for  me  all  the  editions  of 
‘Walton’s  Lives.’  I have  a notion  that 
the  republication  of  them  with  notes  will 
fall  upon  me,  between  Dr.  Horne  and  Lord 
Hailes  2.” 

Mr.  Shaw’s  proposals  f for  an  “Analysis 
of  the  Scotch  Celtic  Language  ” were  thus 
illuminated  by  the  pen  of  Johnson  : 

“ Though  the  Erse  dialect  of  the  Celtic 
language  has,  from  the  earliest  times,  been 
spoken  in  Britain,  and  still  subsists  in  the 
northern  parts  and  adjacent  islands,  yet,  by 
the  negligence  of  a people  rather  warlike 
than  lettered,  it  has  hitherto  been  left  to  the 
caprice  and  judgment  of  every  speaker,  and 
has  floated  in  the  living  voice,  without  the 

2 None  of  the  persons  here  mentioned  executed 
the  work  which  they  had  in  contemplation. 
Walton's  valuable  book,  however,  has  been  cor- 
rectly republished  in  quarto  and  octavo,  with  notes 
and  illustrations  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Zouch. — Ma- 
lone. [It  was  also  printed  at  the  Clarendon 
press,  in  1805,  in  two  volumes,  l2mo.,  and  one 
vol.  8vo.,  1S24. — Hall.] 


1777— iETAT.  68. 


91 


steadiness  of  analogy,  or  direction  of  rules. 
An  Erse  grammar  is  an  addition  to  the 
stores  of  literature;  and  its  authour  hopes 
for  the  indulgence  always  shown  to  those 
that  attempt  to  do  what  was  never  done  be- 
fore. If  his  work  shall  be  found  defective, 
it  is  at  least  all  his  own : he  is  not  like  other 
grammarians,  a compiler  or  transcriber ; 
what  he  delivers,  he  has  learned  by  atten- 
tive observation  among  his  countrymen, 
who  perhaps  will  be  themselves  surprised 
to  see  that  speech  reduced  to  principles, 
which  they  have  used  only  by  imitation. 

“ The  use  of  this  book  will,  however,  not 
be  confined  to  the  mountains  and  islands  : 
it  will  afford  a pleasing  and  important  sub- 
ject of  speculation  to  those  whose  studies 
lead  them  to  trace  the  affinity  of  languages, 
and  the  migrations  of  the  ancient  races  of 
mankind.” 

CCT0  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“ Glasgow,  24th  April,  1777. 

“ My  dear  sir, — Our  worthy  friend 
Thrale’s  death  having  appeared  in  the  news- 
papers, and  been  afterwards  contradicted, 
I have  been  placed  in  a state  of  very  unea- 
sy uncertainty,  from  which  I hoped  to  be 
relieved  by  you  : but  my  hopes  have  as  yet 
been  vain.  How  could  you  omit  to  write 
to  me  on  such  an  occasion  ? I shall  wait 
with  anxiety. 

“ I am  going  to  Auchinleck  to  stay  a 
fortnight  with  my  father.  It  is  better  not 
to  be  there  very  long  at  one  time.  But  fre- 
quent renewals  of  attention  are  agreeable 
to  him. 

“ Pray  tell  me  about  this  edition  of c Eng- 
ish  Poets,  with  a Preface,  biographical  and 
critical,  to  each  Authour,  by  Samuel  John- 
son, LL.  D.’  which  I see  advertised.  1 am 
delighted  with  the  prospect  of  it.  Indeed 
1 am  happy  to  feel  that  I am  capable  of  be- 
ing so  much  delighted  with  literature.  But 
is  not  the  charm  of  this  publication  chiefly 
owing  to  the  magnum  nomen  in  the  front 
of  it  ? 

“ What  do  you  say  of  Lord  Chesterfield’s 
Memoirs  and  last  Letters  1 ? 

“ My  wife  has  made  marmalade  of  oran- 
ges for  you.  I left  her  and  my  daughters 
and  Alexander  all  well  yesterday.  I have 
taught  Veronica  to  speak  of  you  thus  ; Dr. 
Johnson,  not  Johnson. — I remain,  my  dear 
sir,  your  most  affectionate,  and  obliged 
humble  servant,  “James  Boswell.” 

“to  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“ 3d  May,  1777. 

“ Dear  sir, — The  story  of  Mr.  Thrale’s 
death,  as  he  had  neither  been  sick  nor  in 


1 [Dr.  Maty’s  posthumous  edition  of  the  Me- 
moirs and  Miscellaneous  Works  of  Lord  Chester- 
field, published  by  Mr.  Justamond  early  in  1777. 
— Ed.1 


any  other  danger,  made  so  .ittle  impression 
upon  me,  that  I never  thought  about  obvi- 
ating its  effects  on  any  body  else.  It  is  sup- 
posed to  have  been  produced  by  the  Eng- 
lish custom  2 of  making  April  fools,  that  is, 
of  sending  one  another  on  some  foolish  er- 
rand on  the  first  of  April. 

• “ Tell  Mrs.  Boswell  that  I shall  taste  her 
marmalade  cautiously  at  first.  Timeo  Da - 
naos  et  dona  ferentes.  Beware,  says  the 
Italian  proverb,  of  a reconciled  enemy. 
But  when  I find  it  does  me  no  harm,  I shall 
then  receive  it,  and  be  thankful  for  it  as  a 
pledge  of  firm,  and,  I hope,  of  unalterable 
kindness.  She  is,  after  all,  a dear,  dear 
lady. 

“ Please  to  return  Dr.  Blair  thanks  for 
his  sermons.  The  Scotch  write  English 

wonderfully  well. 

* * * *.  * # 

“ Your  frequent  visits  to  Auchinleck,  and 
your  short  stay  there,  are  very  laudable  and 
very  judicious.  Your  present  concord  with 
your  father  gives  me  great  pleasure;  it  was 
all  that  you  seemed  to  want. 

“ My  health  is  very  bad,  and  my  nights 
are  very  unquiet.  What  can  I do  to  mend 
them  ? I have  for  this  summer  nothing  bet- 
ter in  prospect  than  a journey  into  Staffoiid 
shire  and  Derbyshire,  perhaps  with  Oxford 
and  Birmingham  in  my  way. 

“ Make  my  compliments  to  Miss  Veroni 
ca;  I must  leave  it  to  her  philosophy  to 
comfort  you  for  the  loss  of  little  David. 
You  must  remember,  that  to  keep  three  out 
of  four  is  more  than  your  share.  Mrs 
Thrale  has  but  four  out  of  eleven. 

“ I am  engaged  to  write  little  Lives,  and 
little  Prefaces,  to  a little  edition  of  the  Eng 
lish  Poets.  I think  I have  persuaded  tht 
booksellers  to  insei;t  something  of  Thomson 
and  if  you  could  give  me  some  information 
about  him,  for  the  life  which  we  have  is  very 
scanty,  I should  be  glad. — I am,  dear  sir, 
your  most  affectionate  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

To  those  who  delight  in  tracing  the  pro 
gress  of  works  of  literature,  it  will  be  an 
entertainment  to  compare  the  limited  de- 
sign with  the  ample  execution  of  that  ad 
mirable  performance,  “ The  Lives  of  the 
English  Poets,”  which  is  the  richest,  most 
beautiful,  and  indeed  most  perfect,  produc- 
tion of  Johnson’s  pen.  His  notion  of  it  at 
this  time  appears  in  the  preceding  letter 
He  has  a memorandum  in  this  year: 

“ 29th  May,  Easter-eve,  I treated  with 
booksellers  on  a bargain,  but  the  time  was 
not  long.” 

The  bargain  was  concerning  that,  under- 
taking; but  his  tender  conscience  seems 

2 [Not  merely  an  English  custom — the  French 
have  the  same;  but  what  we  call  April  fools  they 
term  “ poisson  d’Avxil.” — Ed.] 


92 


1777.— ^ETAT.  68. 


alarmed,  lest  it  should  have  intruded  too 
much  on  his  devout  preparation  for  the  so- 
lemnity of  the  ensuing  day.  But,  indeed, 
very  little  time  was  necessary  for  Johnson’s 
concluding  a treaty  with  the  bookseller;  as 
he  had,  I believe,  less  attention  to  profit 
from  his  labours,  than  any  man  to  whom 
literature  has  been  a profession.  I shall- 
here  insert,  from  a letter  to  me  from  my  late 
worthy  friend  Mr.  Edward  Dilly,  though  of 
a Later  date,  an  account  of  this  plan  so  hap- 
pity  conceived,  since  it  was  the  occasion  of 
procuring  for  us  an  elegant  collection'  of  the 
best  biography  and  criticism  of  which  our 
language  can  boast. 

{C  TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ Southill,  26th  Sept.  1777. 

“ Dear  sir, — You  find  by  this  letter,  that 
I am  still  in  the  same  calm  retreat,  from  the 
noise  and  bustle  of  London,  as  when  I wrote 
to  you  last.  I am  happy  to  find  you  had 
such  an  agreeable  meeting  with  your  old 
friend  Dr.  Johnson;  I have  no  doubt  your 
stock  is  much  increased  by  the  interview; 
few  men,  nay,  I may  say,  scarcely  any  man 
has  got  that  fund  of  knowledge  and  enter- 
tainment as  Dr.  Johnson  in  conversation. 
When  he  opens  freely,  every  one  is  atten- 
tive to  what  he  says,  and  cannot  fail  of  im- 
provement as  well  as  pleasure. 

“ The  edition  of  the  poets,  now  printing, 
will  do  honour  to  the  English  press;  and  a 
concise  account  of  the  life  of  each  authour, 
by  Dr.  Johnson,  will  be  a very  valuable  ad- 
dition, and  stamp  the  reputation  of  this  edi- 
tion superiour  to  any  thing  that  is  gone  be- 
fore. The  first  cause  that  gave  rise  to  this 
undertaking,  1 believe,  was  owing  to  the 
little  trifling  edition  of  the  poets,  printing  by 
the  Martins  at  Edinburgh,  and  to  be  sold 
by  Bell  in  London.  Upon  examining  the 
volumes  which  were  printed,  the  type  was 
found  so  extremely  small,  that  many  persons 
could  notread  them:  not  only  this  incon- 
venience attended  it,  but  the  inaccuracy  of 
the  press  was  very  conspicuous.  These 
reasons,  as  well  as  the  idea  of  an  invasion  of 
what  we  call  our  Literary  Property,  induced 
the  London  booksellers  to  print  an  ele- 
gant and  accurate  edition  of  all  the  English 
poets  of  reputation,  from  Chaucer  to  the 
present  time. 

“ Accordingly  a select  number  of  the  most 
respectable  booksellers  met  on  the  occasion : 
and,  on  consulting  together,  agreed,  that  all 
the  proprietors  of  copyright  in  the  various 
poets  should  be  summoned  together;  and 
when  their  opinions  were  given,  to  proceed 
immediately  on  the  business.  Accordingly  a 
meeting  was  held,  consisting  of  about  lbrty 
of  the  most  respectable  booksellers  of  Lon- 
don, when  it  was  agreed  that  an  elegant 
and  uniform  edition  of  ‘ The  English  Poets  5 
should  be  immediately  printed,  with  a con- 


cise account  of  the  life  of  each  authour  n\ 
Dr.  Samuel  Johnson;  and  that  three  pe 
sons  should  be  deputed  to  wait  upon  D> 
Johnson,  to  solicit  him  to  undertake  the 
Lives;  viz.  T.  Davies,  Strahan,  and  Cadell 
The  Doctor  very  politely  undertook  it,  and 
seemed  exceedingly  pleased  with  the  propo- 
sal. As  to  the  terms,  it  was  left  entirely  to 
the  Doctor  to  name  his  own;  he  mentioned 
two  hundred  guineas  1 ; it  wTas  immediately 
agreed  to;  and  a farther  compliment,  I be 
lieve,  will  be  made  him.  A committee  wai 
likewise  appointed  to  engage  the  best  en- 
gravers, viz.  Barlolozzi,  Sherwin,  Hall,  &c. 
Likewise  another  committee  for  giving  di- 
rections about  the  paper,  printing,  &c. ; so 
that  the  whole  will  be  conducted  with  spirit, 
and  in  the  best  manner,  with  respect  to  au- 
thorship, editorship,  engravings,  &c.  &c. 
My  brother  will  give  you  a list  of  the  poets 
we  mean  to  give,  many  of  which  are  within 
the  time  of  the  Act  of  Queen  Anne,  which 
Martin  and  Bell  cannot  give,  as  they  have 
no  property  in  them:  the  proprietors  are 
almost  all  the  booksellers  in  London,  of  con- 
sequence.— I am,  dear  sir,  ever  yours, 

“Edward  Dilly.” 

I shall  afterwards  have  occasion  to  consi- 
der the  extensive  and  varied  range  which 
Johnson  took,  when  he  was  once  led  upon 
ground  which  he  trod  with  a peculiar  de- 
light, having  long  been  intimately  acquaint- 
ed with  all  the  circumstances  ofit  that  could 
interest  and  please. 

“ DR.  JOHNSON  TO  CHARLES  O’CONNOR, 
ESQ.  2. 

“ 19th  May,  1777 

“ Sir, — Having  had  the  pleasure  of  con- 
versing with  Dr.  Campbell  about  your  char- 


1 Johnson's  moderation  in  demanding  so  small 
a sum  is  extraordinary.  Had  he  asked  one  thou- 
sand, or  even  fifteen  hundred  guineas,  the  book- 
sellers, who  knew  the  value  of  his  name,  would 
doubtless  have  readily  given  it.  They  have  prob- 
ably got  five  thousand  guineas  by  this  work  in  the 
course  of  twenty-five  years. — Malone.  [It 
must  be  recollected  that  Johnson  at  first  intended 
very  short  prefaces — he  afterwards  expanded  his 
design. — Ed.] 

2 Mr.  Joseph  Cooper  Walker,  of  the  treasury, 
Dublin,  who  obligingly  communicated  to  me  this 
and  a former  letter  from  Dr.  Johnson  to  the  same 
gentleman  (for  which  see  vol.  i.  p.  139),  writes  to 
me  as  follows: — Perhaps  it  would  gratify  you  to 
have  some  account  of  Mr.  O'Connor.  He  is  an 
amiable,  learned,  venerable  old  gentleman,  of  an 
independent  fortune,  who  lives  at  Belanagar,  in 
the  county  of  Roscommon:  he  is  an  admired 
writer,  and  member  of  the  Irish  Academy.  The 
above  letter  is  alluded  to  in  the  preface  to  the 
second  edition  of  his  * Dissert.’  p.  3.”  Mr.  O’Con 
nor  afterwards  died  at  the  age  of  eighty-two,  July 
1,  1791.  See  a well-drawn  character  of  him  in 


1777.— AETAT.  68. 


93 


ftcter  and  jour  literacy  undertaking-,  I am 
resolved  to  gratify  myself  by  renewing  a cor- 
respondence which  began  and  ended  a great 
while  ago,  and  ended,  I am  afraid,  by  my 
fault,  a fault  which,  if  you  have  not  forgot- 
ten it,  you  must  now  forgive. 

“ If  I have  ever  disappointed  you,  give 
me  leave  to  tell  you  that  you  have  likewise 
disappointed  me.  I expected  great  discov- 
eries in  Irish  antiquity,  and  large  publica- 
tions in  the  Irish  language;  but  the  world 
still  remains  as  it  was,  doubtful  and  igno- 
rant. What  the  Irish  language  is  in  itself, 
and  to  what  languages  it  has  affinity,  are 
very  interesting  questions,  which  every 
man  wishes  to  see  resolved  that  has  any 
philological  or  historical  curiosity.  Dr.  De- 
land  begins  his  history  too  late:  the  ages 
which  deserve  an  exact  inquiry  are  those 
times  (for  such  there  were *)  when  Ireland 
was  the  school  of  the  west,  the  quiet  habita- 
tion of  sanctity  and  literature.  If  you  could 
give  a history,  though  imperfect,  of  the 
Irish  nation,  from  its  conversion  to  Chris- 
tianity to  the  invasion  from  England,  you 
would  amplify  knowledge  with  new  views 
and  new  objects.  Set  about  it,  therefore, 
if  you  can : do  what  you  can  easily  do  with- 
out anxious  exactness.  Lay  the  foundation, 
and  leave  the  superstructure  to  posterity. 
— I am,  sir,  your  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

Early  in  this  year  came  out,  in  two  vol- 
umes quarto,  the  posthumous  works  of  the 
learned  Dr.  Zachary  Pearce,  bishop  of 
Rochester;  being  “A  Commentary,  with 
Notes,  on  the  four  Evangelists  and  the  Acts 
of  the  Apostles,”  with  other  theological 
pieces.  Johnson  had  now  an  opportunity 
of  making  a grateful  return  to  that  excellent 
prelate * 1  2,  who,  we  have  seen,  was  the  only 

the  “ Gentleman’s  Magazine”  for  August,  1791. 
— Boswell. 

1 [In  Anderson’s  “ Sketches  of  the  Native  Irish,” 
p.  5.  ed.  1828,  there  is  on  these  words,  “ for 
such  there  were,”  the  following  note:  “These 
words  were  misquoted  by  Dr.  Campbell  in  his 
strictures,  ‘ if  such  there  were,’  although  he 
was  actually  the  bearer  of  the  letter  to  O’Connor.” 
The  editor  confesses  that  Dr.  Campbell’s  reading 
seems  the  more  probable  of  the  two. — Ed.] 

2 [Mrs.  Thrale,  in  one  of  her  letters,  repeats  a 
curious  anecdote  of  this  prelate,  which  she  proba- 
bly had  from  Dr.  Johnson  himself:  “We  will  act 
as  Dr.  Zachary  Pearce,  the  famous  bishop  of  j 
Rochester,  did,  when  he  lost  the  wife  he  so  much 
loved — call  for  one  glass  to  the  health  of  her  who 
is  departed  never  more  to  return,  and  then  go 
quietly  back  to  the  usual  duties  of  life,  and  for- 
bear to  mention  her  again  from  that  time  to  the 
last  day  of  it.” — Lett.  2.  p.  213.  But  he  sur- 
vived his  lady  but  a few  months,  and  his  death  was 
(if  not  occasioned)  certainly  accelerated  by  her 
less.  She  died  23d  Oct.  1773,  and  he  29th  June, 

1774.  after  a union  of  fifty-one  years. — Ed.] 


person  who  gave  him  any  assistance  in  the 
compilation  of  his  dictionary.  The  bishop 
had  left  some  account  of  his  life  and  charac- 
ter, written  by  himself.  To  this  Johnson 
made  some  valuable  additions  f,  and  also 
furnished  to  the  editor,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Der 
by3,  a dedication f,  which  I shall  here  insert; 
both  because  it  will  appear  at  this  time  with 
peculiar  propriety,  and  because  it  will  tend 
to  propagate  and  increase  that “ fervour  of 
loyalty ,”  which  in  me,  who  boast  of  th< 
name  of  tory,  is  not  only  a principle,  but  o 
passion. 

“to  the  king. 

“ Sir, — I presume  to  lay  before  your  ma 
jesty  the  last  labours  of  a learned  bishop, 
who  died  in  the  toils  and  duties  of  his  cal) 
ing.  He  is  now  beyond  the  reach  of  a f 
earthly  honours  and  rewards;  and  only  th 
hope  of  inciting  others  to  imitate  him, 
makes  it  now  fit  to  be  remembered,  that  h' 
enjoyed  in  his  life  the  favour  of  you.* 
majesty. 

“The  tumultuary  life  of  princes  seldon 
permits  them  to  survey  the  wide  extent  o 1 
national  interest,  without  losing  sight  of 
private  mgrit;  to  exhibit  qualities  which 
maybe  imitated  by  the  highest  and  the  hum 
blest  of  mankind;  and  to  be  at  once  amia 
ble  and  great. 

cc  Such  characters,  if  now  and  then  the] 
appear  in  history,  are  contemplated  with 
admiration.  May  it  be  the  ambition  of  a! 
your  subjects  to  make  haste  with  their  tri 
bute  of  reverence!  and  as  posterity  may 
learn  from  your  majesty  how  kings  should 
live,  may  they  learn  likewise  from  your  peo- 
ple how  they  should  be  honoured! — I am, 
may  it  please  your,  majesty,  with  the  most 
profound  respect,  your  majesty’s  most  duti- 
ful and  devoted  subject  and  servant.” 

In  the  summer  he  wrote  a prologue* 
which  was  spoken  before  “ A Word  to  the 
Wise,”  a comedy  by  Mr.  Hugh  Kelly, 
which  had  been  brought  upon  the  stage  in 
1770;  but  he  being  a writer  for  ministry  in 
one  of  the  newspapers,  it  fell  a sacrifice  to 
popular  fury,  and  in  the  playhouse  phrase, 
was  damned.  By  the  generosity  of  Mr. 
Harris,  the  proprietor  of  Covent-garden 
theatre,  it  was  now  exhibited  for  one  night, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  authour’s  widow  and 
children.  To  conciliate  the  favour  of  the 
audience  was  the  intention  of  Johnson’s 
j prologue,  which,  as  it  is  not  long,  I shall 
here  insert,  as  a proof  that  his  poetical  ta- 
lents were  in  no  degree  impaired. 

3 [Died  Gth  Oct.  1778,  the  Rev.  J.  Der- 
by, A.  M.  rector  of  Southfleet  and  Longfield  in 
Kent,  and  one  of  the  six  preachers  in  Canterbury 
Cathedral. — Gent.  Mag.  lie  had  married  B; 
shop  Pearce’s  niece.  Johnson  in  a letter  to  Ml. 
Thrale, — “ My  clerical  friend  Derby  is  dead  ' — 
Ed.] 


94 


1777. — /ETAT.  68. 


“ This  night  presents  a play,  which  publick  rage, 
Or  right  or  wrong,  once  hooted  from  the  stage: 
From  zeal  or  malice  now  no  more  we  dread, 
For  English  vengeance  wars  not  with  the  dead. 
A generous  foe  regards  with  pitying  eye 
The  man  whom  fate  has  laid  where  all  must  lie. 
To  wit,  reviving  from  its  authour’s  dust, 

Be  kind,  ye  judges,  or  at  least  be  just: 

Let  no  renewed  hostilities  invade 
Th’  oblivious  grave’s  inviolable  shade. 

Let  one  great  payment  every  claim  appease, 

And  him  who  cannot  hurt,  allow  to  please; 

To  please  by  scenes,  unconscious  of  offence. 

By  harmless  merriment  or  useful  sense. 

Where  aught  of  bright  or  fair  the  piece  displays, 
Approve  it  only; — ’tis  too  late  to  praise. 

If  want  of  skill  or  want  of  care  appear, 

Forbear  to  hiss; — the  poet  cannot  bear. 

By  all,  like  him,  must  praise  and  blame  be  found, 
At  last,  a fleeting  gleam  or  empty  sound: 

Yet  then  shall  calm  reflection  bless  the  night, 
When  liberal  pity  dignified  delight; 

When  pleasure  fired  her  torch  at  virtue’s  flame, 
And  mirth  was  bounty  with  an  humbler  name.” 

[Dr.  Johnson,  indeed,  was  al- 
ways  liberal  in  granting  literary 
’ * assistance  to  others;  and  innume- 
rable are  the  prefaces,  sermon®,  lectures, 
and  dedications,  which  he  used  to  make  for 
people  who  begged  of  him.  Mr.  Murphy 
related  in  his  hearing  one  day,  and  he  did 
not  deny  it,  that  when  Murphy  joked  him 
the  week  before  for  having  been  so  diligent 
of  late  between  Dodd’s  sermon  and  Kelly’s 
prologue,  Dr.  Johnson  replied,  “ Why,  sir, 
when  they  come  to  me  with  a dead  stay- 
maker  and  a dying  parson,  what  can  a man 
do?”  He  said,  however,  that  “he  hated 
to  give  away  literary  performances,  or  even 
to  sell  them  too  cheaply  :•  the  next  genera- 
tion shall  not  accuse  me,”  added  he,  “ of 
beating  down  the  price  of  literature:  one 
hates,  besides,  ever  to  give  that  which  one 
has  been  accustomed  to  sell;  would  not  you, 
sir,”  turning  to  Mr.  Thrale,  “ rather  give 
away  money  than  porter?  ”] 

A circumstance  which  could  not  fail  to 
be  very  pleasing  to  Johnson  occurred  this 
year.  The  tragedy  of C{  Sir  Thomas  Over- 
bury,” written  by  his  early  companion  in 
London,  Richard  Savage,  was  brought  out 
with  alterations  at  Drury-lane  theatre  K 
The  prologue  to  it  was  written  by  Mr. 
Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan;  in  which,  after 
describing  very  pathetically  the  wretched- 
ness of 

(t  Ill-fated  Savage,  at  whose  birth  was  given 
No  parent  but  the  muse,  no  friend  but  Heaven,” 

1  Our  authour  has  here  fallen  into  a slight  mis- 
take: the  prologue  to  this  revived  tragedy  being 
written  by  Mr.  Sheridan,  Mr.  Boswell  very  natu- 
rally supposed  that  it  was  performed  at  Drury-lane 
theatre.  But  in  fact,  as  Mr.  Kemble  observes  to 
me,  it  was  acted  at  the  theatre  in  Covont  Garden. 
-Malone. 


he  introduced  an  elegant  compliment  to 
Jonnson  on  his  Dictionary,  that  wonderfu. 
performance  which  cannot  be  too  often  or 
too  highly  praised;  of  which  Mr.  Harris,  in 
his  “ Philological  Inquiries2,”  justly  and 
liberally  observes,  “ Such  is  its  merit,  that 
our  language  does  not  possess  a more  copi- 
ous, learned,  and  valuable  work.”  The 
concluding  lines  of  this  prologue  were  these* 
“ So  pleads  the  tale  3 that  gives  to  future  times 

The  son’s  misfortunes  and  the  parent’s  crimes: 

There  shall  his  fame  (if  own’d  to-night)  survive, 

Fix’d  by  the  hand  that  bids  our  language  live.” 

Mr.  Sheridan  here  at  once  did  honour  to 
his  taste  and  to  his  liberality  of  sentiment, 
by  showing  that  he  was  not  prejudiced  from 
the  unlucky  difference  which  had  taken 
place  between  his  worthy  father  and  Dr. 
Johnson4.  I have  already  mentioned  that 
Johnson  was  very  desirous  of  reconciliation 
with  old  Mr.  Sheridan.  It  will,  therefore, 
not  seem  at  all  surprising  that  he  was  zeal- 
ous in  acknowledging  the  brilliant  merit  of 
his  son.  While  it  had  as  yet  been  display- 
ed only  in  the  drama,  Johnson  proposed  him 
as  a member  of  the  Literary  Club,  observ- 
ing, that  “ He  who  has  written  the  two 
best  comedies  of  his  age  is  surely  a consid 
erable  man.”  And  he  had,  accordingly, 
the  honour  to  be  elected;  for  an  honour  it 
undoubtedly  must  be  allowed  to  be,  when  it 
is  considered  of  whom  that  society  consists, 
and  that  a single  black  ball  excludes  a can- 
didate. 

“MR.  BOSWELL  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“ 9th  July,  1777. 

“My  dear  sir, — For  the  health  of  my 
wife  and  children  I have  taken  the  little 
country-house  at  which  you  visited  my  un- 
cle, Dr.  Boswell,  who,  having  lost  his  wife, 
is  gone  to  live  with  his  son.  We  took  pos- 
session of  our  villa  about  a week  ago.  We 
have  a garden  of  three  quarters  of'  an  acre, 
well  stocked  with  fruit-trees  and  flowers, 
and  gooseberries  and  currants,  and  pease 
and  beans,  and  cabbages,  &c.  &c.  and  my 
children  are  quite  happy.  I now  write  to 
you  in  a little  study,  from  the  window  of 
which  I see  around  me  a verdant  grove, 
and  beyond  it  the  lofty  mountain  called  Ar 
thur's  Seat 

“ Your  last  letter,  in  which  you  desire  me 

2 Part  First,  clvip.  iv — Boswell. 

3 “ Life  of  Richard  Savage,  by  Dr.  Johnson. 
— Sheridan. 

4 [He  likewise  made  some  retribution  to  Di. 
Johnson  for  the  attack  he  had  meditated,  about 
two  years  before,  on  the  pamf  hlet  he  had  pub- 
lished about  the  American  question,  entitled, 
“ Taxation  no  Tyranny .”  Some  fragments 
found  among  Sheridan’s  papers  show  that  he  had 
intended  answering  this  pamphlet  in  no  very  cour 
teous  way. — See  Moore's  Life , vo l ' p.  152  - 
Hall.] 


1777.—  JET  AT  68. 


95 


to  send  you  some  additional  information 
'concerning  Thomson,  reached  me  very-for- 
tunately  just  as  I was  going  to  Lanark,  to 
put  my  wife’s  two  nephews,  the  young 
Campbells,  to  school  there,  under  the  care 
of  Mr.  Thomson,  the  master  of  it,  whose 
wife  is  sister  to  the  authour  of  c The  Sea- 
sons.’ She  is  an  old  woman;  but  her  mem- 
ory is  very  good;  and  she  will  with  plea- 
sure give  me  for  you  every  particular  that 
you  wish  to  know,  and  she  can  tell.  Tray 
then  take  the  trouble  to  send  me  such  ques- 
tions as  may  lead  to  biographical  materials. 
You  say  that  the  Life  which  we  have  of 
Thomson  is  scanty.  Since  I received  your 
letter,  I have  read  his  Life,  published  under 
the  name  of  Cibber,  but,  as  you  told  me, 
really  written  by  a Mr.  Shiels  l;  that  writ- 
ten by  Dr.  Murdoch;  one  prefixed  to  an 
edition  of  the  c Seasons,’  published  at  Edin- 
burgh, which  is  compounded  of  both,  with 
the  addition  of  an  anecdote  of  Quin’s  re- 
lieving Thomson  from  prison;  the  abridge- 
ment of  Murdoch’s  account  of  him,  in 
the  ‘ Biographia  Britannica,’  and  another 
abridgement  of  it  in  the  ‘ Biographical  Dic- 
tionary,’ enriched  with  Dr.  Joseph  War- 
ton’s  critical  panegyrick  on  the  c Seasons,’ 
in  his  ‘ Essay  on  the  Genius  and  Writings 
of  Pope:  ’ from  all  these  it  appears  to  me 
that  we  have  a pretty  full  account  of  this 
poet.  However,  you  will,  I doubt  not, 
show  me  many  blanks,  and  I shall  do  what 
can  be  done  to  have  them  filled  up.  As 
Thomson  never  returned  to  Scotland  (which 
you  will  think  very  wise),  his  sister  can  speak 
from  her  own  knowledge  only  as  to  the  ear- 
ly part  of  his  life.  She  has  some  letters 
from  him,  which  may  probably' give  light 
as  to  his  more  advanced  progress,  if  she  will 
let  us  see  them,  which  I suppose  she  will. 

I believe  George  Lewis  Scott9  and  Dr. 
Armstrong  are  now  his  only  surviving  com- 
panions, while  he  lived  in  and  about  Lon- 
don; and  they,  I dare  say,  can  tell  more  of 
him  than  is  yet  known.  My  own  notion  is, 
that  Thomson  was  a much  coarser  man 
than  his  friends  are  willing  to  acknowledge 
His  c Seasons  ’ are  indeed  full  of  elegant  and 
pious  sentiments;  but  a rank  soil,  nay  a 
dunghill,  will  produce  beautiful  flowers. 

“ Your  edition  3 of  the  ‘English  Poets’ 

1 [See  ante,  p.  60.  It  is  particularly  ob- 
servable that  the  Life  of  Thomson  which  Mr.  Bos- 
well here  represents  Johnson  as  stating  to  have 
been  especially  written  by  Shiels,  bears  strong 
marks  of  having  been  written  by  Theophilus  Cib- 
ber.— Ed.] 

2 [See  ante,  v.  i.  p.  78  — Ed.] 

1 Dr.  Johnson  was  not  the  editor  of  thw  collec- 
tion of  the  English  Poets;  he  merely  furnished  the 
biographical  prefaces  with  which  it  is  enriched,  as 
is  rightly  stated  in  a subsequent  page,  lie,  indeed, 
from  a virtuous  motive,  recommended  the  works 
rfour  or  five  poets  (wnom  he  has  named)  to  be 


will  be  very  valuable,  on  account  of  the 
c Prefaces  and  Lives.’  But  I have  seen  a 
specimen  of  an  edition  of  the  Poets  at  the 
Apollo  press,  at  Edinburgh,  which,  for  ex- 
cellence in  printing  and  engraving,  highly 
deserves  a liberal  encouragement. 

“ Most  sincerely  do  I regret  the  bad 
health  and  bad  rest  with  which  you  have 
been  afflicted;  and  I hope  you  are  better. 

I cannot  believe  that  the  prologue  which 
you  generously  gave  to  Mr.  Kelly’s  widow 
and  children  the  other  day  is  the  effusion 
of  one  in  sickness  and  in  disquietude:  but 
external  circumstances  are  never  sure  indi- 
cations of  the  state  of  man.  I send  you  a 
letter  which  I wrote  to  you  two  years  ago 
at  Wilton;  and  did  not  send  it  at  the  time, 
for  fear  of  being  reproved  as  indulging  too 
much  tenderness:  and  one  written  to  you. 
at  the  tomb  of  Melancthon,  which  I kept 
back,  lest  I should  appear  at  once  too  su- 
perstitious and  too  enthusiastick.  I now 
imagine  that  perhaps  they  may  please  you. 

“ You  do  not  take  the  least  notice  of 
my  proposal  for  our  meeting  at  Carlisle  4. 
Though  I have  meritoriously  refrained  from 
visiting  London  this  year,  I ask  you  if  it 
would  not  be  wrong  that  I should  be  two 
years  without  having  the  benefit  of  your 
conversation,  when,  if  you  come  down  as 
far  as  Derbyshire,  we  may  meet  at  the  ex 
pense  of  a few  days’  journeying  and  not 
many  pounds.  I wish  you  to  see  Carlisle, 
which  made  me  mention  that  place.  But 
if  you  have  not  a desire  to  complete  your 
tour  of  the  English  cathedrals,  I will  take  a 
larger  share  of  the  road  between  this  place 
and  Ashbourne.  So  tell  me  where  you  will 
fix  for  our  passing  a few  days  by  ourselves. 

added  to  the  collection;  but  he  is  no  otherwise 
answerable  for  any  which  are  found  there,  or  any 
which  are  omitted.  The  poems  of  Goldsmith 
(whose  life  I know  he  intended  to  write,  for  I col- 
lected some  materials  for  it  by  his  desire),  were 
omitted  in  consequence  of  a petty  exclusive  in- 
terest in  some  of  them,  vested  in  Mr.  Carnan,  a 
bookseller. — Malone. 

4 Dr.  Johnson  had  himself  talked  of  our  seeing 
Carlisle  together.  High  was  a favourite  word  of 
his  to  denote  a person  of  rank.  lie  said  to  me, 
“ Sir,  I believe  we  may  meet  at  the  house  of  a 
Roman  Catholick  lady  in  Cumberland;  a high 
lady,  sir.”  I afterwards  discovered  that  he 
meant  Mrs.  Strickland  [see  ante,  p.  16. — Ed.], 
sister  of  Charles  Townley,  Esq.  whose  very  noble 
collection  of  statues  and  pictures  is  not  more  to 
be  admired,  than  his  extraordinary  and  polite 
readiness  in  showing  it,  which  I and  several  of 
my  friends  have  agreeably  experienced.  They 
who  are  possessed  of  valuable  stores  of  gratifica- 
tion to  persons  of  taste  should  exercise  their  be- 
nevolence in  imparting  the  pleasure.  Grateful 
acknowledgments  are  due  to  Welbore  Ellis  Agar, 
Esq.  for  the  liberal  access  which  he  is  pleased  to 
allow  to  his  exquisite  collection  of  pictures-- 
Boswell. 


96 


1777. — iETAT.  68. 


Now  do  n’t  cry  ‘ foolish  fellow,’  or  £ idle 
dog.’  Chain  your  humour,  and  let  your 
kindness  play. 

“ You  will  rejoice  to  hear  that  Miss 
Macleod  h of  Rasay,  is  married  to  Colonel 
Mure  Campbell,  an  excellent  man,  with  a 
pretty  good  estate  of  his  own,  and  the  pros- 
pect of  having  the  Earl  of  Loudoun’s  for- 
tune and  honours.  Is  not  this  a noble  lot 
for  our  fair  Hebridean?  How  happy  am  I 
that  she  is  to  he  in  Ayrshire!  We  shall 
have  the  Laird  of  Rasay,  and  old  Malcolm, 
and  I know  not  how  many  gallant  Macle- 
ods,  and  bagpipes,  &c.  &c.  at  Auchinleck. 
Perhaps  you  may  meet  them  all  there. 

“ Without  doubt  you  have  read  what  is 
called  £ The  Life  of  David  Hume,’  written 
by  himself,  with  the  letter  from  Adam  Smith 
subjoined  to  it.  Is  not  this  an  age  of  dar- 
ing effrontery?  My  friend  Mr.  Anderson, 
professor  of  natural  philosophy  at  Glasgow, 
at  whose  house  you  and  I supped,  and  to 
whose  care  Mr.  Windham,  of  Norfolk,  was 
intrusted  at  that  university,  paid  me  a visit 
lately;  and  after  we  had  talked  with  in- 
dignation and  contempt  of  the  poisonous 
productions  with  which  this  age  is  infested, 
he  said  there  was  now  an  excellent  oppor- 
tunity for  Dr.  Johnson  to  step  forth.  I 
agreed  with  him  that  you  might  knock 
Hume’s  and  Smith’s  heads  together,  and 
make  vain  and  ostentatious  infidelity  ex- 
ceedingly ridiculous.  Would  it  not  be 
worth  your  while  to  crush  such  noxious 
weeds  in  the  moral  garden? 

“You  have  said  nothing  to  me  of  Dr. 
Dodd  2.  I know  not  how  you  think  on  that 
subject;  though  the  newspapers  give  us  a 
saying  of  yours  in  favour  of  mercy  to  him. 
But  I own  I am  very  desirous  that  the  roy- 
al prerogative  of  remission  of  punishment 
should  he  employed  to  exhibit  an  illustrious 
instance  of  the  regard  which  God’s  Vice- 
gerent will  ever  show  to  piety  and  virtue. 
If  for  ten  righteous  men  the  Almighty 
would  have  spared  Sodom,  shall  not  a thou- 
sand acts  of  goodness  done  by  Dr.  Dodd 
counterbalance  one  crime?  Such  an  in- 
stance would  do  more  to  encourage  good- 
ness, than  his  execution  would  do  to  deter 
from  vice.  I am  not  afraid  of  any  bad  con- 
sequence to  society;  for  who  will  persevere 
for  a long  course  of  years  in  a distinguished 
discharge  of  religious  duties,  with  a view 
to  commit  a forgery  with  impunity? 

££  Pray  make  my  best  compliments  ac- 
ceptable to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale,  by  assur-r 
ing  them  of  my  hearty  joy  that  the  master, 
as  you  call  him,  is  alive.  1 hope  I shall 
often  taste  his  champagne — soberly. 

“ I have  not  heard  from  Langton  for  a 
long  time.  I suppose  he  is  as  usual. 

1 [ Ante , v.  i.  p.  383. — Ed.] 

2 [The  whole  story  of  Dodd  is  told  in  detail, 
post , 15th  Sept.  1777. — Ed.] 


* Studious  the  busy  moments  to  deceive.* 

• * * * * * # 

“I  remain,  my  dear  sir,  your  most  affec- 
tionate and  faithful  humble  servant, 

“James  Boswell.” 

On  the  23d  of  June,  I again  wrote  to  Dr. 
Johnson,  enclosing  a shipmaster’s  receipt 
for  a jar  of  orange-marmalade,  and  a large 
packet  of  Lord  Hailes’s  ££  Annals  of  Scot- 
land.” 

££  TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“28th  June,  1777. 

££  Dear  sir, — I have  just  received  your 
packet  from  Mr.  Thrale’s,  but  have  not 
daylight  enough  to  look  much  into  it.  I 
am  glad  that  I have  credit  enough  with 
Lord  Hailes  to  be  trusted  with  more  copy. 
I hope  to  take  more  care  of  it  than  of  the 
last.  I return  Mrs.  Boswell  my  affectionate 
thanks  for  her  present,  which  I value  as  a 
token  of  reconciliation. 

“ Poor  Dodd  was  put  to  death  yesterday, 
in  opposition  to  the  recommendation  of  the 
jury, — the  petition  of  the  city  of  London, — 
and  a subsequent  petition  signed  by  three- 
and-twenty  thousand  hands.  Surely  the 
voice  of  the  publick,  when  it  calls  so  loudly, 
and  calls  only  for  mercy,  ought  to  be  heard. 

££  The  saying  that  was  given  me  in  the 
papers  I never  spoke;  but  I wrote  many  of 
his  petitions,  and  some  of  his  letters.  He 
applied  to  me  very  often.  He  was,  I am 
afraid,  long  flattered  with  hopes  of  life;  but 
I had  no  part  in  the  dreadful  delusion:  for 
as  soon  as  the  king  had  signed  his  sen- 
tence, I obtained  from  Mr.  Chamier3  an 
account  of  the  disposition  of  the  court  to- 
wards him,  with  a declaration  that  there 
was  no  hope  even  of  a respite.  This  letfer 
immediately  was  laid  before  Dodd;  but  he 
believed  those  whom  he  wished  to  be  right, 
as  it  is  thought,  till  within  three  days  of  his 
end.  He  died  with  pious  composure  and 
resolution.  I have  just  seen  the  Ordinary 
that  attended  him.  His  address  to  his  fel- 
low-convicts offended  the  methodists;  but 
he  had  a Moravian  with  him  much  of  his 
time.  His  moral  character  is  very  bad  • I 
hope  all  is  not  true  that  is  charged  upon 
him.  Of  his  behaviour  in  prison  an  ac- 
count will  be  published. 

“ I give  you  joy  of  your  country-house 
and  your  pretty  garden,  and  hope  some 
time  to  see  you  in  your  felicity.  I was 
much  pleased  with  your  two  letters  that  had 
been  kept  so  long  in  store  4;  and  rejoice  at 

3 [Mr.  Chamier  was  then  Under-Secretary  of 
State. — Ed  ] 

4 Since  they  have  been  so  much  honoured  by 
Dr.  Johnson,  I shall  here  insert  them: 

“ TO  MR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“ Sunday,  50th  Sept.  1764. 

“ Mv  EVER  DEAR  AND  MUCH-RESPECTFE 

sib, — You  know  my  solemn  enthusiasm  of  miud 


1777. — iETAT.  68. 


97 


Miss  Rasay’s  advancement,  and  w:tsh  Sir 
Allan  success. 

“ I hope  to  meet  you  somewhere  towards 
the  north,  but  am  loath  to  come  quite  to 
Carlisle.  Can  we  not  meet  at  Manchester? 
But  we  will  settle  it  in  some  other  letters. 

“ Mr  Seward  \ a great  favourite  at 

You  love  me  for  it,  and  I respect  myself  for  it, 
because  in  so  far  I resemble  Mr.  Johnson.  You 
will  be  agreeably  surprised,  when  you  learn  the 
reason  of  my  writing  this  letter.  I am  at  YVittein- 
berg  in  Saxony.  I am  in  the  old  church  where 
the  Reformation  was  first  preached,  and  where 
some  of  the  reformers  lie  interred.  I cannot  re- 
sist the  serious  pleasure  of  writing  to  Mr.  Johnson 
from  the  tomb  of  Melancthon.  My  paper  rests 
upon  the  grave-stone  of  that  great  and  good  man, 
who  was  undoubtedly  the  worthiest  of  all  the  re- 
formers. He  wished  to  reform  abuses  which  had 
been  introduced  into  the  church;  but  had  no 
private  resentment  to  gratify.  So  mild  was  he, 
that  when  his  aged  mother  consulted  him  with 
anxiety  on  the  perplexing  disputes  of  the  times,  he 
advised  her 1 * *  4 to  keep  to  the  old  religion.’  At  this 
tomb,  then,  my  ever  dear  and  respected  friend,  I 
vow  to  thee  an  eternal  attachment.  It  shall  be  my 
study  to  do  what  I can  to  rendei  your  life  happy: 
and  if  you  die  before  me,  I shall  endeavour  to  do 
honour  to  your  memory;  and,  elevated  by  the 
remembrance  of  you,  persist  in  noble  piety.  May 
Cod,  the  father  of  all  beings,  ever  bless  you  ! and 
may  you  continue  to  love  your  most  affectionate 
friend  and  devoted  servant, 

“James  Boswell.” 

“ TO  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“ Wilton-house,  22d  April,  1775. 

44  My  dear  sir, — Every  scene  of  my  life 
confirms  the  truth  of  what  you  have  told  me, 

« there  is  no  certain  happiness  in  this  state  of 
being.’  I am  here,  amidst  all  that  you  know  is 
at  Lord  Pembroke’s;  and  yet  I am  weary  and 
gloomy.  I am  just  setting  out  for  the  house  of 
an  old  friend  in  Devonshire,  and  shall  not  get 
back  to  London  for  a week  yet.  You  said  to  me 
last  Good  Friday,  with  a cordiality  that  warmed 
my  heart,  that  if  I came  to  settle  in  London  we 
should  have  a day  fixed  every  week  to  meet  by 
ourselves  and  talk  freely.  To  be  thought  worthy 
of  such  a privilege  cannot  but  exalt  me.  During 
my  present  absence  from  you,  while,  notwith- 
standing the  gaiety  which  you  allow  me  to  pos- 
sess, I am  darkened  by  temporary  clouds,  I beg 
to  have  a few  lines  from  you;  a few  lines  merely  of 
kindness,  as  a viaticum  till  I see  you  again.  In 
your  4 Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,’  and  in  Parnell’s 
‘ Contentment,’  I find  the  only  sure  means  *of 
enjoying  happiness;  or,  at  least,  the  hopes  of 
happiness.  I ever  am,  with  reverence  and  affec- 
tion, most  faithfully  yours, 

“ James  Boswell.” 

1 William  Seward,  Esq.  F.  R.  S.  editor  of 

44  Anecdotes  of  some  distinguished  Persons,”  &c. 
in  four  volumes,  8vo.  well  known  to  a numerous 
and  valuable  acquaintance  for  his  literature,  love 

)f  the  fine  arts,  and  social  virtues.  I am  indebted 
to  him  for  several  communications  concerning 

VOL.  ii  18 


Streatham,  has  been,  I iiinK,  enkindled  by 
our  travels  with  a curiosity  to  see  the  High- 
lands. I have  gi  ven  him  letters  to  you  and 
Beattie.  He  desires  that  a lodging  may  be 
taken  for  him  at  Edinburgh  against  his  ar 
rival.  He  is  just  setting  out. 

“ Langton  has  been  exercising  the  mili- 
tia Mrs.  Williams  is,  I fear,  declining. 
Dr  Lawrf  nee  says  he  can  do  no  more. 
She  is  gone  to  summer  in  the  country,  with 
as  many  conveniences  about  her  as  she  can 
expect;  but  I have  no  great  hope.  We 
must  all  die:  may  we  all  be  prepared ! 

“ I suppose  Miss  Boswell  reads  her  book, 
and  young  Alexander  takes  to  his  learning. 
Let  me  hear  about  them;  for  every  thing 
that  belongs  to  you,  belongs  in  a more  re- 
mote degree,  and  not,  I hope,  very  remote, 
to,  dear  sir,  yours  affectionately, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“to  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ.. 

44  24th  June,  1777. 

“Dear  sir, — This  gentleman  is  a great 
favourite  at  Streatham,  and  therefore  you 
will  easily  believe  that  he  has  very  valuable 
qualities.  Our  narrative  has  kindled  him 
with  a desire  of  visiting  the  Highlands  af- 
ter having  already  seen  a great  part  of  Eu- 
rope. You  must  receive  him  as  a friend, 
and  when  you  have  directed  him  to  the  cu- 
riosities of  Edinburgh,  give  him  instructions 
and  recommendations  for  the  rest  of  his 
journey.  I am,  dear  sir,  your  most  humble 
servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

Johnson’s  benevolence  to  the  unfortunate 
was,  I am  confident,  as  steady  and  active 
as  that  of  any  of  those  who  have  been  most 
eminently  distinguished  for  that  virtue. 
Innumerable  proofs  of  it  I have  no  doubt 
will  be  forever  concealed  from  mortal  eyes. 
We  may,  however,  form  some  judgment  of 
it  from  the  many  and  various  instance*, 
which  have  been  discovered.  One,  which 
happened  in  the  course  of  this  summer,  is 
remarkable  from  the  name  and  connexion 
of  the  person  who  was  the  object  of  it. 
The  circumstance  to  which  I allude  is  as- 
certained by  two  letters,  one  to  Mr.  Lang- 
ton, and  another  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Vyse,  rec- 
tor of  Lambeth,  son  of  the  respectable 
clergyman  at  Lichfield,  who  was  contem- 
porary with  yTohnson,  and  in  whose  father’s 
family  Johnson  had  the  happiness  of  being 
kindly  received  m his  early  years. 

tcDR.  JOHNSON  TO  BENNET  LANGTON,  ESQ 
44  29th  June,  1777. 

“ Dear  sir, — 1 have  lately  been  much 

Johnson. — Boswell.  This  gentleman,  who 

was  born  in  1747,  and  was  educated  at  the  Char 
ter-house  and  at  Oxford,  died  in  London,  \pil 
1 24th,  1799. — Mai  ' nk.  [See  ante,  vol  i.  p 
255.— Ed.] 


98 


1777  iETAT.  68. 


disordered  by  a difficulty  of  breathing,  but 
am  now  better.  I hope  your  house  is 
well. 

lC  You  know  we  have  been  talking  lately 
of  St.  Cross,  at  Winchester1:  I have  an 
old  acquaintance  whose  distress  makes  him 
very  desirous  of  an  hospital,  and  I am  afraid 
I have  not  strength  enough  to  get  him  into 
the  Chartreux.  He  is  a painter,  who  never 
rose  higher  than  to  get  his  immediate  liv- 
ing; and  from  that,  at  eighty-three,  he  is 
disabled  by  a slight  stroke  of  the  palsy, 
such  as  does  not  make  him  at  all  helpless 
on  common  occasions,  though  his  hand  is 
not  steady  enough  for  his  art. 

“ My  request  is,  that  you  will  try  to  ob- 
tain a promise  of  the  next  vacancy  from  the 
Bishop  of  Chester.  It  is  not  a great  thing 
to  ask,  and  I hope  we  shall  obtain  it.  Dr. 
Warton  has  promised  to  favour  him  with 
his  notice,  and  I hope  he  may  end  his  days 
in  peace  I am,  sir,  your  most  humble  ser- 
vant, “ Sam.  Johnson.’3 4 5 

“ TO  THE  REV.  DR.  VYSE,  AT  LAMBETH. 

“9th  July,  1777. 

“ Sir, — I doubt  not  but  you  will  readily 
forgive  me  for  taking  the  liberty  of  request- 
ing your  assistance  in  recommending  an 
old  friend  to  his  grace  the  archbishop  as 
governor  of  the  Charter-house. 

“ His  name  is  De  Groot 2;  he  was  born 
at  Gloucester;  I have  known  him  many 
years.  He  has  all  the  common  claims  to 
charity,  being  old,  poor,  and  infirm  to  a 
great  degree.  He  has  likewise  another 
claim,  to  which  no  scholar  can  refuse  at- 
tention; he  is  by  several  descents  the 
nephew  of  Hugo  Grotius;  of  him  from 
whom  perhaps  every  man  of  learning  has 
learnt  something.  Let  it  not  be  said  that 
in  any  lettered  country  a nephew  of  Grotius 
asked  a charity  and  was  refused.  I am, 
reverend  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“to  THE  REV.  DR.  VYSE,  AT  LAMBETH. 

“ 22d  July,  1777. 

“ If  any  notice  should  be  taken  of  the 
recommendation  which  I took  the  liberty 
of  sending  you,  it  will  be  necessary  to  know 
that  Mr.  De  Groot  is  to  be  found  at  No.  8, 
in  Pye-street,  Westminster.  This  informa- 
tion, when  I wrote,  I could  not  give  you; 
and  being  going  soon  to  Lichfield,  think  it 
necessary  to  be  left  behind  me. 

“ More  I will  not  say.  You  will  want 
no  persuasion  to  succour  the  nephew  of 
Grotius.  I am,  sir,  your  mosthumlde  ser- 
vant, “ Sam.  Johnson.” 


1 [See  ante , v.  i.  p.  223. — Ed.] 

2 [It  appears  that  Isaac  de  Groot  was  admitted 
into  the  Charter-house,  where  he  died  about  two 
years  after. — Ed.] 


“ THE  REV.  DR.  VYSE  TO  MR.  BOSWELL* 
“Lambeth,  9th  June,  1787. 

“ Sir, — I have  searched  in  vain  for  the 
letter  which  I spoke  of,  and  which  I wished, 
at  your  desire,  to  communicate  to  you.  It 
was  from  Dr.  Johnson,  to  return  me  thanks 
for  my  application  to  archbishop  Cornwallis 
in  favour  of  poor  De  Groot.  He  rejoices  at 
the  success  it  met  with,  and  is  lavish  in  the 
praise  he  bestows  upon  his  favourite,  Hugo 
Grotius.  I am  really  sorry  that  I cannot  find 
this  letter,  as  it  is  worthy  of  the  writer. 
That  which  I send  you  enclosed  3 is  at  your 
service.  It  is  very  short,  and  will  not  perhaps 
be  thought  of  any  consequence,  unless  you 
should  judge  proper  to  consider  it  as  a proof 
of  the  very  humane  part  which  Dr.  John- 
son took  in  behalf  of  a distressed  and  de 
serving  person.  I am,  sir,  your  most  obe 
dient  humble  servant,  “ W.  Vyse  4 *.” 

[With  advising  others  to  be  char 
itable,  Dr.  Johnson  did  not  content  p10“‘ 
himself.  He  gave  away  all  he  had, 
and  all  he  ever  had  gotten,  except  the  two 
thousand  pounds  he  left  behind;  and  the 
very  small  portion  of  his  income  which  he 
spent  on  himself,  his  friends  never  could  by 
any  calculation  make  more  than  seventy,  or 
at  most  fourscore  pounds  a year,  and  he 
pretended  to  allow  himself  a hundred.  He 
had  numberless  dependants  out  of  doors  as 
well  as  in,  “ who,”  as  he  expressed  it,  “ did 
not  like  to  see  him  latterly  unless  he  brought 
them  money.”  For  those  people  he  used 
frequently  to  raise  contributions  on  his  rich- 
er friends5;  “ and  this,”  he  said,  “ is  one 
of  the  thousand  reasons  which  ought  to  re- 
strain a man  from  drony  solitude  and  use- 
less retirement.”] 

“ DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MR.  EDWARD  DILLY. 

“ Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  7th  July,  1777. 

“ Sir, — To  the  collection  of  English 

3 The  preceding  letter. — Boswell. 

4 Dr.  Vyse,  at  my  request,  was  so  obliging  as 
once  more  to  endeavour  to  recover  the  letter  of 
Johnson,  to  which  he  alludes,  but  without  success; 
for  April  23,  1800,  he  wrote  to  me  thus;  “ I have 
again  searched,  but  in  vain,  for  one  of  his  letters, 
in  which  he  speaks  in  his  own  nervous  style  of 
Hugo  Grotius.  De  Groot  was  clearly  a descen- 
dant of  the  family  of  Grotius,  and  Archbishop 
Cornwallis  willingly  complied  with  Dr.  John- 
son’s request.” — Malone.  [These  letters  ap- 
pear in  the  Gent.  Mag.  1787  and  1799,  dated 
from  London  only,  and  seem  to  have  been  address 
ed  to  Air.  Sharpe. — Ed.] 

5 [It  appears  in  Mr  Malone’s  MS.  notes,  fur 

nished  by  Mr.  Markland,  Dr.  Johnson  once  asked 

Mr.  Gerard  Hamilton  for  so  much  as  fifty  pounds 
for  a charitable  purpose,  and  Mr.  Hamilton  gave 

it;  but  see  post,  March  22,  1782,  (Diary)  note 

2.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  however,  told  Mr. 

Malone  that  he  never  asked  him  for  more  than  a 
guinea. — Ed  ] 


1777. — flETAT.  68. 


99 


Poets  I have  recommended  the  volume  of 
Dr.  Watts  to  be  added:  his  name  has  long 
been  held  by  me  in  veneration,  and  I would 
not  willingly  be  reduced  to  tell  of  him  only 
that  he  was  born  and  died.  Yet  of  his  life 
I know  very  little,  and  therefore  must  pass 
him  in  a manner  very  unworthy  of  his 
character,  unless  some  of  his  friends  will  fa- 
vour me  with  the  necessary  information. 
Many  of  them  must  be  known  to  you;  and 
by  your  influence  perhaps  I may  obtain 
some  instruction:  my  plan  does  not  exact 
much;  but  I wish  to  distinguish  Watts,  a 
man  who  never  wrote  but  for  a good  pur- 
pose. Be  pleased  to  do  for  me  what  you 
can.  I am,  sir,  your  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

(i  TO  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“Edinburgh,  15th  July,  1777. 

u My  dear  sir, — The  fate  of  poor  Dr. 
Dodd  made  a dismal  impression  upon  my 
mind. 

******* 

“ I had  sagacity  enough  to  divine  that 
you  wrote  his  speech  to  the  recorder,  before 
sentence  was  pronounced.  I am  glad  you 
have  written  so  much  for  him;  and  I hope 
to  be  favoured  with  an  exact  list  of  the  sev- 
eral pieces  when  we  meet. 

“ I received  Mr.  Seward  as  the  friend  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale,  and  as  a gentleman 
recommended  by  Dr.  Johnson  to  my  atten- 
tion. I have  introduced  him  to  Lord 
Kames,  Lord  Monboddo,  and  Mr.  Nairne. 
He  is  gone  to  the  Highlands  with  Dr. 
Gregory;  when  he  returns  I shall  do  more 
for  him. 

“ Sir  Allan  Maclean  has  carried  that 
branch  of  his  cause,  of  which  we  had  good 
hopes;  the  president  and  one  other  judge 
only  were  against  him.  I wish  the  house 
of  lords  may  do  as  well  as  the  court  of  ses- 
sion has  done.  But  Sir  Allan  has  not  the 
lands  of  Brolos  quite  cleared  by  this  judg- 
ment, till  a long  account  is  made  up  of  debts 
and  interests  on  the  one  side,  and  rents  on 
the  other.  I am,  however,  not  much  afraid 
of  the  balance. 

“ Macquarry’s  estates,  StafFa  and  all, 
were  sold  yesterday,  and  bought  by  a Camp- 
bell. I fear  he  will  have  little  or  nothing 
left  out  of  the  purchase  money. 

“ I send  you  the  case  against  the  negro, 
by  Mr.  Cullen,  son  to  Dr.  Cullen,  in  opposi- 
tion to  Maclaurin’s  for  liberty,  of  which  you 
have  approved.  Pray  read  this,  and  tell 
me  what  you  think  as  a politician , as  well 
as  a poet , upon  the  subject. 

et  Be  so  kind  as  to  let  me  know  how  your 
time  is  to  be  distributed  next  autumn.  I 
will  meet  you  at  Manchester,  or  where  you 
please;  but  I wish  you  would  complete  your 
tour  of  the  cathedrals,  and  come  to  Carlisle, 
and  I will  accompany  you  a part  of  the  way 


homewards.  I am  ever,  most  faithfully 
yours,  “ James  Boswell.” 

<cTO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“ 22(1  July,  1777. 

“ Dear  sir, — Your  notion  of  the  neces- 
sity of  an  early  interview  is  very  pleasing 
to  both  my  vanity  and  tenderness.  I shall 
perhaps  come  to  Carlisle  another  year;  but 
my  money  has  not  held  out  so  well  as  it 
used  to  do.  I shall  go  to  Ashbourne,  and 
I purpose  to  make  Dr.  Taylor  invite  you. 
If  you  live  awhile  with  me  at  his  house,  we 
shall  have  much  time  to  ourselves,  and  our 
stay  will  be  no  expense  to  us  or  him.  I 
shall  leave  London  the  28th ; and,  after 
some  stay  at  Oxford  and  Lichfield,  shall 
probably  come  to  Ashbourne  about  the  end 
of  your  .session;  but  of  all  this  you  shall 
have  notice.  Be  satisfied  we  will  meet 
somewhere. 

“ What  passed  between  me  and  poor 
Dr.  Dodd,  you  shall  know  more  fully  when 
we  meet. 

“Of  lawsuits  there  is  no  end:  poor  Sir 
Allan  must  have  another  trial;  for  which, 
however,  his  antagonist  cannot  be  much 
blamed,  having  two  judges  on  his  side.  I 
am  more  afraid  of  the  debts  than  of  the 
house  of  lords.  It  is  scarcely  to  be  imag- 
ined to  what  debts  will  swell,  that  are  daily 
increasing  by  small  additions,  and  how 
carelessly  in  a state  of  desperation  debts  are 
contracted.  Poor  Macquarry  was  far  from 
thinking  that  when  he  sold  his  islands  he 
should  receive  nothing.  For  what  were 
they  sold?  and  what  was  their  yearly 
value?  The  admission  of  money  into  the 
Highlands  will  soon  put  an  end  to  the 
feudal  modes  of  life,  by  making  those  men 
landlords  who  were  not  chiefs.  I do  not 
know  that  the  people  will  suffer  by  the 
change;  but  there  was  in  the  patriarchal 
authority  something  venerable  and  pleas- 
ing. Every  eye  must  look  with  pain  on  a 
Campbell  turning  the  Macquarries  at  will 
out  of  their  sedes  avitce , their  hereditary 
island. 

“ Sir  Alexander  Dick  is  the  only  Scots 
man  liberal  enough  not  to  be  angry  that  1 
could  not  find  trees  where  trees  were  not. 
I was  much  delighted  by  his  kind  letter. 

“ I remember  Rasay  with  too  much 
pleasure  not  to  partake  of  the  happiness  of 
any  part  of  that  amiable  family.  Our  ram- 
ble in  the  Highlands  hangs  upon  my  imagi- 
nation: I can  hardly  help  imagining  that 
we  shall  go  again.  Pennant  seems  to  have 
seen  a great  deal  which  we  did  not  see. 
when  we  travel  again  let  us  look  better 
about  us. 

“You  have  done  right  in  taking  your 
uncle’s  house.  Some  change  in  the  form 
of  life  gives  from  time  to  time  a new  epochs 
of  existence.  In  a new  place  there  is  soim- 


1777. — /ETAT.  6S 


10l> 

thing  new  to  be  done,  and  a different  system 
of  thoughts  rises  in  the  mind.  I wish  I 
could  gather  currants  in  your  garden. 
Now  fit  up  a lit.tle  study,  and  have  your 
books  ready  at  nand : do  not  spare  a little 
money,  to  make  your  habitation  pleasing 
to  yourself. 

“ I have  dined  lately  with  poor  dear 

].  I do  not  think  he  goes  on  well. 

His  table  is  rather  coarse,  and  he  has  his 
children  too  much  about  him 1  2.  But  he  is 
a very  good  man. 

“ Mrs.  Williams  is  in  the  country,  to  try 
if  she  can  improve  her  health : she  is  very 
ill.  Matters  have  come  so  about,  that  she 
is  in  the  country  with  very  good  accommo- 
dation; but  age,  and  sickness,  and  pride, 
have  made  her  so  peevish,  that  I was  forced 
to  bribe  the  maid  to  stay  with  her  by  a 
secret  stipulation  of  half-a-crown  a week 
over  her  wages. 

“Our  club  ended  its  session  about  six 
weeks  ago.  We  now  only  meet  to  dine 
once  a fortnight.  Mr.  Dunning,  the  great 
lawyer3,  is  one  of  our  members.  The 
Thrales  are  well. 

“ I long  to  know  how  the  negro’s  cause 
will  be  decided.  What  is  the  opinion  of 
Lord  Auchinleck,  or  Lord  Hailes,  or  Lord 
Monboddo?  I am,  dear  sir,  your  most 
affectionate,  &c.  “ Sa.m.  Johnson.” 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  BOSWELL. 

“22d  July,  1777. 

cc  Madam, — Though  I am  well  enough 
pleased  with  the  taste  of  sweetmeats,  very 
little  of  the  pleasure  which  I received  at 
the  arrival  of  your  jar  of  marmalade  arose 
from  eating  it.  I received  it  as  a token  of 
friendship,  as  a proof  of  reconciliation, 
things  much  sweeter  than  sweetmeats, 
and  upon  this  consideration  I return  you, 
dear  madam,  my  sincerest  thanks.  By 
having  your  kindness  I think  I have  a 
double  security  for  the  continuance  of  Mr. 
Boswell’s,  which  it  is  not  to  be  expected 
that  any  man  can  long  keep,  when  the  in- 
fluence of  a lady  so  highly  and  so  justly 
valued  operates  against  him.  Mr.  Boswell 
will  tell  you  that  I was  always  faithful  to 
your  interest,  and  always  endeavoured  to 

1 [Mr.  Langton. — Ed.] 

2 This  very  just  remark  I hope  will  be  constant- 
ly held  in  remembrance  by  parents,  who  are  in 
general  too  apt  to  indulge  their  own  fond  feelings 
for  their  children  at  the  expense  of  their  friends. 
The  common  custom  of  introducing  them  after 
dinner  is  highly  injudicious.  It  is  agreeable 
enough  that  they  should  appear  at  any  other  time; 
but  they  should  not  be  suffered  to  poison  the  mo- 
ments of  festivity  by  attracting  the  attention  of 
the  company,  and  in  a manner  compelling  them 
from  politeness  to  say  what  they  do  not  think. — 
Boswell. 

* [Created  in  1782  Lord  Ashburton.-  Ed.] 


exalt  you  in  his  estimation.  You  must 
now  do  the  same  for  me.  We  must  all 
help  one  another,  and  you  must  now  consid- 
er me  as,  dear  madam,  your  most  obliged 
and  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ MR.  BOSWELL  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“Edinburgh,  28th  July,  1777 

“ My  dear  sir, — This  is  the  day  on 
which  you  were  to  leave  London,  and  1 
have  been  amusing  myself  in  the  inte-rvah 
of  my  law-drudgery  with  figuring  you  in 
the  Oxford  post-coach.  I doubt,  however,  il 
you  have  had  so  merry  a journey  as  you 
and  I had  in  that  vehicle  last  year,  when 
you  made  so  much  sport  with  Gwyn,  the 
architect.  Incidents  upon  a journey  are  re- 
collected with  peculiar  pleasure:  they  art 
preserved  in  brisk  spirits,  and  come  up 
again  in  our  minds,  tinctured  with  that 
gaiety,  or  at  least  that  animation,  with 
which  we  first  perceived  them.” 

****** 

(I  added,  that  something  had  occurred 
which  I was  afraid  might  prevent  me  from 
meeting  him;  and  that  my  wife  had  been 
affected  with  complaints  which  threatened 
a consumption,  but  was  now  better.) 

[“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MR.  THRALE. 

“ [Oxford],  4th  Aug.  1777. 

“ Boswell’s  project  is  disconcerted  by  a 
visit  from  a relation  of  Yorkshire,  whom 
he  mentions  as  the  head  of  his  clan.  Boz- 
zy,  you  know,  makes  a huge  bustle  about 
all  his  own  motions  and  all  mine.  I have 
enclosed  a letter  to  pacify  him,  and  recon 
cile  him  to  the  uncertainties  of  human 
life.”] 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ Oxford,  4th  Aug.  1777. 

“ Dear  sir, — Do  not  disturb  yourself 
about  our  interviews;  I hope  we  shall  have 
many  : nor  think  it  any  thing  hard  or  un- 
usual that  your  design  of  meeting  me  is  in- 
terrupted. We  have  both  endured  greater 
evils,  and  have  greater  evils  to  expect. 

“Mrs.  Boswell’s  illness  mates  a more 
serious  distress.  Does  the  blood  rise  from 
her  lungs  or  from  her  stomach?  From 
little  vessels  broken  in  the  stomach  there  is 
no  danger.  Blood  from  the  lungs  is,  I be- 
lieve, alway  , frothy,  as  mixed  with  wind. 
Your  physicians  know  very  well  what  is  to 
be  done.  The  loss  of  such  a lady  would, 
indeed,  be  very  afflictive,  and  I hope  she  is 
in  no  danger.  Take  care  to  keep  her  mind 
as  easy  as  possible. 

“ I have  left  Langton  in  London.  He 
has  been  down  with  the  militia,  and  is 
again  quiet  at  home,  talking  to  his  litlrtj 
people,  as  I suppose  you  do  sometimes 


1777. — iETAT.  68 


101 


Make  my  compliments  to  Miss  Veronica  L 
The  rest  are  too  young  for  ceremony. 

“ I cannot  but  hope  that  you  have  taken 
your  country-house  at  z very  seasonable 
time,  and  that  it  may  conduce  to  restore  or 
establish  Mrs.  Boswell’s  health,  as  well  as 
provide  room  and  exercise  for  the  young 
ones.  That  you  and  your  lady  may  both  be 
happy,  and  long  enjoy  your  happiness,  is  the 
sincere  and  earnest  wish  of,  dear  sir,  your 
most,  &c.  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“MR.  BOSWELL  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

(Informing  him  that  my  wife  had  con- 
tinued to  grow  better,  so  that  my  alarming 
apprehensions  were  relieved:  and  that  I 
hoped  to  disengage  myself  from  the  other 
embarrassment  which  had  occurred,  and 
therefore  requesting  to  know  particularly 
when  he  intended  to  he  at  Ashbourne.) 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“30th  August,  1777. 

“ Dear  sir, — I am  this  day  come  to  Ash- 
bourne, and  have  only  to  tell  you,  that  Dr. 
Taylor  says  you  shall  be  welcome  to  him, 
and  you  know  how  welcome  you  will  be  to 
me.  Make  haste  to  let  me  know  when  you 
may  be  expected. 

“ Make  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Boswell, 
and  tell  her  I hope  we  shall  be  at  variance 
no  more.  1 am,  dear  sir,  your  most  humble 
*»ervant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ Ashbourne,  1st  Sept.  1777. 

“Dear  sir, — On  Saturday  I wrote  a 
very  short  letter,  immediately  upon  my  ar- 
rival hither,  to  show  you  that  I am  not 
.ess  desirous  of  the  interview  than  yourself. 
.Life  admits  not  of  delays;  when  pleasure 
tan  be  had,  it  is  fit  to  catch  it:  every  hour 
takes  away  part  of  the  things  that  please 
us,  and  perhaps  part  of  our  disposition  to  be 
pleased.  When  I came  to  Lichfield,  I found 
my  old  friend  Harry  Jackson  dead1 2.  It 
was  a loss,  and  a loss  not  to  be  repaired,  as 
he  was  one  of  the  companions  of  my  child- 
hood. I hope  we  may  long  continue  to 
gain  friends;  but  the  friends  which  merit 
or  usefulness  can  procure  us  are  not  able  to 
supply  the  place  of  old  acquaintance,  with 
whom  the  days  of  youth  may  be  retraced, 
and  those  images  revived  which  gave  the 

1 This  young  lady,  the  authour’s  eldest  daugh- 
ter, and  at  this  time  about  five  years  old,  died 
in  London,  of  a consumption,  four  months  after 
her  father,  Sept.  26,  1795. — Malone. 

2 [See  ante,  p.  43.  He  says  in  a letter  to 
Mrs.  Thrale,  “ Lichfield,  7th  August,  1777. — At 

Birmingham  I heard  of  the  death  of  an  old  friend, 
and  at  Lichfield  of  the  death  of  another.  Anni 
yroedantur  euntes.  One  was  a little  older,  and 
the  other  a little  younger  than  myself.”  The 
. atter  probably  was  Jackson. — Ed.] 


earliest  delight.  If  you  and  I live  to  b 
much  older,  we  shall  take  great  delight  ir 
talking  over  the  Hebridean  Journey. 

“ In  the  mean  time  it  may  not  be  amiss 
to  contrive  some  other  little  adventure,  but 
vhat  it  can  be  I know  not;  leave  it,  as 
Sidney  says, 

‘ To  virtue,  fortune,  time,  and  woman’s  breast 3 

for  I believe  Mrs.  Boswell  must  have  some 
part  in  the  consultation. 

“ One  thing  you  will  like.  The  Doctor, 
so  far  as  I can  judge,  is  likely  to  leave  us 
enough  to  ourselves.  He  was  out  to-day* 
before  I came  down,  and,  I fancy,  will  stay- 
out  to  dinner.  I have  brought  the  papers 

3  By  an  odd  mistake,  in  the  first  three  editions 
we  find  a reading  in  this  line  to  which  Dr.  John- 
son would  by  no  means  have  subscribed,  wine 
having  been  substituted  for  time.  That  errour 
probably  was  a mistake  in  the  transcript  of  John- 
son’s original  letter,  his  hand-writing  being  often 
very  difficult  to  read.  The  other  deviation  in  the 
beginning  of  the  line  ( virtue  instead  of  nature ) 
must  be  attributed  to  his  memory  having  deceived 
him;  and  therefore  has  not  been  disturbed.  The 
verse  quoted  is  the  concluding  line  of  a sonnet  of 
Sidney’s,  of  which  the  earliest  copy,  I believe,  is 
found  in  Harrington’s  translation  of  Ariosto,  1591, 
in  the  notes  on  the  eleventh  book: — “ And  there- 
fore,” says  he,  “ that  excellent  verse  of  Sir  Philip 
Sydney,  in  his  first  Arcadia  (which  I know  not 
by  what  mishap  is  left  out  in  the  printed  booke) 
[4to.  1590,]  is  in  mine  opinion  worthie  to  be 
praised  and  followed,  to  make  a true  and  virtuous 
wife  : 

“ Who  doth  desire  that  chast  his  wife  should  bee, 
First  be  he  true,  for  truth  does  truth  deserve; 
Then  be  he  such,  as  she  his  worth  may  see, 

And,  alwaies  one,  credit  with  her  preserve: 

Not  toying  kynd,  nor  causelessly  unkynd, 

Not  stirring  thoughts,  nor  yet  denying  right, 

Not  spying  faults,  nor  in  plaine  errors  blind, 

Never  hard  hand,  nor  ever  rayns  (reins)  too  light 
As  far  from  want,  as  far  from  vaine  expence, 

Th’  one  doth  enforce,  the  t’other  doth  entice: 
Allow  good  companie,  but  drive  from  thence 
All  filthie  mouths  that  glorie  in  their  vice: 

This  done,  thou  hast  no  more  but  leave  the  rest 
To  nature , fortune,  time , and  woman’s  breast.” 

I take  this  opportunity  to  add,  that  in  England’s 
Parnassus,  a collection  of  poetry  printed  in  1600, 
the  second  couplet  of  this  sonnet  is  thus  corruptly 
exhibited: 

“ Then  he  he  such  as  he  his  words  may  see, 

And  alwaies  one  credit  which  her  preserve:” 

a variation  which  I the  rather  mention,  because 
the  readings  of  that  book  have  been  triumphantly 
quoted,  when  they  happened  to  coincide  with  the 
sophistications  of  the  second  folio  edition  of  Shaks- 
peare’s  plays  in  1632,  as  adding  I know  not  what 
degree  of  authority  and  authenticity  to  the  latter  : 
as  if  the  corruptions  of  one  book  (and  that  abound- 
ing with  the  grossest  falsifications  of  the  authour 
from  whose  works  its  extracts  are  made)  could 
give  any  kind  of  support  to  another,  which  in 
every  page  is  still  more  adulterated  and  unfaithful. 
See  Mr.  Steevens’s  Shakspeare,  vol.  xx  p.  97 
fifth  edit.  1803. — Malone. 


1777. — iETAT.  68. 


102 

t 

about  poor  Dodd,  to  show  you,  but  you 
will  soon  have  despatched  them. 

“ Before  I came  away,  I sent  poor  Mrs. 
Williams  into  the  country,  very  ill  of  a 
pituitous  defluxion,  which  wastes  her  grad- 
ually away,  and  which  her  physician  de- 
clares himself  unable  to  stop.  I supplied 
her  as  far  as  could  be  desired  with  all  con- 
veniences to  make  her  excursion  and  abode 
pleasant  and  useful.  But  I am  afraid  she 
can  only  linger  a short  time  in  a morbid 
state  of  weakness  and  pain. 

“ The  Thrales,  little  and  great,  are  all 
.well,  and  purpose  to  go  to  Brighthelmstone 
at  Michaelmas.  They  will  invite  me  to  go 
with  them,  and  perhaps  I may  go,  but  I 
hardly  think  I shall  like  to  stay  the  whole 
time;  but  of  futurity  we  know  but  little. 

“ Mrs.  Porter  is  well;  but  Mrs.  Aston, 
one  of  the  ladies  at  Stow-hill,  has  been 
struck  with  a palsy,  from  which  she  is  not 
likely  ever  to  recover.  How  soon  may 
such  a stroke  fall  upon  us ! 

“Write  to  me,  and  let  us  know  when 
we  .may  expect  you.  I am,  dear  sir, 
vour  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“MR.  BOSWELL  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“Edinburgh,  9th  Sept.  1777. 

(After  informing  him  that  I was  to  set  out 
next  day,  in  order  to  meet  him  at  Ash- 
bourne;— ) 

“ I have  a present  for  you  from  Lord 
Hailes;  the  fifth  book  of  ‘ Lactantius,’ 
which  he  has  published  with  Latin  notes. 
He  is  also  to  give  you  a few  anecdotes  for 
your  c Life  of  Thomson,5  who  I find  was 
private  tutor  to  the  present  Earl  of  Hading- 
ton,  Lord  Hailes’s  cousin,  a circumstance 
not  mentioned  by  Dr.  Murdoch.  I have 
keen  expectations  of  delight  from  your  edi- 
tion of  the  English  Poets. 

“ I am  sorry  for  poor  Mrs.  Williams’s 
situation.  You  will,  however,  have  the 
comfort  of  reflecting  on  your  kindness  to 
her.  Mr.  Jackson’s  death,  and  Mrs.  Aston’s 
palsy,  are  gloomy  circumstances.  Yet 
surely  we  should  be  habituated  to  the  un- 
certainty of  life  and  health.  When  my 
mind  is  unclouded  by  melancholy,  I consid- 
er the  temporary  distresses  of  this  state  of 
being  as  ‘ light  afflictions,’  by  stretching 
my  mental  view  into  that  glorious  after-ex- 
istence, when  they  will  appear  to  be  as 
nothing.  But  present  pleasures  and  pres- 
ent pains  must  be  felt.  I lately  read  c Ras- 
selas  ’ over  again  with  satisfaction. 

“ Since  you  are  desirous  to  hear  about 
Macquarry’s  sale,  I shall  inform  you  partic- 
ularly. The  gentleman  who  purchased 
Llva  is  Mr.  Campbell  of  Auchnaba:  our 
friend  Macquarry  was  proprietor  of  two- 
tin;  : if  iv,  of  which  the  rent  was  156/.  5s. 
\.,d.  This  parcel  was  set  up  at  4,069/. 


5s.  1 d.  but  it  sold  for  no  less  than  5,540/. 
The  other  third  of  Ulva,  with  the  island  of 
Staffa,  belonged  to  Macquarry  of  Ormaig 
Its  rent,  including  that  of  Staffa,  83/.  12s. 
2i \d. — set  up  at  2,178/.  16s.  Ad. — sold  for 
no  less  than  3,540/.  The  Laird  of  Col 
wished  to  purchase  Ulva,  but  he  though; 
the  price  too  high.  There  may,  indeed, 
be  great  improvements  made  there,  both  in 
fishing  and  agriculture;  but  the  interest  of 
the  purchase-money  exceeds  the  rent  so 
very  much,  that  I doubt  if  the  bargain  will 
be  profitable.  There  is  an  island  called 
Little  Colonsay,  of  10/.  yearly  rent,  which 
I am  informed  has  belonged  to  the  Mac- 
quarrys  of  Ulva  for  many  ages,  but  which 
was  lately  claimed  by  the  Presbyterian 
Synod  of  Argyll,  in  consequence  of  a grant 
made  to  them  by  Queen  Anne.  It  is  be- 
lieved that  their  claim  will  be  dismissed, 
and  that  Little  Colonsay  will  also  be  sold 
for  the  advantage  of  Macquarry’s  creditors. 
What  think  you  of  purchasing  this  island, 
and  endowing  a school  or  college  there,  the 
master  to  be  a clergyman  of  the  Church  of 
England?  How  venerable  would  such  an 
institution  make  the  name  of  Dr.  Samuel 
Johnson  in  the  Hebrides!  I have,  like 
yourself,  a wonderful  pleasure  in  recollect- 
ing our  travels  in  those  islands.  The 
pleasure  is,  I think,  greater  than  it  reasona- 
bly should  be,  considering  that  we  had  not 
much  either  of  beauty  or  elegance  to  charm 
our  imaginations,  or  of  rude  novelty  to  as* 
tonish.  Let  us,  by  all  means,  have  another 
expedition.  I shrink  a little  from  our 
scheme  of  going  up  the  Baltick.  I am 
sorry  you  have  already  been  in  Wales;  for 
I wish  to  see  it.  Shall  we  go  to  Ireland, 
of  which  I have  seen  but  little?  We  shall 
try  to  strike  out  a plan  when  we  are  ai 
Ashbourne. — I am  ever  your  most  faithfu. 
humble  servant,  “ James  Boswell.” 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“Ashbourne,  11th  Sept.  1777. 

“Dear  sir, — I write  to  be  left  at  Car- 
lisle, as  you  direct  me;  but  you  cannot 
have  it.  Your  letter,  dated  Sept.  6th,  was 
not  at  this  place  till  this  day,  Thursday, 
Sept.  11th;  and  I hope  you  will  be  here 
before  this  is  at  Carlisle  •.  However,  what 
you  have  not  going,  you  may  have  return- 
ing; and  as  I believe  I shall  not  love  you 
less  after  our  interview,  it  will  then  be  as 
true  as  it  is  now,  that  I set  a very  high 
value  upon  your  friendship,  and  count  your 
kindness  as  one  of  the  chief  felicities  of  my 
life.  Do  not  fancy  that  an  intermission  of 
writing  is  a decay  of  kindness.  No  mail  b 
always  in  a disposition  to  write;  nor  ha. 
any  man  at  all  times  something  to  say. 

1 It  so  happened.  The  letter  was  forwarded  to 
my  house  at  Edinburgh. — Boswell. 


1777  — iETAT.  68. 


103 


4t  That  distrust  which  intrudes  so  often 
m your  mind  is  a mode  of  melancholy, 
which,  if  it  he  the  business  of  a wise  man 
to  be  happy,  it  is  foolish  to  indulge;  and, 
if  it  be  a duty  to  preserve  our  faculties  en- 
tire for  their  proper  use,  it  is  criminal. 
Suspicion  is  very  often  an  useless  pain. 
From  that,  and  all  other  pains,  I wish  you 
free  and  safe ; for  I am,  dear  sir,  most 
affectionately  yours,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

It  appears  that  Johnson,  now  in  his 
sixty-eighth  year,  was  seriously  inclined  to 
realize  the  project  cff our  going  up  the  Bal- 
tick,  which  I had  started  when  we  were  in 
the  Isle  of  Sky;  for  he  thus  writes  to  Mrs. 
Thrale: 

“Ashbourne,  13th  Sept.  1777. 
Letters,  “ Boswell,  I believe,  coming, 
voi.  i.  ’ He  talks  of  being  here  to-J?.v:  I 
p.  3G6.  shall  be  glad  to  see  him:  but  he 
shrinks  from  the  Baltick  expedition,  which, 
I think,  is  the  best  scheme  in  our  power: 
what  we  shall  substitute,  I know  not.  He 
wants  to  see  Wales;  but,  except  the  woods 
of  Bachycraigh,  what  is  there  in  Wales, 
that  can  fill  the  hunger  of  ignorance,  or 
quench  the  thirst  of  curiosity?  We  may, 
perhaps,  form  some  scheme  or  other;  but, 
in  the  phrase  of  Hockley  in  the  Hole,  it  is 
pity  he  has  not  a better  bottom .” 

Such  an  ardour  of  mind,  and  vigour  of 
enterprise,  is  admirable  at  any  age;  but 
more  particularly  so  at  the  advanced  period 
at  which  Johnson  was  then  arrived.  I am 
sorry  now  that  I did  not  insist  on  our  exe- 
cuting that  scheme.  Besides  the  other  ob- 
jects of  curiosity  and  observation,  to  have 
seen  my  illustrious  friend  received,  as  he 
probably  would  have  been,  by  a prince  so 
eminently  distinguished  for  his  variety  of 
talents  and  acquisitions  as  the  late  King  of 
Sweden,  and  by  the  Empress  of  Russia, 
whose  extraordinary  abilities  information, 
and  magnanimity,  astonish  the  world, 
would  have  afforded  a noble  subject  for 
contemplation  and  record.  This  reflection 
may  possibly  be  thought  too  visionary  by 
the  more  sedate  and  cold-blooded  part  of 
my  readers;  yet  I own,  I frequently  indulge 
it  with  an  earnest,  unavailing  regret. 

[“  DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  ASTON. 

“ Ashbourne,  13th  Sept.  1777. 

Pemb.  “ Dear  madam, — As  I left  you  so 
ms.  much  disordered,  a fortnight  is  a 
long  time  to  be  without  any  account 
of  your  health.  I am  willi  ng  to  flatter  my- 
self that  you  are  better,  though  you  gave 
me  no  reason  to  believe  that  you  intended 
to  use  any  means  for  your  recovery.  Na- 
ture often  performs  wonders,  and  will,  I 
hope,  do  for  you  more  than  you  seem  in- 
clined to  do  for  vourself. 


“ In  this  weakness  of  body,  with  which  it 
has  pleased  God  to  visit  you,  he  has  given 
you  great  cause  of  thankfulness,  by  the  to- 
tal exemption  of  your  mind  from  all  effects 
of  your  disorder.  Your  memory  is  not  less 
comprehensive  or  distinct,  nor  your  reason 
less  vigorous  and  acute,  nor  your  imagina- 
tion less  active  and  sprightly  than  in  any 
former  time  of  your  life.  This  is  a great 
blessing,  as  it  respects  enjoyment  of  the  pre- 
sent; and  a blessing  yet  far  gi  eater,  as  it 
bestows  power  and  opportunity  to  prepare 
for  the  future. 

“ All  sickness  is  a summons.  But  as  you 
do  not  want  exhortations,  I will  send  you 
only  my  good  wishes,  and  exhort  you  to  be- 
lieve the  good  wishes  very  sincere,  of,  deal 
madam,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

On  Sunday  evening,  Sept.  14,  I arrived 
at  Ashbourne,  and  drove  directly  up  to  Dr. 
Taylor’s  door.  Dr.  Johnson  and  he  ap 
peared  before  I had  got  out  of  the  post 
chaise,  and  welcomed  me  cordially. 

I told  them  that  I had  travelled  all*  the 
preceding  night,  and  gone  to  bed  at  Leek, 
in  Staffordshire;  and  that  when  I rose  to  go 
to  church  in  the  afternoon,  I was  informed 
there  had  been  an  earthquake,  of  which,  it 
seems,  the  shock  had  been  felt  in  some  be 
gree  at  Ashbourne.  Johnson.  “ Sir,  it 
will  be  much  exaggerated  in  publick  talk: 
for,  in  the  first  place,  the  common  people  do 
not  accurately  adapt  their  thoughts  to  the 
objects;  nor,  secondly,  do  they  accurately 
adapt  their  words  to  their  thoughts:  they 
do  not  mean  to  lie;  but,  taking  no  pains  to 
be  exact,  they  give  you  very  false  accounts. 
A great  part  of  their  language  is  proverbial. 
If  any  thing  rocks  at  all,  they  say  it  rocks 
like  a cradle;  and  in  this  way  they  go  on.” 

The  subject  of  grief  for  the  loss  of  rela- 
tions and  friends  being  introduced,  I ob- 
served that  it  was  strange  to  consider  how 
soon  it  in  general  wears  away.  Dr.  Tay- 
lor mentioned  a gentleman  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood as  the  only  instance  he  had  ever 
known  of  a person  who  had  endeavoured 
to  retain  grief.  He  told  Dr.  Taylor,  that 
after  his  lady’s  death,  which  affected  him 
deeply,  he  resolved  that  the  grief,  which  he 
cherished  with  a kind  of  sacred  fondness, 
should  be  lasting;  but  that  he  found  he 
could  not  keep  it  long.  Johnson.  “ All 
grief  for  what  cannot  in  the  course  of  na- 
ture be  helped  soon  wears  away;  in  some 
sooner,  indeed,  in  some  later;  but  it  never 
continues  very  long,  unless  where  there  is 
madness,  such  as  will  make  a man  have 
pride  so  fixed  in  his  mind  as  to  imagine  1 jm* 
self  a king;  or  any  other  passion  in  an  un 
reasonable  way:  for  all  unnecessary  grief  is 
unwise,  and  therefore  will  not  be  long  re- 
tained by  a sound  mind.  If,  indeed,  th* 


104 


1777. — ^ETAT.  68 


cause  of  our  grief  is  occasioned  by  our  own 
misconduct,  if  grief  is  mingled  with  remorse 
of  conscience,  it  should  be  lasting.”  Bos- 
well. “ But,  sir,’ we  do  not  approve  of  a 
man  who  very  soon  forgets  the  loss  of  a 
wife  or  a friend.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  we 
disapprove  of  him,  not  because  he  soon 
forgets  his  grief,  for  the  sooner  it  is  forgot- 
ten the  better;  but  because  we  suppose, 
that  if  he  forgets  his  wife  or  his  friend  soon, 
he  has  not  had  much  affection  for  them.” 

I was  somewhat  disappointed  in  finding 
that  the  edition  of  the  “ English  Poets,” 
for  which  he  was  to  write  prefaces  and  lives, 
was  not  an  undertaking  directed  by  him, 
but  that  he  was  to  furnish  a preface  and  life 
to  any  poet  the  booksellers  pleased.  I asked 
him  if  he  would  do  this  to  any  dunce’s 
works,  if  they  should  ask  him.  Johnson. 
“ Yes,  sir;  and  say  he  was  a dunce.”  My 
friend  seemed  now  not  much  to  relish  talk- 
ing of  this  edition. 

Letters  On  Monday,  September  15,  Dr. 
voi.  i.  ’ Johnson  [wrote  to  Mrs.  Thrale: 
p.  369.  a Last  night  came  Boswell.  I am 
glad. that  he  is  come,  and  seems  to  be  very 

brisk  and  lively,  and  laughs  a little  at ]. 

I told  him  something  of  the  scene  at  Rich- 
mond 1 2.”] 

He  observed,  that  every  body  commended 
such  parts  of  his  “ Journey  to  the  Western 
Islands  ” as  were  in  their  own  way.  “ For 
instance,”  said  he,  “ Mr.  Jackson  (the  all- 
knowing) told  me  there  was  more  good 
sense  upon  trade  in  it,  than  he  should 
hear  in  the  house  of  commons  in  a year, 
except  from  Burke.  Jones  commended 
the  part  -which  treats  of  language;  Burke 
that  which  describes  the  inhabitants  of 
mountainous  countries.” 

After  breakfast,  Johnson  carried  me  to 
see  the  garden  belonging  to  the  school  of 
Ashbourne,  which  is  very  prettily  formed 
upon  a bank,  rising  gradually  behind  the 
house.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Langley,  the  head- 
master, accompanied  us. 

While  we  sat  basking  in  the  sun  upon 
a seat  here,  I introduced  a common  subject 
jf  complaint,  the  very  small  salaries  which 
many  curates  have;  and  I maintained, 
that  no  man  should  be  invested  with  the 
character  of  a clergyman,  unless  he  has 
a security  for  such  an  income  as  will 
enable  him  to  appear  respectable;  that, 
therefore,  a clergyman  should  not  be  al- 
lowed to  have  a curate,  unless  he  gives 

1 [Probably  his  host,  Dr.  Taylor — between 
whom  and  Boswell  there  seems  to  have  been  no 
great  cordiality,  and  it  may  be  suspected  that  Bos- 
well does  not  take  much  power  [pains  ?]  to  set  Dr. 
Taylor’s  merits  in  the  best  light,  lie  was  John- 
son’s earliest  and  most  constant  friend,  and  read 
the  funeral  service  over  him. — Ed.J 

2 [This  refers  to  some  occurrence  (probably  at 

Sir  Joshua’s)  now  forgotten. — Ed.] 


him  a hundred  pounds  a year;  if  he  cannot 
do  that,  let  him  perform  the  duty  himself. 
Johnson.  “To  be  sure,  sir,  it  is  wrong 
that  any  clergyman  should  be  without  a 
reasonable  income;  but  as  the  church  re- 
venues were  sadly  diminished  at  the  refor 
mation,  the  clergy  who  have  livings  cannot 
afford,  in  many  instances,  to  give  good  sal 
aries  to  curates,  without  leaving  themselves 
too  little;  and,  if  no  curate  were  to  be  permit- 
ted unless  he  had  a hundred  pounds  a year, 
their  number  would  be  very  small,  which 
would  be  a disadvantage,  as  then  there 
would  not  be  such  choice  in  the  nursery  for 
the  church,  curates  being  candidates  for  the 
higher  ecclesiastical  offices,  according  to 
their  merit  and  good  behaviour  ” He  ex- 
plained the  system  of  the  English  hierarchy 
exceedingly  well.  “It  is  not  thought  fit,” 
said  he,  “ to  trust  a man  with  the  care  of  a 
parish  till  he  has  given  proof  as  a curate 
that  he  shall  deserve  such  a trust.”  This 
is  an  excellent  theory;  and  if  the  practice 
were  according  to  it,  the  church  of  Eng 
land  would  be  admirable  indeed  However, 
as  I have  heard  Dr.  Johnson  observe  as  to 
the  universities,  bad  practice  does  not  infer 
that  the  constitution  is  bad. 

. We  had  with,  us  at  dinner  several  of  Dr. 
Taylor’s  neighbours,  good  civil  gentlemen, 
who  seemed  to  understand  Dr.  Johnson 
very  well,  and  not  to  consider  him  in  the 
light  that  a certain  person3  did,  who  being 
struck,  or  rather  stunned  by  his  voice  and 
manner,  when  he  was  afterwards  asked 
what  he  thought  of  him,  answered,  “ He’? 
a tremendous  companion.” 

Johnson  told  me,  that  “Taylor  was  a 
very  sensible  acute  man,  and  had  a strong 
mind:  that  he  had  great  activity  in  some 
respects,  and  yet  such  a sort  of  indolence, 
that  if  you  should  put  a pebble  upon  his 
chimney-piece,  you  would  find  it  there,  in 
the  same  state,  a year  afterwards.” 

And  here  is  a proper  place  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  Johnson’s  humane  and  zealous  in- 
terference in  behalf  of  the  Reverend  Dr.  Wil- 
liam Dodd,  formerly  Prebendary  of  Brecon, 
and  chaplain  in  ordinary  to  his  majesty; 
celebrated  as  a very  popular  preacher,  an 
encourager  of  charitable  institutions,  and 
authour  of  a variety  of  works,  chiefly  the- 
ological. Having  unhappily  contracted  ex- 
pensive habits  of  living,  partly  occasioned 
by  licentiousness  of  manners,  he  in  an  evil 
hour,  when  pressed  by  want  of  money,  and 
dreading  an  exposure  of  his  circumstances, 
forged  a bond,  of  which  he  attempted  to 
avail  himself  to  support  his  credit,  flattering 
himself  with  hopes  that  he  might  be  able  to 
repay  its  amount  without  being  detected. 
The  person  whose  name  he  thus  rashly  and 
criminally  presumed  to  falsify  was  the  Earl 


3  [Mr.  George  Garrick. — Ed.] 


1777. — iETAT.  68. 


105 


>1  Chesterfield,  to  whom  he  had  been  tutor, 
and  who  he  perhaps,  in  the  warmth  of  his 
feelings,  flattered  himself  would  have  gen- 
erously paid  the  money  in  case  of  an  alarm 
being  taken,  rather  than  suffer  him  to  fall  a 
victim  to  the  dreadful  consequences  of  viola- 
ting the  law  against  forgery,  the  most  dan- 
gerous crime  in  a commercial  country:  but 
the  unfortunate  divine  had  the  mortification 
to  find  that  he  was  mistaken.  His  noble 
pupil  appeared  against  him,  and  he  was  cap- 
itally convicted. 

Johnson  told  me  that  Dr.  Dodd  was  very 
little  acquainted  with  him,  having  been  but 
once  in  his  company,  many  years  previous 
to  this  period  (which  was  precisely  the  state 
of  my  own  acquaintance  with  Dodd);  but 
in  his  distress  he  bethought  himself  of  John- 
son’s persuasive  power  of  writing,  if  haply 
it  might  avail  to  obtain  for  him  the  royal 
mercy.  He  did  not  apply  to  him  directly, 
but,  extraordinary  as  it  may  seem,  through 
the  late  Countess  of  Harrington1,  who 
wrote  a letter  to  Johnson,  asking  him  to 
employ  his  pen  in  favour  of  Dodd.  Mr. 
Allen,  the  printer,  who  was  Johnson’s  land- 
lord and  next  neighbour  in  Bolt-court,  and 
for  whom  he  had  much  kindness,  was  one 
of  Dodd’s  friends,  of  whom,  to  the  credit  of 
humanity  be  it  recorded,  that  he  had  many 
who  did  not  desert  him,  even  after  his  in- 
fringement of  the  law  had  reduced  him  to 
the  state  of  a man  under  sentence  of  death. 
Mr.  Allen  told  me  that  he  carried  Lady 
Harrington’s  letter  to  Johnson,  that  John- 
son read  it,  walking  up  and  down  his  cham- 
ber, and  seemed  much  agitated,  after  which 
he  said,  cc  I will  do  what  1 can;  ” and  cer- 
tainly he  did  make  extraordinary  exertions. 

He  this  evening,  as  he  had  obligingly 
promised  in  one  of  his  letters*  put  into  my 
hands  the  whole  series  of  his  writings  upon 
this  melancholy  occasion,  and  I shall  pre- 
sent my  readers  with  the  abstract  which  I 
made  from  the  collection;  in  doing  which 
I studied  to  avoid  copying  what  had  ap- 
peared in  print,  and  now  make  part  of  the 
edition  of  “ Johnson’s  Works,”  published 
by  the.  booksellers  of  London,  but  taking 
care  to  mark  Johnson’s  variations  in  some 
of  the  pieces  there  exhibited. 

Dr.  Johnson  wrote,  in  the  first  place,  Dr. 
Dodd’s  “ Speech  to  the  Recorder  of  Lon- 
don,” at  the  Old  Bailey,  when  sentence  of 
leath  was  about  to  be  pronounced  upon  him. 

He  wrote  also  “ The  Convict’s  Address 

1  Caroline,  eldest  daughter  of  Charles  Fitzroy, 
Duke  of.Grafton,  and  wife  of  William,  the  second 
Earl  of  Harrington. — Malone.  [It  may  be 
concluded  that  Allen  not  only  carried  the  let- 
ter, but  obtained  it  ; for  to  those  who  know  the 
character  of  Lady  Harrington,  her  good-nature 
will  not  seenr.  extraordinary;  but  hat  she  should 
have  had  any  kind  of  acquaintance  with  Dr.  John- 
wn  seems  highly  improbable. — Ed  ] 

VOL.  14 


to  his  unhappy  Brethren,”  a sermon' deliver 
ed  by  Dr.  Dodd  in  the  chapel  of  Newgate 
According  to  Johnson’s  manuscript,  it  be- 
an thus  after  the  text,  What  shall  I do  to 
e saved 

“ These  were  the  words  with  which  the 
keeper,  to  whose  custody  Paul  and  Silas 
were  committed  by  their  prosecutors,  ad- 
dressed his  prisoners,  when  he  saw  them 
freed  from  their  bonds  by  the  perceptible 
agency  of  divine  favour,  and  was,  therefore, 
irresistibly  convinced  that  they  were  not 
offenders  against  the  laws,  but  martyrs  to 
the  truth.” 

Dr.  Johnson  was  so  good  as  to  mark  for 
me  with  his  own  hand,  on  a copy  of  this 
sermon  which  is  now  in  my  possession,  such 
passages  as  were  added  by  Dr.  Dodd. 
They  are  not  many:  whoever  will  take  the 
trouble  to  look  at  the  printed  copy,  and  at- 
tend to  what  I mention,  will  be  satisfied  of 
this. 

There  is  a short  introduction  by  Dr.  Dodd, 
and  he  also  inserted  this  sentence:  “ You 
see  with  what  confusion  and  dishonour  I 
now  stand  before  you;  no  more  in  the  pul- 
pit of  instruction,  but  on  this  humble  seat 
with  yourselves.”  The  notes  are  entirely 
Dodd’s  own,  and  Johnson’s  writing  ends  at 
the  words,  “ the  thief  whom  he  pardoned 
on  the  cross.”  What  follows  was  supplied 
by  Dr.  Dodd  himself. 

[Dr.  Johnson  wrote  to  Mrs.  Thrale  with 
some  degree  of  complacency,  in  Miss  Por 
ter’s  judgment  (to  whom  he  had  not  im 
parted  his  transactions  with  Dodd)  Letters 
— “ Lucy  said,  £ When  I read  Dr.  9 Aug. 
Dodd’s  sermon  to  the  prisoners,  I 1777- 
said,  Dr  Johnson  could  not  make  a bet- 
ter.’ ”] 

The  other  pieces  mentioned  by  Johnson 
in  the  above-mentioned  collection  are  two 
letters,  one  to  the  Lord  Chancellor  Ba- 
thurst (not  Lord  North,  as  is  erroneously 
supposed),  and  one  to  Lord  Mansfield.  A 
Petition  from  Dr.  Dodd  to  the  King.  A 
Petition  from  Mrs.  Dodd  to  the  Queen. 
Observations  of  some  length  inserted  in  the 
newspapers,  on  occasion  of  Earl  Percy’s 
having  presented  to  his’  majesty  a petition 
for  mercy  to  Dodd,  signtd  by  twenty  thou 
sand  people,  but  all  in  vain.  He  told  me 
that  he  had  also  written  a petition  for  the 
city  of  London;  “ but  (said  he,  with  a sig- 
nificant smile)  they  mended  it2  3.” 

2 [What  must  I do  to  be  saved  ? — Acts , c.  17, 
v.  80. — Ed.] 

3 Having  unexpectedly,  by  the  favour  of  Mr 
Stone,  of  London  Field,  Hackney,  seen  the  origi 
nal  in  Johnson’s  handwriting  of  “ The  Petition  of 
the  City  of  London  to  his  Majesty,  in  favour  of 
Dr.  Dodd,”  I now  present  it  to  my  readers,  with 
such  passages  as  were  omitted  enclosed  in  crotch 
ets,  and  the  additions  ir  variations  marked  in  ital 
icks 


106 


1777. — /ETAT.  68. 


The  last  of  these  articles  which  Johnson 
wrote  is  u Dr.  Dodd’s  last  solemn  Declara- 
tion,” which  he  left  with  the  sheriff  at  the 
place  of  execution.  Here  also  my  friend 
marked  the  variations  on  a copy  of  that 
piece  now  in  my  possession.  Dodd  insert- 
ed “ I never  knew  or  attended  to  the  calls 
of  frugality,  or  the  needful  minuteness  of 
painful  'economy;  ” and  in  the  next  sen- 
tence he  introduced  the  tvords  which  I dis- 
tinguish by  italicks:  “ My  life  for  some 
few  unhappy  years  past  has  been  dreadful- 
ly erroneous."  Johnson’s  expression  was 
hypocritical ; but  his  remark  on  the  margin 
is,  “ With  this  he  said  he  cou-ld  not  charge 
himself.” 

Having  thus  authentically  settled  what 
part  of  the  cc  Occasional  Papers,”  con- 
cerning Dr.  Dodd’s  miserable  situation, 
came  from  the  pen  of  Johnson,  I shall  pro- 
ceed to  present  my  readers  with  my  record 
of  the  unpublished  writings  relating  to  that 
extraordinary  and  interesting  matter.  . 

I found  a letter  to  Dr.  Johnson  from  Dr. 
Dodd,  May  23,  1777,  in  which  “ The  Con- 
vict’s Address  ” seems  clearly  to  be  meant: 

“ DR.  DODD  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 
cc  I am  so  penetrated,  my  ever  dear  sir, 
with  a sense  of  your  extreme  benevolence 
towards  me,  that  I cannot  find  words  equal 
to  the  sentiments  of  my  heart.  ***** 
“ You  are  too  conversant  in  the  world  to 
need  the  slightest  hint  from  me  of  what  in- 
finite utility  the  speech  1 on  the  awful  day 


“ That  William  Dodd,  Doctor  of  Laws,  now 
lying  under  sentence  of  death  in  your  majesty's 
gaol  of  jYewgate  for  the  crime  of  forgery,  has 
for  a great  part  of  his  life  set  a useful  and  lauda- 
ble example  of  diligence  in  his  calling  [and,  as  we 
have  reason  to  believe,  has  exercised  his  ministry 
with  great  fidelity  and  efficacy] , which , in  many 
instances , has  produced  the  most  happy  ef- 
fect. 

“ That  he  has  been  the  first  institutor  [or]  and 
■l  very  earnest  and  active  promoter  of  several 
inodes  of  useful  charity,  and  [that],  therefore, 
[he]  may  be  considered  as  having  been  on  many 
jccasions  a benefactor  to  the  publick. 

“ [That  when  they  consider  his  past  life,  they 
ire  willing  to  suppose  his  late  crime  to  have  been, 
aot  the  consequence  of  habitual  depravity,  but  the 
suggestion  of  some  sudden  and  violent  tempta- 
tion.] 

“ [That]  your  petitioners,  therefore,  consid- 
ering his  case  as,  in  some  of  its  circumstances, 
mprecedented  and  peculiar,  and  encouraged  by 
your  majesty's  known  clemency , [they]  most 
humbly  recommend  the  said  William  Dodd  to 
[his]  your  majesty’s  most  gracious  consideration, 
in  hopes  that  he  will  be  found  not  altogether  [un- 
fit] unworthy  to  stand  an  example  of  royal  mer- 
cy.”— Boswell.  [Tt  does  seem  that  these  few 

alterations  were  amendments. — Ed.] 

1 His  speech  at  the  old  Bailey  when  found  guil- 
‘y. — Boswell. 


has  been  to  me.  I experience,  every  hour, 
some  good  effect  from  it.  I am  sure  that 
effects  sti  . more  salutary  and  important 
must  follow'  from  your  kind  and  intended 
favour.  I will  labour — God  being  my  help- 
er— to  do  justice  to  it  from  the  pulpit.  J 
am  sure,  had  I your  sentiments  constantly 
to  deliver  from  thence,  in  all  their  mighty 
force  and  power,  not  a soul  could  be"  left 
unconvinced  and  unpersuaded.  ***** 

“ May  God  Almighty  bless  and  reward, 
with  his  choicest  comforts,  your  philan- 
thropick  actions,  and  enable  me  at  all  times 
to  express  what  I feel  of  the  high  and  un- 
common obligations  which  I owe  to  the 
first  man  in  our  times.” 

On  Sunday,  June  22,  he  writes,  begging 
Dr.  Johnson’s  assistance  in  framing  a sup- 
plicatory letter  to  his  majesty: 

“ If  his  majesty  could  be  moved  of  his 
royal  clemency  to  spare  me  and  my  family 
the  horrours  and  ignominy  of  a publick 
death , which  the  publick  itself  is  solicitous 
to  wave,  and  to  grant  me  in  some  silent  dis- 
tant corner  of  the  globe  to  pass  the  remain- 
der of  my  days  in  penitence  and  prayer,  I 
would  bless  his  clemency  and  be  humbled.” 

This  letter  wTas  brought  to  Dr.  Johnson 
when  in  church.  He  stooped  down  and 
read  it 2,  and  wrote,  when  he  went  home, 
the  following  letter  for  Dr.  Dodd  to  the 
king: 

“ Sir, — May  it  not  offend  your  majesty, 
that  the  most  miserable  of  men  applies  him- 
self to  your  clemency,  as  his  last  hope  and 
his  last  refuge;  that  your  mercy  is  most  ear- 
nestly and  humbly  implored  by  a clergy- 
man, whom,  your  laws  and  judges  have 
condemned  to  the  horrour  and  ignominy  of 
a publick  execution. 

“ I confess  the  crime,  and  own  the  enor- 
mity of  its  consequences,  and  the  danger  of 
its  example.  Nor  have  I the  confidence  to 
petition  for  impunity;  but  humbly  hopi  , 
that  publick  security  may  be  established, 
without  the  spectacle  of  a clergyman  drag- 
ged through  the  streets,  to  a death  of  infa- 
my, amidst  the  derision  of  the  profligate 
and  profane;  and  that  justice  may  be  satis- 
fied with  irrevocable  exile,  perpetual  dis- 
grace, and  hopeless  penury. 

“ My  life,  sir,  has  not  been  useless  to 
mankind.  I have  benefited  many.  But 
my  offences  against  God  are  numberless, 
and  I have  had  little  time  for  repentance. 
Preserve  me,  sir,  by  your  prerogative  of 
mercy,  from  the  necessity  of  appearing  un- 
prepared at  that  tribunal,  before  which 
kings  and  subjects  must  stand  at  last  to 
gether.  Permit  me  to  hide  my  guilt  in 

2 [He  afterwards  expressed  a hope  that  tins  de- 
viation from  the  duties  of  the  place  would  be  for 
given  him. — Ed.] 


1777.— vETAT.  68. 


107 


some  obscure  corner  of  a foreign  country, 
where,  if  I can  ever  attain  confidence  to 
hope  that  my  prayers  will  be  heard,  they 
snail  be  poured  with  all  the  fervour  of  grat- 
itude for  the  life  and  happiness  of  your  ma- 
jesty.— I am,  sir,  your  majesty’s,  &c.” 

Subjoined  to  it  was  written  as  follows: 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  DR.  DODD. 

‘Sir, — I most  seriously  enjoin  you  not 

0 let  it  be  at  all  known  that  I have  written 
this  letter,  and  to  return  the  copy  to  Mr. 
Allen  in  a cover  to  me.  I hope  I need  not 
tell  you  that  I wish  it  success.  But  do  not 
indulge  hope.  Tell  nobody.” 

It  happened  luckily  that  Mr.  Allen  was 
pitched  on  to  assist  in  this  melancholy  of- 
fice, for  he  was  a great  friend  of  Mr.  Aker- 
man,  the  keeper  of  Newgate.  Dr.  John- 
son never  went  to  see  Dr.  Dodd.  He  said 
to  me,  “ It  would  have  done  him  more  harm 
than  good  to  Dodd,  who  once  expressed  a 
desire  to  see  him,  but  not  earnestly.” 

Dr.  Johnson,  on  the  20th  of  June,  wrote 
the  following  letter : 

ccTO  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE  CHARLES 
JENKTNSON. 

cc  Sir, — Since  the  conviction  and  con- 
demnation of  Dr.  Dodd,  I have  had,  by  the 
intervention  of  a friend,  some  intercourse 
with  him,  and  I am  sure  I shall  lose  nothing 
in  your  opinion  by  tenderness  and  commis- 
eration. Whatever  be  the  crime,  it  is  not 
easy  to  have  any  knowledge  of  the  delin- 
quent, without  a wish  that  his  life  may  be 
spared;  at  least  when  no  life  has  been  taken 
away  by  him.  I will,  therefore,  take  the 
liberty  of  suggesting  some  reasons  for  which 

1 wish  this  unhappy  being  to  escape  the  ut- 
most rigour  of  his  sentence. 

“ He  is,  so  far  as  I can  recollect,  the  first 
clergyman  of  our  church  who  has  suffered 
publick  execution  for  immorality;  and  I 
know  not  whether  it  would  not  be  more  for 
the  interests  of  religion  to  bury  such  an  of- 
fender in  the  obscurity  of  perpetual  exile, 
than  to  expose  him  in  a cart,  and  on  the 
gallows,  to  all  who  for  any  reason  are  ene- 
mies to  the  clergy. 

“ The  supreme  power  has,  in  all  ages, 
paid  some  attention  to  the  voice  of  the  peo- 
ple; and  that  voice  does  not  least  deserve 
to  be  heard  when  it  calls  out  for  mercy. 
There  is  now  a very  general  desire  that 
Dodd’s  life  should  be  spared.  More  is  not 
wished;  and,  perhaps,  this  is  not  too  much 
to  be  granted. 

“ If  you,  sir,  have  any  opportunity  of  en 
forcing  these  reasons,  you  may,  perhaps, 
think  them  worthy  of  consideration:  but 
whatever  you  determine,  I most  respectfully  [ 
entreat  that  you  will  be  pleased  to  pardon  i 


for  this  intrusion,  sir,  your  most  obedient 
and  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

It  has  been  confidently  circulated,  with 
invidious  remarks,  that  to  this  letter  no  at- 
tention whatever  was  paid  by  Mr.  Jenkin 
son  (afterwards  Earl  of  Liverpool),  and 
that  he  did  not  even  deign  to  show  the 
common  civility  of  owning  the  receipt  of  it. 
I could  not  but  wonder  at  such  conduct  in 
the  noble  lord,  whose  own  character  and 
just  elevation  in  life,  I thought,  must  have 
impressed  him  with  all  due  regard  for  great 
abilities  and  attainments.  As  the  story 
had  been  much  talked  of*,  and  apparently 
from  good  authority,  I could  not  but  have 
animadverted  upon  it  in  this  work,  had  it 
been  as  was  alleged;  but  from  my  earnest 
love  of  truth,  and  having  found  reason  to 
think  that  there  might  be  a mistake,  I pre- 
sumed to  write  to  his  lordship,  requesting 
an  explanation;  and  it  is  with  the  sincerest 
pleasure  that  I am  enabled  to  assure  the 
world  that  there  is  no  foundation  for  it,  the 
fact  being,  that  owing  to  some  neglect,  or 
accident,  Johnson’s  letter  never  came  to 
Lord  Liverpool’s  hands.  I should  have 
thought  it  strange  indeed,  if  that  noble  lord 
had  undervalued  my  illustrious  friend  ];  but 
instead  of  this  being  the  case,  his  lordship, 
in  the  very  polite  answer  with  which  he  was 
pleased  immediately  to  honour  me,  thus  ex- 
presses himself:  c£  I have  always  respected 
the  memory  of  Dr.  Johnson,  and  admire  his 
writings;  and  I frequently  read  many  parts 
of  them  with  pleasure  and  great  improve- 
ment.” 

All  applications  for  the  royal  mercy  hav- 
ing failed,  Dr.  Dodd  prepared  himself  for 
death;  and,  with  a warmth  of  gratitude, 
wrote  to  Dr.  Johnson  as  follows: 

“ 25th  June,  midnight 

“ Accept,  thou  great  and  good  heart,  my 
earnest  and  fervent  thanks  and  prayers  for 
all  thy  benevolent  and  kind  efforts  in  my 
behalf. — Oh!  Dr.  Johnson!  as  I sought 
your  knowledge  at  an  early  hour  in  life, 
would  to  Heaven  I had  cultivated  the  love 
and  acquaintance  of  so  excellent  a man  ! — I 
pray  God  most  sincerely  to  bless  you  with 


1 [It  would  not  be  suprising  if  it  had  been  so 
treated.  Mr.  Jenkinson  was  at  this  time  Secretary 
at  War,  and  was  obnoxious  to  popular  odium 
from  an  unfounded  imputation  of  being  the  chan- 
nel of  a secret  influence  over  the  king.  To  request, 
therefore,  his  influence  with  the  king  on  a matter 
so  wholly  foreign  to  his  duties  and  station  was  a 
kind  of  verification  of  the  slander; — and  however 
Lord  Liverpool’s  prudence  may  have  inclined  him, 
at  a subsequent  period,  to  answer  Mr.  Boswell’s 
inquiries,  there  seems  to  be  some  reason  why  he 
should  have  been  offended  at  the  liberty  taken  with 
him  by  I)r.  Johnson. — Ed.] 


108 


1777.— AETAT.  68. 


the.  highest  transports — the  infelt  satisfac- 
tion of  humane  and  benevolent  exertions ! 
-•And  admitted,  as  I trust  I shall  be,  to  the 
realms  of  bliss  before  you,  I shall  hail  your 
arrival  there  with  transports,  and  rejoice  to 
acknowledge  that  you  was  my  comforter, 
my  advocate,  and  my  frimd ! God  be  ever 
with  you!” 

Dr.  Johnson  lastly  wrote  to  Dr.  Dodd 
this  solemn  and  soothing  letter: 

“TO  THE  REVEREND  DR.  DODD. 

“ 26th  June,  1777. 

££  Dear  sir, — That  which  is  appointed 
to  all  men  is  now  coming  upon  you.  Out- 
ward circumstances,  the  eyes  and  the 
thoughts  of  men,  are  below  the  notice  of 
an  immortal  being  about  to  stand  the  trial 
for  eternity,  before  the  Supreme  Judge  of 
neaven  and  earth.  Be  comforted : your 
crime,  morally  or  religiously  considered, 
has  no  very  deep  dye  of  turpitude.  It  cor- 
rupted no  man’s  principles;  it  attacked  no 
man’s  life.  It  involved  only  a temporary 
and  reparable  injury.  Of  this,  and  of  all 
other  sins,  you  are  earnestly  to  repent;  and 
may  God,  who  knoweth  our  frailty,  and 
desireth  not  our  death,  accept  your  repen- 
tance, for  the  sake  of  his  son  Jesus  Christ, 
our  Lord! 

“In  requital  of  those  well-intended  offices 
which  you  are  pleased  so  emphatically  to 
acknowledge,  let  me  beg  that  you  make  in 
your  devotions  one  petition  for  my  eternal 
welfare. — I am,  dear  sir,  your  most  affec- 
tionate servant,  ££  Sam.  Johnson.” 

Under  the  copy  of  this  letter  I found 
written,  in  Johnson’s  own  hand,  ££  Next 
day,  June  27,  he  was  executed.” 
Recoil  [That  Dr.  Johnson  should  have 
desired  one  prayer  from  Dr.  Dodd, 
who  was  himself  such  an  atrocious  offender, 
has  been  very  much  condemned;  but  we 
ought  to  consider,  that  Di.  Johnson  might, 
perhaps,  have  had  sufficient  reason  to  be- 
lieve Dodd  to  be  a sincere  penitent,  which, 
indeed,  was  the  case;  and,  besides,  his  mind 
was  so  softened  with  pity  and  compassion 
for  him,  so  impressed  with  the  awful  idea 
of  his  situation,  the  last  evening  of  his  life, 
that  he  probably  did  not  think  of  his  former 
transgressions,  or  thought,  perhaps,  that  he 
ought  not  to  remember  them,  when  the  of- 
fender was  so  soon  to  appear  before  the  Su- 
preme Judge  of  heaven  and  earth. 

Dr.  Johnson  told  Miss  Reynolds  that 
Dodd,  on  reading  this  letter,  gave  it  into 
the  hands  of  his  wife,  with  a strong  injunc- 
tion never  to  part  with  it;  that  he  had  slept 
during  the  night,  and  when  he  awoke  in  the 
morning,  he  did  no*  immediately  recollect 
that  he  was  to  suffer,  and  when  he  did,  he 
expressed  the  utmost  horrour  and  agony  of 


mind — outrageously  vehement  in  his  speech 
and  in  his  looks — till  he  went  into  the  chap 
el,  and  on  his  coming  out  of  it  his  face  ex- 
pressed the  most  angelic  peace  and  compo- 
sure.] 

[Johnson  was  deeply  concerned 
at  the  failure  of  the  petitions;  and  *29-30' P 
asked  Sir  J.  Hawkins  at  the  time, 
if  the  request  contained  in  them  was  not 
such  an  one  as  ought  to  have  been  granted 
to  the  prayer  of  twenty  three  thousand  sub- 
jects: to  which  Hawkins  answered,  that  the 
subscription  of  popular  petitions  was  a 
thing  of  course,  and  that,  therefore,  the 
difference  between  twenty  and  twenty  thou- 
sand names  was  inconsiderable.  He  further 
censured  the  clergy  very  severely,  for  not 
interposing  in  his  behalf,  and  said,  ££  that 
their  inactivity  arose  from  a paltry  fear  of 
being  reproached  with  partiality  towards 
one  of  their  own  order.” 

But  although  he  thus  actively  assisted  in 
the  solicitations  for  pardon,  yet,  in  his  pri- 
vate judgment,  he  thought  Dodd  unworthy 
of  it;  having  been  known  to  say,  that  had 
he  been  the  adviser  of  the  king,  he  should 
have  told  him  that,  in  pardoning  Dodd,  his 
justice,  in  consigning  the  Perreaus  1 to  their 
sentence,  would  have  been  called  in  ques- 
tion.] 

To  conclude  this  interesting  episode  with 
an  useful  application,  let  us  now  attend  to 
the  reflections  of  Johnson  at  the  end  of  the 
££  Occasional  Papers,”  concerning  the  un 
fortunate  Dr.  Dodd. 

££  Such  were  the  last  thoughts  of  a man 
whom  we  have  seen  exulting  in  popularity 
and  sunk  in  shame.  For  his  reputation, 
which  no  man  can  give  to  himself,  those 
who  conferred  it  are  to  answer.  Of  his 
publick  ministry  the  means  of  judging  were 
sufficiently  attainable.  * He  must  be  allowed 
to  preach  well,  whose  sermons  strike  his  au- 
dience with  forcible  conviction.  Of  his  life, 
those  who  thought  it  consistent  with  his 
doctrine  did  not  originally  form  false  no 
tions.  He  was  at  first  what  he  endeavour 
ed  to  make  others;  but  the  world  broke 
down  his  resolution,  and  he  in  time  ceased 
to  exemplify  his  own  instructions. 

££  Let  those  who  are  tempted  to  his  fault?' 
tremble  at  his  punishment;  and  those  whom 
he  impressed  from  the  pulpit  with  religious 
sentiments  endeavour  to  confirm  them,  by 
considering  the  regret  and  self-abhorrence 
with  which  he  reviewed  in  prison  his  devia- 
tions from  rectitude  2.” 

Johnson  gave  us  this  evening,  in  his 
happy  discriminative  manner,  a portrait  of 
the  late  Mr.  Fitzherbert3  of  Derbyshire. 


1 [See  ante , p.  38. — Ed.] 

2 See  Dr.  Johnson’s  final  opinion  concerning 
Dr.  Dodd,  sub  April  18,  1783. — Malone. 

3 [See  ante , v.  i.  p.  29,  and  407,  n. — Ed.] 


1777  -/ETAT.  68. 


109 


w There  was/'*  said  he,  ££  no  sparkle,  no 
brilliancy  in  Fitzherbert;  but  I never  knew 
a man  who  was  so  generally  acceptable. 
He  made  every  body  quite  easy,  overpow- 
ered nobody  by  the  superiority  of  his  talents, 
made  no  man  think  worse  of  himself  by  be- 
ing his  rival,  seemed  always  to  listen,  did 
not  oblige  you  to  hear  much  from  him,  and 
did  not  oppose  what  you  said.  Every  body 
liked  him;  but  he  had  no  friends,  as  I un- 
derstand the  word,  nobody  with  whom  he 
exchanged  intimate  thoughts.  People  were 
willing  to  think  well  of  every  thing  about 
him.  A gentleman  was  making  an  affect- 
ing rant,  as  many  people  do,  of  great  feel- 
ings about c his  dear  son,5  who  was  at  school 
near  London;  how  anxious  he  was  lest  he 
might  be  ill,  and  what  he  would  give  to  see 
him.  £ Can’t  you,5  said  Fitzherbert,  £ take 
a post-chaise  and  go  to  him?5  This,  to  be 
sure,  finished  the  affected  man,  but  there 
was  not  much  in  it  h However,  this  was 
circulated  as  wit  for  a whole  winter,  and  I 
believe  part  of  a summer  too;  a proof  that 
he  was  no  very  witty  man.  He  was  an  in- 
stance of  the  truth  of  the  observation,  that 
a man  will  please  more  upon  the  whole  by 
negative  qualities  than  by  positive;  by 
never  offending,  than  by  giving  a great 
deal  of  delight,  in  the  first  place,  men 
hate  more  steadily  than  they  love;  and  if  I 
have  said  something  to  hurt  a man  once,  I 
shall  not  get  the  better  of  this  by  saying 
many  things  to  please  him.55  [Of 
p10^’  Mrs.  Fitzherbert 2 he  always  spoke 
with  esteem  and  tenderness,  and 
with  a veneration  very  difficult  to  deserve. 
<£  That  woman,55  said  he,  ££  loved  her  hus- 
band as  we  hope  and  desire  to  be  loved  by 
our  guardian  angel.  Fitzherbert  was  a gay, 
good-humoured  fellow,  generous  of  his 
money  and  of  his  meat,  and  desirous  of 
nothing  but  good,  cheerful  society  among 
people  distinguished  in  some  way — in  any 
way,  I think;  for  Bousseau  and  St.  Austin 
would  have  been  equally  welcome  to  his  ta- 
ble and  to  his  kindness.  The  lady,  howev- 
er, was  of  another  way  of  thinking:  her 
first  care  was  to  preserve  her  husband’s 

1 Dr.  Gisborne,  physician  to  his  majesty’s 
Household,  has  obligingly  communicated  to  me  a 
fuller  account  of  this  story  than  had  reached  Dr. 
Johnson.  The  affected  gentleman  was  the  late 
John  Gilbert  Cooper,  Esq.  authour  of  a Life  of 
Socrates,  and  of  some  poems  in  Dodsley’s  collec- 
tion. Mr.  Fitzherbert  found  him  one  morning, 
apparently,  in  such  violent  agitation,  on  account 
of  the  indisposition  of  his  son,  as  to  seem  beyond 
the  power  of  comfort.  At  length,  however,  he 
exclaimed,  “ I ’ll  write  an  elegy.”  Mr.  Fitzher- 
bert, being  satisfied  by  this  of  the  sincerity  of  his 
emotions,  silly  said,  “ Had  not  you  better  take  a 
post-chaise,  and  go  and  see  him  ? ” It  was  the 
shrewdness  of  the  insinuation  which  made  the  sto- 
ry be  circulated. — Boswell. 

s [See  ante , v.  i.  p.  29. — En.] 


soul  from  corruption;  her  second  to  keep 
his  estate  entire  for  their  children:  and  I 
owed  my  good  reception  in  the  family  to  the 
idea  she  had  entertained,  that  I was  fit 
company  for  Fitzherbert  whom  I loved  ex- 
tremely. c They  dare  not,5  said  she, £ swear, 
and  take  other  conversation-liberties,  before 
yow.  5 55  Mrs.  Piozzi  asked  if  her  husband 

returned  her  regard.  ££  He  felt  her  influ- 
ence too  powerfully,55  replied  Dr.  Johnson: 
“ no  man  will  be  fond  of  what  forces  him 
daily  to  feel  himself  inferior.  She  stood  ai 
the  door  of  her  paradise  in  Derbyshire,  like 
the  angel  with  the  flaming  sword,  to  keep 
the  devil  at  a distance.  But  she  was  not 
immortal,  poor  dear ! she  died,  and  her  hus- 
band felt  at  once  afflicted  and  released.55 
Mrs.  Piozzi  inquired  if  she  was  handsome. 
££  She  would  have  been  handsome  for  a 
queen,55  replied  the  panegyrist:  “ her  beau- 
ty had  more  in  it  of  majesty  than  of  at- 
traction, more  of  the  dignity  of  virtue  than 
the  vivacity  of  wit.55  The  friend  of  this  lady, 
Miss  Boothby,  succeeded  her  in  the  man- 
agement of  Mr.  Fitzherbert’s  family,  and 
in  the  esteem  of  Dr.  Johnson;  ££  Though,55 
he  said, ££  she  pushed  her  piety  to  bigotry, 
her  devotion  to  enthusiasm;  that  she  some- 
what disqualified  herself  for  the  duties  of 
this  life  by  her  perpetual  aspirations  aftei 
the  next:”  such  was,  however,  the  purity 
of  her  mind,  he  said,  and  such  the  graces 
of  her  manner,  that  Lord  Lyttelton  and  h6 
used  to  strive  for  her  preference  with  an 
emulation  that  occasioned  hourly  disgust, 
and  ended  in  lasting  animosity.  ££  You  may 
see,55  said  he  to  Mrs.  Piozzi  when  the  Poets’ 
Lives  were  printed,  ££  that  dear  Boothby  is 
at  my  heart  still.  She  would  delight  in  that 
fellow  Lyttelton’s  company  in  spite  of  all 
that  I could  do;  and  I cannot  forgive  even 
his  memory  the  preference  given  by  a mind 
like  hers.55  Mrs.  Piozzi  heard  Baretti  say, 
that  when  this  lady  died,  Dr.  Johnson  was 
almost  distracted  with  his  grief;  and  that 
the  friends  about  him  had  much  ado  to 
calm  the  violence  of  his  emotions3.] 

Tuesday,  September  16,  Dr.  Johnson 
having  mentioned  to  me  the  extraordinary 
size  and  price  of  some  cattle  reared  by  Dr. 
Taylor,  I rode  out  with  our  host,  surveyed 
his  farm,  and  was  shown  one  cow  which  he. 
had  sold  for  a hundred  and  twenty  guineas, 
and  another  for  which  he  had  been  offered 
a hundred  and  thirty.  Taylor  thus  de- 
scribed to  me  his  old  school-fellow  and 
friend,  Johnson:  ££  He  is  a man  of  a very 
clear  head,  great  power  of  words,  and  a very 


3 [See,  on  the  subject  of  Miss  Boothby,  ante. , 
vol.  i.  p.  29,  and  post,  the  note  on  the  account  of 
the  Life  of  Lyttelton,  sub  1781,  where  the  attach 
ment  between  her  and  Dr.  Johnson  is  more  fully 
explained.  See  also  the  General  Appendix,  where 
a selection  of  the  lady’s  ietters  and  all  Dr.  .John 
•on’s  to  her  are  given. — Ei>.] 


110 


1777. — iETAT.  68 


gay  imaginat/on;  but  there  is  no  disputing 
with  him.  He  will  not  hear  you,  and,  hav- 
ing a louder  voice  than  you,  must  roar  you 
down.” 

In  the  afternoon  I tried  to  get  Dr.  John- 
son to  like  the  Poems  of  Mr.  Hamilton  of 
Bangour  t,  which  I had  brought  with  me. 
I had  been  much  pleased  with  them  at  a 
very  early  age : the  impression  still  remained 
on  my  mind;  it  was  confirmed  by  the  opin- 
ion of  my  friend  the  Honourable  Andrew 
Erskine,  himself  both  a good  poet  and  a 
good  critick,  who  thought  Hamilton  as  true 
a poet  as  ever  wrote,  and  that  his  not  hav- 
ing fame  was  unaccountable.  Johnson, 
upon  repeated  occasions,  while  I was  at 
Ashbourne,  talked  slightingly  of  Hamilton. 
He  said  there  was  no  power  of  thinking  in 
his  verses,  nothing  that  strikes  one,  nothing 
better  than  what  you  generally  find  in  mag- 
azines; and  that  the  highest  praise  they  de- 
served was,  that  they  were  very  well  for  a 
gentleman  to  hand  about  among  his  friends. 
He  said  the  imitation  of  Ne  sit  ancillce  tibi 
amor , &c.  was  too  solemn:  he  read  part  of 
it  at  the  beginning.  He  read  the  beautiful 
pathetick  song,  “ Ah,  the  poor  shepherd’s 
mournful  fate,”  and  did  not  seem  to  give 
attention  to  what  I had  been  used  to  think 
tender  elegant  strains,  but  laughed  at  the 
rhyme,  in  Scotch  pronunciation,  wishes 
and  blushes , reading  wushes — and  there  he 
stopped.  He  owned  that  the  epitaph  on 
Lord  Newhall  was  pretty  well  done.  He 
read  the  “ Inscription  in  a Summer-house,” 
and  a little  of  the  Imitations  of  Horace’s 
Epistles;  but  said  he  found  nothing  to  make 
him  desire  to  read  on.  When  I urged  that 
there  were  some  good  poetical  passages  in 
the  book,  “ Where,”  said  he,  “ will  you 
find  so  large  a collection  without  some?  ” 
I thought  the  description  of  Winter  might 
obtain  his  approbation: 

“ See  Winter,  from  the  frozen  north, 

Drives  his  iron  chariot  forth! 

His  grisly  hand  in  icy  chains 

Fair  Tweeda’s  silver  flood  constrains,”  &c. 

He  asked  why  an  “ iron  chariot?  ” and  said 
“ icy  chains  ” was  an  old  image.  I was 
struck  with  the  uncertainty  of  taste,  and 
somewhat  sorry  that  a poet  whom  I had 
long  read  with  fondness  was  not  approved 
by  Dr.  Johnson.  I comforted  myself  with 
thinking  that  the  beauties  were  too  delicate 
for  his  robust  perceptions.  Garrick  main- 
tained that  he  had  not  a taste  for  the  finest 
productions  of  genius:  but  I was  sensible, 
that  when  he  took  the  trouble  to  analyse 
critically,  he  generally  convinced  us  that  he 
was  right. 

In  the  evening  the  Reverend  Mr.  Seward, 
of  Lichfield,  who  was  passing  through  Ash- 
bourne in  his  way  home,  drank  tea  with  us. 


Johnson  described  him  thus:  “ Sii,  his  am- 
bition is  to  be  a fine  talker;  so  he  goes  to 
Buxton,  and  such  places,  where  he  may 
find  companies  to  listen  to  him.  And,  sir, 
he  is  a valetudinarian,  one  of  those  who  are 
always  mending  themselves.  I do  not  know 
a more  disagreeable  character  than  a vale- 
tudinarian, who  thinks  he  may  do  any  thing 
that  is  for  his  ease  2 3,  and  indulges  himself* 
in  the  grossest  freedoms  • sir,  he  brings  him 
self  to  the  state  of  a hog  in  a sty.” 

Dr.  Taylor’s  nose  happening  to  bleed,  he 
said  it  was  because  he  had  omitted  to  have 
himself  blooded  four  days  after  a quarter  of 
a year’s  interval.  Dr.  Johnson,  who  was 
a great  dabbler  in  phvsick,  disapproved 
much  of  periodical  bleeding.  “ For,’’  said 
he,  “ you  accustom  yourself  to  an  evacua- 
tion which  nature  cannot  perform  of  herself, 
and  therefore  she  cannot  help  you,  should 
you  from  forgetfulness  or  any  other  cause 
omit  it;  so  you  may  be  suddenly  suffocated. 
You  may  accustom  yourself  to  other  period- 
ical evacuations,  because,  should  you  omit 
them,  nature  can  supply  the  omission;  but 
nature  cannot  open  a vein  to  blood  youa.” 
“ I do  not  like  to  take  an  emetick,”  said 
Taylor,  “for  fear  of  breaking  some  small 
vessels.”  “ Poh!”  said  Johnson,  “ if  you 
have  so  many  things  that  will  break,  you 
had  better  break  your  neck  at  once,  and 
there ’s  an  end  on ’t.  You  will  break  no 
small  vessels  ” (blowing  with  high  derision). 
[Though  Dr.  Johnson  was  common- 
ly affected  even  to  agony  at  the  p10“b 
thoughts  of  a friend’s  dying,  he 
troubled  himself  very  little  with  the  com 
plaints  they  might  make  to  him  about  ill 
health.  “ Dear  Doctor,”  said  he  one  day 
to  a common  acquaintance  4 * *,  who  lamented 
the  tender  state  of  his  inside , “ do  not  be 
like  the  spider,  and  spin  conversation  thus 
incessantly  out  of  thy  own  bowels.”] 

I mentioned  to  Dr.  Johnson,  that  David 
Hume’s  persisting  in  his  infidelity  when  he 
was  dying  shocked  me  much.  Johnson. 
“ Why  should  it  shock  you,  sir?  Hume 
owned  he  had  never  read  the  New  Testa- 
ment with  attention.  Here  then  was  a 
man  who  had  been  at  no  pains  to  inquire 
into  the  truth  of  religion,  and  had  continu- 
ally turned  his  mind  the  other  way.  It 
was  not  to  be  expected  that  the  prospect  of 
death  would  alter  his  way  of  thinking,  un- 
less God  should  send  an  angel  to  set  him 
right.”  I said  I had  reason  to  believe  that 
the  thought  of  annihilation  gave  Hume 
no  pain.  Johnson.  “ It  was  not  so,  sir. 


2 [See  ante,  p.  49,  27th  March,  1776.- 
Ed.] 

3 [Nature,  however,  may  supply  the  evacuation 
by  an  hemorrhage.  — Kearney.] 

4 [Dr.  Delap  of  Lowes.  S ee  ante,  vol.  L p. 

222;  but  it  is  theie  incorrectly  stated  that  he  wat 

rector  of  Leaves  ; he  on’y  rr  sided  there. — Ed  ] 


1 [See  ante,  y.  i.  p.  334. — Ed.] 


1777.— /ET AT.  68. 


11 


He  had  a vanity  in  beinfe  thought  easy.  It 
is  more  probable  that  he  should  assume  an 
appearance  of  ease,  than  that  so  very  im- 
probable a thing  should  be,  as  a man  not 
afraid  of  going  (as,  in  spite  of  his  delusive 
theory,  he  cannot  be  sure  but  he  may  go) 
into  an  unknown  state,  and  not  being  un- 
easy at  leaving  all  he  knew.  And  you  are 
to  consider,  that  upon  his  own  principle  of 
annihilation  he  had  no  motive  to  speak  the 
Hawk,  truth.”  [He  would  never  hear 
Apopk.  Hume  mentioned  with  any  temper. 
p.205.  a ^ man,”  said  he,  “ who  endeav- 
oured to  persuade  his  friend,  who  had  the 
stone,  to  shoot  himself ! ”]  The  horrour 
of  death,  which  I had  always  observed  in 
Dr.  Johnson,  appeared  strong  to-night.  I 
ventured  to  tell  him,  that  I had  been,  for 
moments  in  my  life,  not  afraid  of  death; 
therefore  I could  suppose  another  man  in 
that  state  of  mind  for  a considerable  space 
of  time.  He  said,  “ he  never  had  a moment 
in  which  death  was  not  terrible  to  him.” 
He  added,  that  it  had  been  observed,  that 
scarce  any  man  dies  in  publick  but  with  ap- 
parent resolution;  from  that  desire  of  praise 
which  never  quits  us.  I said,  Dr.  Dodd 
seemed  to  be  willing  to  die,  and  full  of 
hopes  of  happiness,  “ Sir,”  said  he,  “ Dr. 
Dodd  would  have  given  both  his  hands  and 
both  his  legs  to  have  lived.  The  better  a 
man  is,  the  more  afraid  is  he  of  death,  hav- 
ing a clearer  view  of  infinite  purity.”  He 
owned,  that  our  being  in  an  unhappy  un- 
certainty as  to  our  salvation  was  mysterious; 
and  said,  “Ah!  we  must  wait  till  we  are 
in  another  state  of  being  to  have  many 
things  explained  to  us.”  Even  the  power- 
ful mind  of  Johnson  seemed  foiled  by  futu- 
rity. But  I thought,  that  the  gloom  of  un- 
certainty in  solemn  religious  speculation, 
being  mingled  with  hope,  was  yet  more 
consolatory  than  the  emptiness  of  infidelity. 
A man  can  live  in  thick  air,  but  perishes  in 
an  exhausted  receiver. 

Dr.  Johnson  was  much  pleased  with  a re- 
mark which  I told  him  was  made  to  me  by 
General  Paoli:  “ That  it  is  impossible  not 
to  be  afraid  of  death;  and  that  those  who 
at  the  time  of  dying  are  not  afraid,  are  not 
thinking  of  death,  but  of  applause,  or  some- 
thing else,  which  keeps  death  out  of  their 
sight:  so  that  all  men  are  equally  afraid  of 
death  when  they  see  it;  only  some  have  a 
power  of  turning  their  sight  away  from  it 
better  than  others.” 

On  Wednesday,  September  17,  Dr.  But- 
ter, physician  at  Derby,  drank  tea  with 
us;  and  it  was  settled  that  Dr.  Johnson  and 
I should  go  on  Friday  and  dine  with  him. 
Johnson  said,  “ I am  glad  of  this.”  He 
seemed  weary  of  the  uniformity  of  life  at 
Dr.  Taylor’s. 

Talking  of  biography,  I said,  in  writing 
a life,  a man’s  peculiarities  should  be  men- 
ti  ned,  aecause  they  mark  his  character. 


Johnson.  “ Sir,  there  is  no  doubt  as  to 
peculiarities:  the  question  is,  whether  a 
man’s  vices  should  be  mentioned;  for  in- 
stance, whether  it  should  be  mentioned  that 
Addison  and  Parnell  drank  too  freely;  for 
people  will  probably  more  easily  indulge 
in  drinking  from  knowing  this;  so  that 
more  ill  may  be  done  by  the  example,  than 
good  by  telling  the  whole  truth.”  Here 
was  an  instance  of  his  varying  from  him 
self  in  talk;  for  when  Lord  Hailes  and  he 
sat  one  morning  calmly  conversing  in  my 
house  at  Edinburgh,  I well  remember  that 
Dr.  Johnson  maintained,  that  “ If  a man  is 
to  write  a Panegyrick,  he  may  keep  vices 
out  of  sight;  but  if  he  professes  to  write  a 
Life,  he  must  represent  it  really  as  it  was:  ” 
and  when  I objected  to  the  danger  of  telling 
that  Parnell  drank  to  excess,  he  said,  that 
“ it  would  produce  an  instructive  caution 
to  avoid  drinking,  when  it  was  seen,  that 
even  the  learning  and  genius  of  Parnell 
could  be  debased  by  it.”  And  in  the  Heb- 
rides he  maintained,  as  appears  from  the 
“ Journal  that  a man’s  intimate  friend 
should  mention  his  faults,  if  he  writes  his 
life. 

[On  another  occasion,  when  ac-  Hawk 
cused  of  mentioning  ridiculous  an-  Apoph 
ecdotes  in  the  “ Lives  of  the  Po-  p'  193 
ets,”  he  said,  he  should  not  have  been  an 
exact  biographer  if  he  had  omitted  them. 
“ The  business  of  such  a one,”  said  he,  “ is 
to  give  a complete  account  of  the  person 
whose  life  he  is  writing,  and  to  discriminate 
him  from  all  other  persons  by  any  peculian- 
ties  of  character  or  sentiment  he  may  hap- 
pen to  have.”] 

He  had  this  evening,  partly,  I suppose, 
from  the  spirit  of  contradiction  to  his  whig 
friend,  a violent  argument  with  Dr.  Tay- 
lor, as  to  the  inclinations  of  the  people  of 
England  at  this  time  towards  the  Royal 
Family  of  Stuart.  He  grew  so  outrageous 
as  to  say,  “ that  if  England  were  fairly 
polled,  the  present  king  would  be  sent  away 
to-night,  and  his  adherents  hanged  to-mor 
row.”  Taylor,  who  was  as  violent  a whig 
as  Johnson  was  a tory,  was  roused  by  this 
to  a pitch  of  bellowing.  He  denied  loudly 
what  Johnson  said;  and  maintained  that 
there  was  an  abhorrence  against  the  Stuart 
family,  though  he  admitted  that  the  people 
were  not  much  attached  to  the  present 
king1 2.  Johnson.  “ Sir,  the  state  of  the 


1 Ante,  vol.  i.  p.  403,  22d  Sept.  1773. — Bos 

WELL. 

2 Dr.  Taylor  was  very  ready  to  make  this  ad 
mission,  because  the  party  with  which  he  was 
connected  was  not  in  power.  There  was  tl  on 
some  truth  in  it,  owing  to  the  pertinacity  of  f c 
tious  clamour.  Had  he  lived  till  now,  it.  would 
have  been  impossible  for  him  to  deny  that  hu 
majesty  possesses  the  warmest  affection  of  his  peo 
pie. — Boswell. 


112 


1777.  -A2TAT.  68. 


country  is  tin’s : the  people,  knowing  it  to 
be  agreed  on  all  hands  tha . this  king  has 
not  the  hereditary  right  to  the  crown,  and 
.here  being  no  hope  that  he  who  has  it  can 
De  restored,  have  grown  cold  and  indifferent 
upon  the  subject  of  loyalty,  and  have  no 
warm  attachment  to  any  king.  They  would 
not,  therefore,  risk  any  thing  to  restore  the 
exiled  family.  They  would  not  give  twen- 
ty shillings  a-piece  to  bring  it  about.  But 
if  a mere  vote  could  do  it,  there  would  be 
twenty  to  one;  at  least  there  would  be  a 
very  great  majority  of  voices  for  it.  For, 
sir,  you  are  to  consider,  that  all  those  who 
think  a king  has  a right  to  his  crown  as  a 
man  has  to  his  estate,  which  is  the  just 
opinion,  would  be  for  restoring  the  king 
who  certainly  has  the  hereditary  right, 
could  he  be  trusted  with  it;  in  which  there 
would  be  no  danger  now,  when  laws  and 
every  thing  else  are  so  much  advanced : and 
every  king  will  govern  by  the  laws.  And 
you  must  also  consider,  sir,  that  there  is 
nothing  on  the  other  side  to  oppose  to  this : 
for  it  is  not  alleged  by  any  one  that  the 
present  family  has  any  inherent  right:  so 
that  the  whigs  could  not  have  a contest  be- 
tween two  rights.” 

Dr.  Taylor  admitted,  that  if  the  question 
as  to  hereditary  right  were  to  be  tried  by  a 
poll  of  the  people  of  England,  to  be  sure 
the  abstract  doctrine  would  be  given  in  fa- 
vour of  the  family  of  Stuart;  but  he  said, 
the  conduct  of  that  family,  which  occasion- 
ed their  expulsion,  wTas  so  fresh  in  the 
minds  of  the  people,  that  they  would  not 
vote  for  a restoration  Dr.  Johnson,  I 
think,  was  contented  with  the  admission  as 
to  the  hereditary  right,  leaving  the  original 
point  in  dispute,  viz.  what  the  people  upon 
the  whole  would  do,  taking  in  right  and  af- 
fection; for  he  said.,  people  were  afraid  of  a 
change,  even  though  they  think  it  right. 
Dr.  Taylor  said  something  of  the  slight 
foundation  of  the  hereditary  right  of  the 
house  of  Stuart.  c:  Sir,”  said  Johnson, 
“ the  house  of  Stuart  succeeded  to  the  full 
right  of  both  the  houses  of  York  and  Lan- 
caster, whose  common  source  had  the  un- 
disputed right.  A right  to  a throne  is  like 
a right  to  any  thing  else.  Possession  is 
sufficient,  where  no  better  right  can  be 
shown.  This  was  the  case  with  the  Royal 
Family  of  England,  as  it  is  now  with  the 
King  of  France:  for  as  to  the  first  begin- 
ning of  the  right  we  are  in  the  dark.” 
ed.  [But  though  thus  a tory,  and  al- 
most a jacobite,  Dr.  Johnson  was  not 
p.a504.  s0  besotted  in  his  notions,  as  to  abet 
what  is  called  the  patriarchial  scheme, 
as  delineated  by  Sir  Robert  Filmer  and  other 
writers  on  government;  nor,  with  others  of 
a more  sober  cast,  to  acquiesce  in  the  opin- 
ion that,  because  submission  to  governors 
is,  in  general  terms,  inculcated  in  the  Holy 
Scriptures,  the  resistance  of  tvrannv  and 


oppression  is,  in  all  cases,  unlawful:  he 
seemed  rather  to  adopt  the  sentiments  of 
Hooker  on  the  subject,  as  explained  by 
Hoadly,  and,  by  consequence,  to  look  on 
submission  to  lawful  authority  as  a moral 
obligation;  he,  therefore,  condemned  the 
conduct  of  James  the  Second  during  his 
short  reign;  and,  had  he  been  a subject  on 
that  weak  and  infatuated  monarch,  y/ould, 
Sir  John  Hawkins  was  persuaded,  have  re- 
sisted any  invasion  of  his  right,  or  unwar- 
rantable exertion  of  power,  with  the  same 
spirit  as  did  the  president  and  fellows  of 
Magdalen  college,  or  those  conscientious 
divines  the  seven  bishops.  This  disposi- 
tion, as  it  leads  to  whiggism,  one  would 
have  thought,  might  have  reconciled  him 
to  the  memory  of  James’s  successor,  whose 
exercise  of  the  regal  authority  among  us 
merited  better  returns  than  were  made  him; 
but,  it  had  no  such  effect:  he  never  spoke 
of  King  William  but  in  terms  of  reproach, 
and,  in  his  opinion  of  him,  seemed  to  adopt 
all  the  prejudices  of  jacobite  bigotry  and 
rancour.  He,  however,  was  not  so  unjust 
to  the  minister  who  most  essentially  con 
tributed  to  the  establishment  of  the 
reigning  family.  Of  Sir  Robert  p^14 
Walpole,  notwithstanding  that  he 
had  written  against  him  in  the  early  part  of 
his  life,  he  had  a high  opinion : he  said  of 
him,  that  he  was  a fine  fellow,  and  that  his 
enemies  deemed  him  so  before  his  death  : 
he  honoured  his  memory  for  having  kept 
this  country  in  peace  many  years,  as  also 
for  the  goodness  and  placability  of  his  tem 
per;  of  which  Pulteney,  earl  of  Bath, 
thought  so  highly,  that,  in  a conversation 
with  Johnson,  he  said,  that  Sir  Robert  was 
of  a temper  so  calm  and  equal,  and  so  hard 
to  be  provoked,  that  he  was  very  sure  he 
never  felt  the  bitterest  invectives  against 
him  for  half  an  hour.  To  the  same  pur- 
pose Johnson  related  the  following  anec- 
dote, which  he  said  he  had  from  Lord 
North:  Sir  Robert  having  got  into  his 
hands  some  treasonable  letters  of  his  invet- 
erate enemy,  Will.  Shippen,  one  of  the 
heads  of  the  jacobite  faction,  he  sent  foi 
him,  and  burned  them  before  his  face 
Some  time  afterwards,  Shippen  had  occa 
sion  to  tfike  the  oaths  to  the  government  in 
the  house  of  commons,  which,  while  he 
was  doing,  Sir  Robert,  who  stood  next  him. 
and  knew  his  principles  to  be  the  same  as 
ever,  smiled:  “ Egad,  Robin,”  said  Ship 
pen,  who  had  observed  him,  “ that ’s  hardly 
fair.” 

To  party  opposition  Dr.  Johnson 
ever  expressed  great  aversion;  and, 
of  the  pretences  of  patriots,  always  1 ‘ 
spoke  with  indignation  and  contempt.  He 
partook  of  the  short-lived  joy  that  infatuated 
the  public,  when  Sir  Robert  Walpole  ceas- 
ed to  have  the  direction  of  the  national 
councils,  and  trusted  to  the  professions  of 


1777.— jETAT.  68. 


115 


Mr.  Pulteney  and  his  adherents,  who  called 
'themselves  the  country-party,  that  all  elec- 
tions should  thenceforward  be  free  a*id  un- 
influenced, and  that  bribery  and  corruption, 
which  were  never  practised  but  by  cour- 
tiers and  their  agents,  should  be  no  more. 
A few  weeks,  nay,  a few  days,  convinced 
Johnson,  and  indeed  all  England,  that  what 
had  assumed  the  appearance  of  patriotism, 
was  personal  hatred  and  inveterate  malice 
in  some,  and  in  others,  an  ambition  for  that 
power,  which,  when  they  had  got  it,  they 
knew  not  how  to  exercise.  A change  of 
men,  and  in  some  respect  of  measures,  took 
place:  Mr.  Pulteney’s  ambition  was  grati- 
fied by  a peerage;  the  wants  of  his  asso- 
ciates were  relieved  by  places,  and  seats  at 
the  public  boards;  and,  in  a short  time,  the 
stream  of  government  resumed  its  former 
channel,  and  ran  with  a current  as  even  as 
it  had  ever  done. 

Upon  this  developement  of  the  motives, 
the  views,  and  the  consistency  of  the  above- 
mentioned  band  of  patriots , Johnson  once 
remarked  to  me,  that  it  had  given  more 
strength  to  government  than  all  that  had 
been  written  in  its  defence,  meaning  there- 
by, that  it  had  destroyed  all  confidence  in 
men  of  that  character.]- 

Thursday,  Sept.  18.  Last  night  Dr.  John- 
son had  proposed  that  the  crystal  lustre, 
or  chandelier,  in  Dr.  Taylor’s  large  room, 
should  be  lighted  up  some  time  or  other. 
Taylor  said  it  should  be  lighted  up  next 
night.  “ That  will  do  very  well,”  said  I, 
“ for  it  is  Dr.  Johnson’s  birthday.”.  When 
we  were  in  the  Isle  of  Sky,  Johnson  had 
desired  me  not  to  mention  his  birthday. 
He  did  not  seem  pleased  at  this  time  that  I 
mentioned  it,  and  said  (somewhat  sternly), 
“ he  would  not  have  the  lustre  lighted  the 
next  day.” 

Some  ladies,  who  had  been  present  yes- 
terday when  I mentioned  his  birthday,  came 
to  dinner  to-day,  and  plagued  him  uninten- 
tionally by  wishing  him  joy.  I know  not 
why  he  disliked  having  his  birthday  men- 
tioned, unless  it  were  that  it  reminded  him 
of  his  approaching  nearer  to  death,  of  which 
he  had  a constant  dread. 

Ed.  [His  letter  of  this  date  to  Mrs.  Thrale 
confirms  this  conjecture. 

[CCT0  MRS.  THRALE. 

“Ashbourne,  18th  Sept.  1777. 
Letters,  “ Here  is  another  birthday.  They 
voi.  i.  come  very  fast.  I am  now  sixty- 
p‘  370'  eight.  To  lament  the  past  is  vain; 
what  remains  is  to  look  for  hope  in  futuri- 
ty* . . 

<c  Boswell  is  with  us  in  good  humour, 
and  plays  his  part  with  his  usual  vivacity. 
We  are  to  go  in  the  doctor’s  vehicle  and 
dine  at  Derby  to-morrow. 

VOL.  ii.  15 


“ Do  you  know  any  thing  of  Bolt-court? 
Invite  Mr.  Levett  to  dinner,  and  make  in 
quiry  what  family  he  has,  and  how  they 
proceed.  I had  a letter  lately  from  Mrs. 
Williams ; Dr.  Lewis  visits  her,  and  has 
added  ipecacuanha  to  her  bark  : but  I dc 
not  hear  much  of  her  amendment.  Age  is 
a very  stubborn  disease.  Yet  Levett  sleeps 
sound  every  night.  I am  sorry  for  poor  Se- 
ward’s pain,  but  he  may  live  to  be  better. 

“ Mr.  [Middleton’s1]  erection  of  an  urn 
looks  like  an  intention  to  bury  me  alive  : 
I would  as  willingly  see  my  friend,  however 
benevolent  and  hospitable,  quietly  inurned. 
Let  him  think  for  the  present  of  some  more, 
acceptable  memorial.”] 

I mentioned  to  him  a friend  of  mine  who 
was  formerly  gloomy  from  low  spirits,  and 
much  distressed  by  the  fear  of  death,  but 
was  now  uniformly  placid,  and  contem- 
plated his  dissolution  without  any  pertur 
bation.  “ Sir,”  said  Johnson,  “ this  is  only 
a disordered  imagination  taking  a different 
turn.” 

We  talked  of  a collection  being  made  of 
all  the  English  poets  who  had  published  a 
volume  of  poems.  Johnson  told  me,  “ that 
a Mr.  Coxeter2,  whom  he  knew,  had  gone 
the  greatest  length  towards  this  ; having- 
collected,  I think,  about  five  hundred 
volumes  of  poets  whose  works  were  little 
known  ; but  that  upon  his  death  Tom  Os- 
borne bought  them,  and  they  were  dis- 
persed, which  he  thought  a pity,  as  it  was 
curious  to  see  any  series  complete  ; and  in 
every  volume  of  poems  something  good  may 
be  found.” 

He  observed,  that  a gentleman  of  emi- 
nence in  literature  had  got  into  a bad  style 
of  poetry  of  late.  “ He  puts,”  said  he,  “ a 
very  common  thing  in  a strange  dress,  till 
he  does  not  know  it  himself,  and  thinks  other 
people  do  not  know  it.”  Boswell.  “ That 
is  owing  to  his  being  so  much  versant  in  old 
English  poetry.”  Johnson.  “ What  is 
that  to  the  purpose,  sir  ? If  I say  a man  is 
drunk,  and  you  tell  me  it  is  owing  to  his 
taking  much  drink,  the  matter  is  not  mend- 
ed. No,  sir, 3 has  taken  to  an  odd 

mode.  For  example,  he ’d  write  thus 

* Hermit  hoar,  in  solemn  cell. 

Wearing  out  life’s  evening  gray.’ 


1 See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  490. — Ed  ) 

2 See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  222. — Ed.] 

3 [This  has  been  generally  supposed  to  have 
been  Dr.  Percy,  Bishop  of  Dromore;  but  the 
truth  is  that  Thomas  Warton  is  meant,  and  the 
parodies  were  intended  to  ridicule  the  style  of  his 
poenfs  published  in  1777.  The  first  lines  of  two 
of  his  best  known  odes  are  marked  with  that  kind 
of  inversion  which  Johnson  laughed  at  in  her 
mit  hoar  ” and  “ evening  gray.” 


114 


1777.— yETAT.  68. 


Grdfy  evening  is  common  enough  ; but 
evening  gray  he ’d  think  fine. — Stay ; — 
we  ’ll  make  out  the  stanza  : 

* Hewnit  hoar,  in  solemn  cell, 

Wearing  out  life’s  evening  gray 
Smite  thy  bosom,  sage,  and  tell, 

What  is  bliss  ? and  which  the  way  ?”* 
Boswell.  “ But  why  smite  his  bosom, 
sir  ? ” Johnson.  u Why  to  show  he  was 
m earnest,”  (smiling).  He  at  an  after 
period  added  the  following  stanza  : 

“ Thus  I spoke;  and  speaking  sigh’d; 

— Scarce  repress’d  the  starting  tear; — 
When  the  smiling  sage  replied — 

— Come,  my  lad,  and  drink  some  beer  V* 

I cannot  help  thinking  the  first  stanza  very 
good  solemn  poetry,  as  also  the  first  three 
lines  of  the  second.  Its  last  line  is  an  excellent 
burlesque  surprise  on  gloomy  sentimental  in- 
quiries. And,  perhaps,  the  advice  is  as  good 
as  can  be  given  to  a low-spirited  dissatisfied 
being  : — “ Do  n’t  trouble  your  head  with 
sickly  thinking  : take  a cup,  and  be  merry.” 
[He  had  on  the  first  appearance 
I>1°49-52  "W arton’s  poems  in  this  year  in- 

dulged himself  in  a similar  strain 
of  ridicule.  “ [Warton’s]  verses  are  come 
out,”  said  Mrs.  Thrale  : “Yes,”  replied 
Johnson,  “ and  this  frost  has  struck  them 
in  again.  Here  are  some  lines  I have  writ- 
ten to  ridicule  them  : but  remember  that  I 
love  the  fellow  dearly, — for  all  I laugh  at 
him. 

‘ Wheresoe’er  I turn  my  view, 

All  is  strange,  yet  nothing  new: 

Endless  labour  all  along, 

Endless  labour  to  be  wrong: 

“ Evening  spreads  his  mantle  hoar,” 

and 

“ Beneath  the  beech  whose  branches  bare .” 

(T.  Warton's  Works , v.  i.  pp.  130,  146.) 

But  there  is  no  o-ther  point  of  resemblance  that  the 
editor  can  discover. — Ed.] 

1  As  some  of  my  readers  may  be  gratified  by 
reading  the  progress  of  this  little  composition,  I 
shall  insert  it  from  my  notes.  “When  Dr. 
Johnson  and  I were  sitting  tete-a-tete  at  the 
Mitre  tavern,  May  9,  1778,  he  said,  ‘ Where 
is  bliss,’  would  be  better.  He  then  added  a ludi- 
crous stanza,  but  would  not  repeat  it,  lest  I should 
take  it  down.  It  was  somewhat  as  follows;  the 
last  line  I am  sure  I remember: 

‘ While  I thus  cried, 

seer, 

The  hoary  replied, 

Come,  my  lad,  and  drink  some  beer.’ 

‘ In  spring,  1779,  when  in  better  humour,  he 
made  the  second  stanza,  as  in  the  text.  There 
was  only  one  variation  afterwards  made  on  my 
suggestion,  which  was  changing  hoary  in  the 
third  linq  to  smiling,  both  to  avoid  a samepess 
with  the  epithet  in  the  first  line,  and  to  describe 
the  hermit  in  his  pleasantry.  He  was  then  very 
well  pleased  that  I should  preserve  it.” — Bos- 
well. 


Phrase  that  Time  has  flung  away; 
Uncouth  words  in  disarray, 

^Trick’d  in  antique  rutf  and  bonnet, 

Ode,  and  elegy,  and  sonnet  V ” 

"VV  hen  he  parodied  the  versea  of  another 
eminent  writer 2  3 4,  it  was  done  with  more 
provocation,  and  with  some  merry  malice 
A serious  translation  of  the  same  lines,  from 
Euripides,  may  be  found  in  Burney’s  His- 
tory of  Music.  Here  are  the  burlesque 
ones : 

“Err shall  they  not,  who  resolute  explore 
Time’s  gloomy  backward  with  judicious  eyes; 
And  scanning  right  the  practices  of  yore, 

Shall  deem  our  hoar  progenitors  unwise. 

“ They  to  the  dome  where  smoke  with  curling 
play 

Announced  the  dinner  to  the  regions  round, 
Summon’d  the  singer  blithe,  and  harper  gay. 
And  aided  wine  with  dulcet-streaming  sound 
“ The  better  use  of  notes,  or  sweet  or  shrill. 

By  quiv’nng  string,  or -modulated  wind; 
Trumpet  or  lyre — to  their  arch  bosoms  chill, 
Admission  ne’er  had  sought,  or  could  no4  find. 

“ Oh!  send  them  to  the  sullen  mansions  dun, 

Her  baleful  eyes  where  Sorrow  rolls  around; 
Where  gloom-enamour’d  Mischief  loves  to  dwell, 
And  Murder,  all  blood-bolter’d,  schemes  the 
wound. 

“ When  cates  luxuriant  pile  the  spacious  dish, 
And  purple  nectar  glads  the  festive  hour; 

The  guest,  without  a want,  without  a wish, 

Can  yield  no  room  to  Music’s  soothing  power.” 
Some  of  the  old  legendary  stories  put  ill 
verse  by  modern  writers  1 provoked  him  to 
caricature  them  thus  oiie  day  at  Streatham; 
but  they  are  already  well  known. 

“ The  tender  infant,  meek  and  mild, 

Fell  down  upon  the  stone; 

The  nurse  took  up  the  squealing  child, 

But  still  the  child  squeal’d  on.” 

A famous  ballad  also,  beginning  Rio 
verde,  Rio  verde,  when  Mrs.  Piozzi  com- 
mended the  translation  of  it 5,  he  said  he 
could  do  it  better  himself — as  thus  : 

2 [The  metre  of  these  lines  was  no  doubt 
suggested  by  Warton’s  “ Crusade”  and  “ The 
Grave  of  King  Arthur,”  ( Works,  v.  ii.  pp.  38, 
51);  but  they  are,  otherwise,  rather  a criticism 
than  a parody. — Ed.] 

3 [Malone’s  MS.  notes,  communicated  by  Mr 
Markland,  state  that  this  was  “ Robert  Potter, 
the  translator  of  /Eschylus  and  Euripides,  who 
wrote  a pamphlet  against  Johnson,  in  consequence 
of  his  criticism  on  Gray.”  It  may,  therefore,  be 
presumed  that  these  verses  were  made  subse- 
quently to  that  publication,  in  1783.  Potter  died, 
a prebendary  of  Norwich,  in  1804,  set.  eightv- 
three. — Ed.] 

4 [ This  alludes  to  Bishop  Percy  and  his  “Her- 
mit of  Warkworth.” — Ed.] 

D [No  doubt  the  translation  by  Bishop  Percy: 

‘ Gentle  river,  gentle  river, 

Lo  thy  streams  are  stain’d  with  gore , 


1777.— yETAT.  68. 


‘ Glassy  water,  glassy  water, 

Down  whose  current,  clear  and  strong, 

Chiefs  confused  in  mutual  slaughter, 

Moor  and  Christian  roll  along.” 

« But,  sir,”  said  she,  “ this  is  not  ridicu- 
.ous  at  all.”  “ Why  no,”  replied  he, “ why 
should  I always  write  ridiculously  ? perhaps 
because  I made  those  verses  to  imitate 
[Warton]1.” 

Mrs.  Piozzi  gives  another  comical  in- 
stance of  caricatura  imitation.  Some  one 
praising  these  verses  of  Lopez  de  Vega, 

“ Se  acquien  los  leones  vence 
Yence  una  muger  hermosa, 

O el  de  flaco  averguen^e 
O ella  di  ser  mas  furiosa,” 
more  than  he  thought  they  deserved,  Dr. 
Johnson  instantly  observed,  “ that  they 
were  founded  on  a trivial  conceit ; and  that 
conceit  ill-explained,  and  ill-expressed  be- 
side. The  lady,  we  all  know,  does  not  con- 
quer in  the  same  manner  as  the  lion  does  : 
’t  is  a mere  play  of  words,”  added  he,  “ and 
vou  might  as  well  say,  that 

* If  the  man  who  turnipscries, 

Cry  not  when  his  father  dies, 

5T  is  a proof  that  he  had  rather 
Have  a turnip  than  his  father.’  ” 

And  this  humour  is  of  the  same  sort  with 
which  he  answered  the  friend  who  com- 
mended the  following  line  : 

Who  rules  o’er  freemen  should  himself  be  free.” 
t(  To  be  sure,”  said  Dr.  Johnson, 
f‘  Who  drives  fat  oxen  should  himself  be  fat.” 

This  readiness  of  finding  a parallel,  or  ma- 
king one,  was  shown  by  him  perpetually  in 
the  course  of  conversation.  When  the 
French  verses  of  a certain  pantomime  were 
quoted  thus, 

“ Je  suis  Cassandre  descendue  des  cieux, 

Pour  vous  faire  entendre,  mesdames  et  messieurs, 
Q,ue  je  suis  Cassandre  descendue  des  cieux  ’ 
lie  cried  out  gaily  and  suddenly,  almost  in 
a moment, 

“ I am  Cassandra  come  down  from  the  sky, 

To  tell  each  by-stander  what  none  can  deny, 
That  I am  Cassandra  come  down  from  the  sky.” 

The  pretty  Italian  verses  too,  at  the  end 
of  Baretti’s  book,  called  “ Easy  Phraseolo- 
gy,” he  did  all 5 improviso,  in  the  same 
manner : 

“ Viva!  viva  la  padrona! 

Tutta  bella,  e tutta  buona. 


Many  a brave  and  noble  captain 
Floats  along  thy  willow’d  shore.” 

Neither  of  these  pretended  translations  give  any 
idea  of  the  peculiar  simplicity  of  the  original. — 

Ed.] 

1 [Mrs.  Piozzi  had  here  added  the  verses  cited 
by  Boswell,  “ Hermit  hoar ,”  exactly  as  he  has 
given  them;  which  is  remarkable,  because  her 
book  appeared  so  long  before  his. — Ed.] 


116 

La  padrona  e uti  angiolella 
Tutta  buona  e tutta  bella; 

Tutta  bella  e tutta  buona 
Viva!  viva  la  padrona!”; 

“ Long  may  live  my  lovely  Hetty! 

Always  young  and  always  pretty, 

Always  pretty,  always  young, 

Live  my  lovely  Hetty  long! 

Always  young  and  always  pretty; 

Long  may  live  my  lovely  Hetty  2 !” 

The  famous  distich  too,  of  an  Italian  im- 
provisatore,  who,  when  the  Duke  of  Mo- 
dena ran  away  from  the  comet  in  the  year 
1742  or  1743, 

“ Se  al  venir  vestro  i principi  sen’  vanno 
Deh  venga  ogni  di — durate  un  anno;” 
“which,”  said  he,  “ would  do  just  as  wel 
in  our  language  thus: 

‘ If  at  your  coming  princes  disappear, 

Comets!  come  every  day — and  stay  a year.’  ” 
When  some  one  in  company  commended  the 
verses  of  M.  de  Benserade  ct  son  Lit: 

“ Theatre  des  ris  et  des  pleurs, 

Lit!  ou  je  nais,  et  ou  je  meurs, 

Tu  nous  fais  voir  comment  voisins, 

Sont  nos  plaisirs,,  et  nos  chagrins.” 

To  which  he  replied  without  hesitating, 

“ In  bed  we  laugh,  in  bed  we  cry, 

And  born  in  bed,  in  bed  we  die; 

The  near  approach  a bed  may  show 
Of  human  bliss  to  human  woe.”] 

Friday,  September  19,  after  breakfast, 
Dr.  Johnson  and  I set  out  in  Dr.  Taylor’s 
chaise  to  go  to  Derby.  The  day  was  fine, 
and  we  resolved  to  go  by  Keddlestone,  the 
seat  of  Lord  Scarsdale,  that  I might  see  his 
lordship’s  fine  house.  I was  struck  with 
the  magnificence  of  the  building  ; and  the 
extensive  park,  with  the  finest  verdure, 
covered  with  deer,  and  cattle,  and  sheep, 
delighted  me.  The  number  of  old  oaks,  of 
an  immense  size,  filled  me  with  a sort  of  re- 
spectful admiration  ; for  one  of  them  sixty 
pounds  was  offered.  The  excellent  smooth 
gravel  roads;  the  large  piece  of  water  form- 
ed by  his  lordship  from  some  small  brooks, 
with  a handsome  barge  upon  it;  the  vener- 
able Gothick  church,  now  the  family  chapel, 
just  by  the  house;  in  short,  the  grand  group 
of  objects  agitated  and  distended  my  mind 
in  a most  agreeable  maimer.  “ One  should 
think,”  said  I,  “ that  the  proprietor  of  all 
this  must  be  happy.”  “ Nay,  sir,”  said 
Johnson,  “ all  this  excludes  but  one  evil 
poverty  3 *.” 

2 [The  reader  will  recollect  that  Mrs.  Thrale’s 
name  was  Hester. — Ed.] 

3 When  I mentioned  Dr.  Johnson’s  remark  to 
a lady  of  admirable  good  sense  and  quickness  of 
understanding,  she  observed,  “ It  is  true  all  this 
excludes  only  one  evil;  but  how  much  good  does 

it  let  in!” — First  edition.  To  this  observation 

Imuch  praise  has  been  justly  given.  Let  me  the& 
mow  do  myself  the  honour  to  mention  that  tho 


116 


1777. — /ETAT.  68. 


Our  nanies  were  sent  up,  and  a well-drest 
elderly  housekeeper,  a most  distinct  articu- 
• lator,  showed  us  the  house;  which  I need 
not  describe,  as  there  is  an  account  of  it 
published  in  “ Adams’s  Works  in  Archi- 
tecture.” Dr.  Johnson  thought  better  of  it 
to-day,  than  when  he  saw  it  before1;  for 
he  had  lately  attacked  it  violently,  saying, 
“ It  would  do  excellently  for  a town-hall. 
The  large  room  with  the  pillars,”  said  he, 
{C  would  do  for  the  judges  to  sit  in  at  the 
assizes;  the  circular  room  for  a jury-cham- 
ber; and  the  room  above  for  prisoners  ” 
Still  he  thought  the  large  room  ill  lighted, 
and  of  no  use  but  for  dancing  in;  and  the 
bed-chambers  but  indifferent  rooms;  and 
that  the  immense  sum  which  it -cost  was  in- 
judiciously laid  out.  Dr.  Taylor  had  put 
him  in  mind  of  his  appearing  pleased  with 
the  house.  “ But,”  said  he,  “ that  was 
when  Lord  Scarsdale  was  present.  Polite- 
ness obliges  us  to  appear  pleased  with  a 
man’s  works  when  he  is  present.  No  man 
will  be  so  ill-bred  as  to  question  you.  You 
may  therefore  pay  compliments  without 
saying  what  is  not  true.  I should  say  to 
Lord  Scarsdale  of  his  large  room,  c My  lord, 
this  is  the  most  costly  room  that  I ever 
saw;  ’ which  is  true.” 

Dr.  Manningham,  physician  in  London, 
who  was  visiting  at  Lord  Scarsdale’s,  ac- 
companied us  through  many  of  the  rooms  ; 
and  soon  afterwards  my  lord  himself,  to 
whom  Dr.  Johnson  was  known,  appeared, 
and  did  the  honours  of  the  house.  We 
talked  of  Mr.  Langton.  Johnson,  with  a 
warm  vehemence  of  affectionate  regard,  ex- 
claimed, “ The  earth  does  not  bear  a wor- 
thier man  than  Bennet  Langton.”  We 
saw  a good  many  fine  pictures,  which  I 
think  are  described  in  one  of  “ Young’s 
Tours.”  There  is  a printed  catalogue  of 
them,  which  the  housekeeper  put  into  my 
hand.  I should  like  to  view  them  at 
leisure.  I was  much  struck  with  Daniel  in- 
terpreting Nebuchadnezzar’s  dream,  by 
Rembrandt.  We  were  shown  a pretty 
large  library.  In  his  lordship’s  dressing- 
room  lay  Johnson’s  small  dictionary:  he 
showed  it  to  me,  with  some  eagerness,  say- 
ing, “ Look  ’ye  ! Quce  regio  in  terris  nos- 
tri  non  plena  laboris .”  He  observed,  also, 
Goldsmith’s  “ Animated  Nature;”  and  said, 
“ Here ’s  our  friend  ! The  poor  doctor 
would  have  been  happy  to  hear  of  this.” 

In  our  way,  Johnson  strongly  expressed 


lady  who  made  it  was  the  late  Margaret  Mont- 
gomerie, my  very  valuable  wife,  and  the  very 
affectionate  mother  of  my  children,  who,  if  they 
inherit  her  good  qualities,  will  have  no  reason  to 
complain  of  their  lot.  Dos  magna  parentum 
virtns. — Second  edition. — Boswell. 

1 [See  ante,  Tour  in  Wales,  vol.  i.  p.  480. — 
Ed.] 


his  love  of  driving  fast  in  a post-chaise  2. 
“If,”  said  he,  “ I had  no  duties,  and  no 
reference  to  futurity,  I would  spend  my 
life  in  driving  briskly  in  a post-chaise  with 
a pretty  woman;  but  she  should  be  one 
who  could  understand  me,  and  would  add 
something  to  the  conversation.”  I observed, 
that  we  were  this  day  to  stop  just  where  the 
Highland  army  did  in  1745.  Johnson. 
“ It  was  a noble  attempt.”  Boscvell.  “ 1 
wish  we  could  have  an  authentick  history 
of  it.”  Johnson.  “If  you  were  not  an 
idle  dog  you  might  write  it,  by  collecting 
from  every  body  what  they  can  tell,  and 
putting  down  your  authorities.”  Boswell. 
“ But  I could  not  have  the  advantage  of  it 
in  my  life-time.”  Johnson.  “ You  might 
have  the  satisfaction  of  its  fame,  by  print- 
ing it  in  Holland;  and  as  to  profit,  consider 
how  long  it  wTas  before  writing  came  to  *be 
considered  in  a pecuniary  view.  Baretti 
says  he  is  the  first  man  that  ever  received 
copy-money  in  Italy.”  I said  that  I would 
endeavour  to  do  what  Dr.  Johnson  suggest- 
ed; and  I thought  that  I might  write  so  a» 
to  venture  to  publish  my  “ History  of  the 
Civil  War  in  Great  Britain  in  1745  and 
1746,”  without  being  obliged  to  go  to  a 
foreign  press  3. 

When  we  arrived  at  Derby,  Dr.  Butter 
accompanied  us  to  see  the  manufactory  of 
china  there.  I admired  the  ingenuity  and 
delicate  art  with  which  a man  fashioned 
clay  into  a cup,  a saucer,  or  a tea-pot, 
while  a boy  turned  round  a wheel  to  give 
the  mass  rotundity.  I thought  this  as  ex- 
cellent in  its  species  of  power,  as  making 
good  verses  in  its  species.  Yet  I had  no 
respect  for  this  potter.  Neither,  indeed, 
has  a man  of  any  extent  of’  thinking  for  a 
mere  verse-maker,  in  whose  numbers,  how- 
ever perfect,  there  is  no  poetry,  no  mind. 
The  china  was  beautiful,  but  Dr.  Johnson 
justly  observed  it  was  too  dear;  for  that 
he  could  have  vessels  of  silver,  of  the  same 
size,  as  cheap  as  what  were  here  made  of 
porcelain  4. 

1 felt  a pleasure  in  walking  about  Derby, 
such  as  I always  have  in  walking  about 
any  town  to  which  I am  not  accustomed. 
There  is  an  immediate  sensation  of  novelty; 
and  one  speculates  on  the  way  in  which 
life  is  passed  in  it,  which,  although  there 
is  a sameness  every  where  upon  the  whole, 

2 [See  ante,  p.  39,  and  p.  50. — Ed.] 

3 I am  now  happy  to  understand  that  Mr.  John 
Home,  who  was  himself  gallantly  in  the  field  for 
the  reigning  family  in  that  interesting  warfare,  but 
is  generous  enough  to  do  justice  to  the  other  side, 
is  preparing  an  account  of  it  for  the  press. — Bos- 
well. 

4 [The  editor  was  once  present  when  a flower- 
pot of  Seve  china,  of  about  the  size  that  would 
hold  a pint  of  water,  was  sold  by  auctm  for  70/ 
— Ed.] 


1777.— iETA'"  68. 


117 


is  yet  minutely  diversified.  The  minute 
diversities  in  every  thing-  are  wonderful. 
Talking  of  shaving  the  other  night  at  Dr. 
Taylor’s,  Dr.  Johnson  said,  “ Sir,  of  a 
thousand  shavers,  two  do  not  shave  so 
much  alike  as  not  to  be  distinguished.”  I 
thought  this  not  possible,  till  he  specified  so 
many  of  the  varieties  in  shaving  ; — holding 
the  "razor  more  or  less  perpendicular; — 
drawing  long  or  short  strokes  ; — beginning 
at  the  upper  part  of  the  face,  or  the  under — • 
at  the  right  side  or  the  left  side.  Indeed 
when  one  considers  what  variety  of  sounds 
can  be  uttered  by  the  windpipe,  in  the  com- 
pass of  a very  small  aperture,  we  may  be 
convinced  how  many  degrees  of  difference 
Jiere  may  be  in  the  application  of  a razor. 

We  dined  with  Dr.  Butter1,  whose  lady 
is  daughter  of  my  cousin  Sir  John  Douglas, 
whose  grandson  is  now  presumptive  heir  of 
the  noble  family  of  Queensberry.  Johnson 
and  he  had  a good  deal  of  medical  conver- 
sation. Johnson  said,  he  had  somewhere 
or  other  given  an  account,  of  Dr.  Nichols’s 
discourse  cc  De  Anima  Medica .”  He  told 
u3,  “ that  whatever  a man’s  distemper  was, 
Dr.  Nichols  would  not  attend2  him  as  a 
physician,  if  his  mind  was  not  at  ease;  for 
he  believed  that  no  medicines  would  have 
any  influence.  He  once  attended  a man  in 
trade,  upon  whom  he  found  none  of  the 
medicines  he  prescribed  had  any  effect;  he 
asked  the  man’s  wife  privately  whether  his 
affairs  were  not  in  a bad  way?  She  said 
no.  He  continued  his  attendance  some 
time,  still  without  success.  At  length  the 
man’s  wife  told  him  she  had  discovered  that 
her  husband’s  affairs  were  in  a bad  way. 
When  Goldsmith  was  dying,  Dr.  Turton 
said  to  him,  c Your  pulse  is  in  greater  disor- 
der than  it  should  be,  from  the  degree  of 
fever  which  you  have:  is  your  mind  at 
ease?’  Goldsmith  answered  it  was  not.” 

After  dinner,  Mrs.  Butter  went  with  me 
to  see  the  silk-mill  which  Mr.  John  Lombe 
had3  had  a patent  for,  having  brought 
away  the  contrivance  from  Italy.  I am 
not  very  conversant  with  mechanicks;  but 
the  simplicity  of  this  machine,  and  its  rriul- 

1 Dr.  Butter  was  at  this  time  a practising  phy- 
sician at  Derby.  IJe  afterwards  removed  to  Lon- 
don, where  he  died  in  his  seventy-ninth  year, 
March  22,  1805.  He  is  authour  of  several  medi- 
cal tracts. — Malone. 

2 [Dr.  Nichols’s  opinion  had  made  a strong  im- 
pression on  Johnson’s  mind,  and  appears  to  have 
been  the  cause  of  his  urging  Mrs.  Aston  and  his 
other  correspondents,  as  we  have  seen  above,  to 
keep  her  mind  as  much  as  possible  at  ease. — 
Hall.] 

3 See  Hutton’s  “ History  of  Derby,”  a book 

which  is  deservedly  esteemed  for  its  information, 
accuracy,  and  good  narrative.  Indeed  the  age  in 
which  we  live  is  eminently  distinguished  by  topo- 
graphical excellence. — Boswell. 


tiplied  operations,  struck  me  with  an  agree- 
able surprise.  I had  learnt  from  Dr.  John- 
son, during  this  interview,  not  to  think 
with  a dejected  indifference  of  the  works 
of  art,  and  the  pleasures  of  life,  because 
life  is  uncertain  and  short;  but  to  consider 
such  indifference  as  a failure  of  reason,  a 
morbidness  of  mind;  for  happiness  should 
be  cultivated  as  much  as  we  can,  and  the 
objects  which  are  instrumental  to  it  should 
be  steadily  considered  as  of  importance 
with  a reference  not  only  to  ourselves,  but 
to  multitudes  in  successive  ages.  Though 
it  is  proper  to  value  small  parts,  as 

**  Sands  make  the  mountain,  moments  make  the 
year;” — Young. 

yet  we  must  contemplate,  collectively,  to 
have  a just  estimation  of  objects.  One 
moment’s  being  uneasy  or  not,  seems  of  no 
consequence;  yet  this  may  be  thought  of 
the  next,  and  the  next,  and  so  on,  till  there 
is  a large  portion  of  misery.  In  the  same 
way  one  must  think  of  happiness,  of  learn- 
ing, of  friendship.  We  cannot  tell  the 
precise  moment  when  friendship  is  formed. 
As  in  filling  a vessel  drop  by  drop,  there  is 
at  last  a drop  which  makes  it  run  over;  so 
in  a series  of  kindnesses  there  is  at  last  one 
which  makes  the  heart  run  over.  We 
must  not  di  vide  the  objects  of  our  attention 
into  minute  parts,  and  think  separately  of 
each  part.  Iir  is  by  contemplating  a large 
mass  of  human  existence,  that  a man, 
while  he  sets  a just  value  on  his  own  life, 
does  not  think  of  his  death  as  annihilating 
all  that  is  great  and  pleasing  in  the  world, 
as  if  actually  contained  in  his  mind,  ac- 
cording to  Berkeley’s  reverie  4.  If  his  im- 
agination be  not  sickly  and  feeble,  it  “ wings 
its  distant  way  ” far  beyond  himself,  and 
views  the  world  in  unceasing  activity  of 
every  sort.  It  must  be  acknowledged, 
however,  that  Pope’s  plaintive  reflection, 
that  all  things  would  be  as  gay  as  ever,  on 
the  day  of  his  death,  is  natural  and  common. 
We  are  apt  to  transfer  to  all  around  us  our 
own  gloom,  without  considering  that  at 
any  given  point  of  time  there  is,  perhaps, 
as  much  youth  and  gaiety  in  the  world  as 
at  another.  Before  I came  into  this  life, 
in  which  I have  had  so  many  pleasant 
scenes,  have  not  thousands  and  ten  thou 
sands  of  deaths  and  funerals  happened,  and 
have  not  families  been  in  grief  for  their 
nearest  relations?  But  have  those  dismal 
circumstances  at  all  affected  me?  Why 
then  should  the  gloomy  scenes  which  I ex- 
perience, or  which  I know,  affect  others  ? 
Let  us  guard  against  imagining  that  there 
is  an  end  of  felicity  upon  earth,  when  we 
ourselves  grow  old,  or  are  unhappy, 

4  [This  is  by  no  means  an  accurate  allusion  tc 
Berkeley’s  theory. — Ed.] 


118 


1777— yETAT  68. 


Dr.  Johnson  told  us  at  tea,  that  when 
some  of  Dr.  Dodd’s  pious  friends  were  try- 
ing to  console  him  by  saying  that  he  was 
going  to  leave  a “ wretched  world,”  he  had 
honesty  enough  not  to  join  in  the  cant: — 
“ No,  no,”  said  he,  cc  it  has  been  a very 
agreeable  world  to  me.”  Johnson  added, 
“ I respect  Dodd  for  thus  speaking  the 
truth  ; for,  to  be  sure,  he  had  for  several 
years  enjoyed  a life  of  great  voluptuous- 
ness.” 

He  told  us  that  Dodd’s  city  friends  stood 
by  him  so,  that  a thousand  pounds  were 
ready  to  be  given  to  the  gaoler,  if  he 
would  let  him  escape.  He  added,  that  he 
knew  a friend  of  Dodd’s,  who  walked  about 
Newgate  for  some  time  on  the  evening 
before  the  day  of  his  execution,  with  five 
hundred  pounds  in  his  pocket,  ready  to  be 
paid  to  any  of  the  turnkeys  who  could  get 
him  out,  but  it  was  too  late ; for  he  was 
watched  with  much  circumspection.  He 
said,  Dodd’s  friends  had  an  image  of  him 
made  of  wax,  which  was  to  have  been  left 
in  his  place;  and  he  believed  it  was  carried 
into  the  prison. 

[Dr.  Johnson  also  told  Miss  Rey- 
Recoii  n0^s  ^at  Dodd  probably  entertained 
some  hopes  of  life  even  to  the  last  mo- 
ment, having  been  flattered  by  some  of  his 
medical  friends  that  there  was  a chance  of 
suspending  its  total  extinction  till  he  was  cut 
down,  by  placing  the  knot  of  the  rope  in  a par- 
ticular manner  behind  his  ear.  That  then  he 
was  to  be  carried  to  a convenient  place,  where 
they  would  use  their  utmost  endeavour  to 
recover  him.  All  this  was  done.  The 
hangman  observed  their  injunctions  in  fix- 
ing the  rope,  and  as  the  cart  drew  off,  said 
in  Dodd’s  ear,  you  must  not  move  an  inch ! 
But  he  struggled. — Being  carried  to  the 
place  appointed,  his  friends  endeavoured  to 
restore  him  by  bathing  his  breast  with 
warm  water,  which  Dr.  Johnson  said  was 
not  so  likely  to  have  that  effect  as  cold  wa- 
„er;  and  on  this  occasion  he  repeated  [with 
a slight  variation]  the  story  already  told, 
that  a man  wandered  round  the  prison 
some  days  before  his  execution,  with  bank 
notes  in  his  pocket  to  the  amount  of  a 
thousand  pounds,  to  bribe  the  jailor  to  let 
him  escape.] 

Johnson  disapproved  of  Dr.  Dodd’s 
leaving  the  world  persuaded  that  “The 
ConvicfsAddre  ss  to  his  unhappy  Brethren” 
was  of  his  own  writing.  “But,  sir  (said 
I),  you  contributed  to  the  deception;  for 
when  Mr.  Seward  expressed  a doubt  to  you 
that  it  was  not  Dodd’s  own,  because  it  had 
a great  deal  more  force  of  mind  in  it  than 
any  thing  known  to  be  his,  you  answered, 
— ‘Why  should  you  think  so?  Depend 
upon  it,  sir,  when  any  man  knows  he  is  to 
be  hanged  in  a fortnight,  it  concentrates 
his  mind  wonderfully.’  ” Johnson.  “ Sir, 


as  Dodd  got  it  from  me  to  pass  as  his  own, 
while  that  could  do  him  any  good,  that  was 
an  implied  promise  that  I should  not  own 
it.  To  own  it,  therefore,  would  have  been 
telling  a lie,  with  the  addition  of  breach  of 
promise,  which  was  worse  than  simply 
telling  a lie  to  make  it  be  believed  it  was 
Dodd’s.  Besides,  sir,  I did  not  directly  tell 
a lie : I left  the  matter  uncertain.  Perhaps 
I thought  that  Seward  would  not  believe  it 
the  less  to  be  mine  for  what  I said;  but  I 
would  not  put  it  in  his  power  to  say  I had 
owned  it.” 

He  praised  Blair’s  Sermons:  “Yet,” 
said  he,  (willing  to  let  us  see  he  was  aware 
that  fashionable  fame,  however  deserved, 
is  not  always  the  most  lasting,)  “ perhaps 
they  may  not  be  reprinted  after  seven 
years;  at  least  not  after  Blair’s  death.” 

He  said,  “ Goldsmith  was  a plant  that 
flowered  late.  There  appeared  nothing  re- 
markable about  him  when  he  was  young; 
though  when  he  had  got  high  .in  fame,  one 
of  his  friends  1 began  to  recollect  something 
of  his  being  distinguished  at  college 2. 
Goldsmith  in  the  same  manner  recollected 
more  of  that  friend’s  early  years,  as  he 
grew  a greater  man.” 

I mentioned  that  Lord  Monboddo  told 
me,  he  awaked  every  morning  at  four,  and 
then  for  his  health  got  up  and  walked  in 
his  room  naked,  with  the  window  open, 
which  he  called  taking  an  air-bath;  after 
which  he  went  to  bed  again,  and  slept  two 
hours  more.  Johnson,  who  was  always  ready 
to  beat  down  any  thing  that  seemed  to  be 
exhibited  with  disproportionate  importance, 
thus  observed:  “ I suppose,  sir,  there  is  no 
more  in  it  than  this,  he  wakes  at  four,  and 
cannot  sleep  till  he  chills  himself,  and  makes 
the  warmth  of  the  bed  a grateful  sensa- 
tion.” 

I talked  of  the  difficulty  of  rising  in  the 
morning.  Dr.  Johnson  told  me,  “ that  the 
learned  Mrs.  Carter,  at  that  period  when 
she  was  eager  in  study,  did  not  awake  as 
early  as  she  wished,  and  she  therefore  had 
a contrivance,  that,  at  a certain  hour,  her 
chamber-light  should  burn  a string  to  which 
a heavy  weight  was  suspended,  which  then 
fell  with  a strong  sudden  noise:  this  roused 
her  from  sleep,  and  then  she  had  no  difficul- 
ty i~  getting  up.”  But  I Said  that  was  my 
difficulty;  and  wished  there  could  be  some 
medicine  invented  which  would  make  one 
rise  without  pain,  which  I never  did,  unless 
after  lying  in  bed  a very  long  time.  Per- 
haps there  may  be  something  in  the  stores 
of  Nature  which  could  do  this.  I have 
thought  of  a pulley  to  raise  me  gradually; 


1 [Mr.  Burke.— Ed.] 

5 lie  was  distinguished  in  college,  as  appeari 
from  a circumstance  mentioned  by  Dr  Ivearnsy. 
See'’ vol.  i.  p.  185. — Malone. 


1777.— AETAT.  68. 


19 


Dut  that  would  give  me  pain,  as  it  would 
counteract  my  internal  inclination.  I would 
have  something  that  can  dissipate  the  vis 
inertias,  and  give  elasticity  to  the  muscles. 
As  I imagine  that  the  human  body  may  be 
put,  by  tlfe  operation  of  other  substances, 
into  any  state  in  which  it  has  ever  been; 
and  as  I have  experienced  a state  in  which 
rising  from  bed  was  not  disagreeable,  but 
easy,  nay,  sometimes  agreeable;  I suppose 
that  this  state  may  be  produced,  if  we 
knew  by  what.  We  can  heat  the  body, 
we  can  cool  it;  we  can  give  it  tension  or 
relaxation;  and  surely  it  is  possible  to  bring 
it  into  a state  in  which  rising  from  bed  will 
not  be  a pain. 

Johnson  observed,  that  “ a man  should 
take  a sufficient  quantity  of  sleep,  which 
Dr.  Mead  says  is  between  seven  and  nine 
hours.”  I told  him,  that  Dr.  Cullen  said 
to  me,  that  a man  should  not  take  more 
sleep  than  he  can  take  at  once.  Johnson. 
“ This  rule,  sir,  cannot  hold  in  all  cases; 
for  many  people  have  their  sleep  broken  by 
sickness;  and  surely,  Cullen  would  not  have 
a man  to  get  up,  after  having  slept  but  an 
hour.  Such  a regimen  would  soon  end  in 
a long  sleep  h”  Dr.  Taylor  remarked  I 
think  very  justly,  that  “ a man  who  does 
not  feel  an  inclination  to  sleep  at  the  ordi- 
nary times,  instead  of  being  stronger  than 
other  people,  must  not  be  well;  for  a man  in 
health  has  all  the  natural  inclinations  to  eat, 
drink,  and  sleep,  in  a strong  degree.” 

Johnson  advised  me  to-night  not  to  refine 
in  the  education  of  my  children.  “ Life,” 
said  he,  “will  not  bear  refinement:  you 
must  do  as  other  people  do.” 

Hawk  [When  he  was  asked  by  Dr. 

Apoph.  Lawrence  what  he  thought  the 
p.  204.  "best  system  of  education,  he  re- 
plied, cc  School  in  school-hours,  and  home- 
instruction  in  the  intervals.”] 

Piozzi  [On  another  occasion  he  main- 

p.  i68,’  tained  that  “ A boy  should  never 

169*  be  sent  to  Eton  or  Westminster 

1 [This  regimen  was,  however,  practised  by 
Bishop  Ken,  of  whom  Hawkins  ( not  Sir  John ) 
in  his  life  of  that  venerable  prelate,  page  4,  tells 
us,  “ And  that  neither  his  study  might  be  the  ag- 
gressor on  his  hours  of  instruction,  or  what  he 
judged  his  duty,  prevent  his  improvements;  or 
both,  his  closet  addresses  to  his  God;  he  strictly 
accustomed  himself  to  but  one  sleep,  which  often 
obliged  him  to  rise  at  one  or  two  of  the  clock  in 
the  morning,  and  sometimes  sooner;  and  grew  so 
habitual,  that  it  continued  with  him  almost  till  his 
last  illness.  And  so  lively  and  cheerful  was  his 
temper,  that  he  would  be  very  facetious  and 
entertaining  to  his  friends  in  the  evening,  even 
when  it  was  perceived  that  with  difficulty  he  kept 
his  eyes  open.;  and  then  seemed  to  go  to  rest  with 
no  other  purpose  than  the  refreshing  and  enabling 
him  with  more  vigour  and  cheerfulness  to  sing  his 
morning  hymn,  as  he  then  used  to  do  to  his  lute 

before  he  nut  on  his  clothes.” — Boswell. 


scnool  before  he  is  twelve  years  old  at  least, 
for  if  in  his  years  of  babyhood  he  fails  to' 
attain  that  general  and  ’transcendent  know- 
ledge without  which  file  is  perpetually  put 
to  a stand,  he  will  neve/  get  it  at  a public 
school,  where  if  he  does  not  learn  Latin  and 
Greek,  he  learns  nothing.  Dr.  Johnson 
often  said,  “ that  there  was  too  much  stress 
laid  upon  literature  as  indispensably  neces- 
sary: there  is  surely  no  need  that  every 
body  should  be  a scholar,  no  call  that  every 
one  should  square  the  circle  Our  manner 
of  teaching  cramps  and  warps  many  a mind, 
which  if  left  more  at  liberty  would  Mve 
been  respectable  in  some  way  though  per- 
haps not  in  that.”  “ Wr  ’op  our  trees,  and 
prune  them,  and  pinch  ihem  about,”  he 
would  say,  “ and  nail  them  tight  up  to  the 
wall,  while  a good  standard  is ' at  last  the 
only  thing  for  bearing  healthy  fruit,  though 
it  commonly  begins  later.  Let  the  people 
learn  necessary  knowledge:  let  them  learn 
to  count  their  fingers,  and  to  count  their 
money,  before  they  are  caring  for  the  clas- 
sicsk;  for,”  says  Dr.  Johnson,  “though  I do 
not  quite  agree  with  the  proverb,  that  Nul- 
lum numen  ahest  si  sit  pruHentia , yet  we 
may  very  well  say,  that  Nullum  numen 
adest — ni  sit  prudential 

Indeed  useful  and  what  we  call  every-day 
knowledge  had  the  most  of  his  just  praise. 
“ Let  your  boy  learn  arithmetic,  dear  mad- 
am,” was  his  advice  to  the  mother  of  a rich 
young  heir:  “ he  will  not  then  be  a prey  to 
every  rascal  which  this  town  swarms  with: 
teach  him  the  value  of  money  and  how  to 
reckon  it:  ignorance  to  a wealthy  lad  of 
one-and-twenty  is  only  so  much  fat  to  a 
sick  sheep:  it  just  serves  to  call  the  rooks 
about  him.  ”] 

[This  young  heir  was  the  well-  Ed 
known  Sir  John  Lade1 2,  and  Dr.  D‘ 
Johnson’s  sagacity  had,  no  doubt,  detected 
in  him  a disposition  to  that  profusion  for 
which  he  was  afterwards  so  remarkable.  It  is 
curious  too,  that,  on  another  important  sub- 
ject, Johnson  should  have  given  Sir  John 
some  early  advice,  which,  in  the  sequel,  he 
too  notoriously  disregarded.] 

[One  day,  as  he  was  musing  over 
the  fire  of  the  drawing-room  at 

o p#  74  75 

Streatham,  this  young  gentleman  ’ 
[who  was  Mr.  Thrale’s  nephew  and  ward] 
called  to  him  suddenly,  and  rather  disre- 
spectfully, in  these  words:  “ Dr.  Johnson, 
would  you  advise  me  to  marry  ? ” “ I would 

advise  no  man  to  marry,  sir  (replied  in  a 
very  angry  tone  Dr.  Johnson),  who  is  not 

^ [He  was  the  posthumous  son  of  the  fourth  ba- 
ronet, by  Mr.  Thrale’s  sister.  He  entered  eagerly 
into  all  the  follies  of  the  day;  was  a remarkable 
whip,  and  married  a woman  of  the  town.  See 
towards  the  close  of  the  second  vol.  sub  Dec.  1784, 
the  lively,  satirical,  and  too  prophetic  verses  which 
Johnson  wrote  on  his  coming  of  age. — En  1 


120 


1777  — jETAT.  68. 


likely  to  propagate  understanding;  55  and  so 
left  the  room.  Our  companion  looked  con- 
founded, and  seemed  to  have  scarce  recov- 
ed the  consciousness  of  his  own  existence, 
when  Johnson  came  hack  and  drawing  his 
chair  among  the  party,  with  altered  looks 
and  a softened  voice,  joined  in  the  general 
chat,  insensibly  led  the  conversation  to  the 
subject  of  marriage,  where  he  explained 
himself  in  a dissertation  so  useful,  so  ele- 
gant, so  founded  on  the  true  knowledge  of 
human  life,  and  so  adorned  with  beauty  of 
sentiment,  that  no  one  ever  recollected  the 
offence,  except  to  rejoice  in  its  conse- 
quences.] 

As  we  drove  back  to  Ashbourne,  Dr. 
Johnson  recommended  to  me,  as  he  had  of- 
ten done,  to  drink  water  only:  “ For,55  said 
he,  “you  are  then  sure  not  to  get  drunk; 
whereas,  if  you  drink  wine,  you  are  never 
sure.55  I said,  drinking  wine  was  a pleasure 
which  I was  unwilling  to  give  up.  “ Why, 
sir,55  said  he,  “ there  is  no  doubt  that  not  to 
drink  wine  is  a great  deduction  from  life: 
but  it  may  be  necessary.55  He  however 
owned,  that  in  his  opinion  a free  use  of 
wine  did  not*shorten  life;  and  said,  he 
would  not  give  less  for  the  life  of  a certain 
Scotch  Lord 1 (whom  he  named)  celebrat- 
ed for  hard  drinking,  than  for  that  of  a so- 
ber man.  “ But  stay,55  said  he,  with  his 
usual  intelligence,  and  accuracy  of  inquiry 
— “ does  it  take  much  wine  to  make  him 
diunk? 55  I answered,  “ A great  deal  either 
of  wine  or  strong  punch.” — “ Then,”  said 
he,  “ that  is  the  worse.”  I presume  to  il- 
lustrate my  friend’s  observation  thus:  “A 
fortress  which  soon  surrenders  has  its  walls 
less  shattered  than  when  a long  and  obsti- 
nate resistance  is  made.” 

I ventured  to  mention  a person  who  was 
as  violent  a Scotchman  as  he  was  an  Eng- 
lishman; and  literally  had  the  same  con- 
tempt for  an  Englishman  compared  with  a 
Scotchman,  that  he  had  for  a Scotchman 
compared  with  an  Englishman;  and  that 
he  would  say  of  Dr.  Johnson,  “ Damned 
rascal ! to  talk  as  he  does  of  the  Scotch.” 
This  seemed,  for  a moment,  u to  give  him 
pause.”  It,  perhaps,  presented  his  extreme 
prejudice  against  the  Scotch  in  a point  of 
view  somewhat  new  to  him  by  the  effect  of 
contrast. 

' By  the  time  when  we  returned  to  Ash- 
bourne, Dr.  Taylor  was  gone  to  bed. 
Johnson  and  I sat  up  a long  time  by  our- 
selves. 

He  was  much  d' verted  with  an  article 


[Probably  Thomas,  sixth  Earl  of  Kellie,  born 
in  1732;  died  in  1781.  He  was  remarkable  for 
some  musical  talents,  but  still  more  for  his  con- 
viviality. Even  the  Peerage  confesses  “ that  he 
was  more  assiduous  in  the  service  of  Bacchus  than 
Apollo.  ” — Ed.] 


which  I showed  him  in  the  “ Critical  Re- 
view 55  of  this  year,  giving  an  accdunt  of  a cu- 
rious publication,  entitled  “A  Spiritual  Diary 
and  Soliloquies,  by  John  Rutty,  M.  D.”  Dr. 
Rutty  was  one  of  the  people  called  quakers, 
a physician  of  some  eminence  fh  Dublin, 
and  authour  of  several  works.  This  Diary, 
which  was  kept  from  1753  to  1775,  the 
year  in  which  he  died,  and  was  now  publish- 
ed in  two  volumes  octavo,  exhibited,  in  the 
simplicity  of  his  heart,  a minute  and  honest 
register  of  the  state  of  his  mind;  'which, 
though  frequently  laughable  enough,  was 
not  more  so  than  the  history  of  many  men 
would  be,  if  recorded  with  equal  fairness. 

The  following  specimens  were  extracted 
by  the  reviewers : 

“ Tenth  month,  1753. 

“ 23 — Indulgence  in  bed  an  hour  too 
long. 

“ Twelfth  month,  17. — An  hypochondn 
ack  obnubilation  from  wind  and  indigestion. 

“ Ninth  month,  28.— An  over-dose  of 
whiskey. 

“ 29. — A dull,  cross,  cholerick  day. 

“ First  month,  1757,  22. — A little  swinish 
at  dinner  and  repast. 

“ Dogged  on  provocation. 

“ Second  month,  5. — Very  dogged  or 
snappish. 

“ 14. — Snappish  on  fasting. 

“ 26. — Cursed  snappishness  to  those  un 
der  me,  on  a bodily  indisposition. 

“ Third  month,  11. — On  a provocation, 
exercised  a dumb  resentment  for  two  days, 
instead  of  scolding.  • 

“22. — Scolded  too  vehemently. 

“ 23. — Dogged  again. 

cc  Fourth  month,  29. — Mechanically  and 
sinfully  dogged.” 

Johnson  laughed  heartily  at  this  good 
Quietist’s  self-condemning  minutes  ; par- 
ticularly at  his  mentioning,  with  such  a 
serious  regret,  occasional  instances  of 
“ swinishness  in  eating,  and  doggedness  of 
temper .”  He  thought  the  observations  of’ 
the  Critical  Reviewers  upon  the  impor 
tance  of  a man  to  himseFso  ingenious  and 
so  well  expressed,  that  I ffiall  here  intro 
duce  them.  • 

After  observing,  thai u there  are  f§w  wri 
ters  who  have  gained  any  reputation  by  re- 
cording their  own  actions,”  they  say, 

“We  may  reduce  the  egotists  to  foui 
classes.  Ip  th e first  we  have  Julius  Caesar: 
he  relates  his  own  transactions;  but  he  re 
lates  them  with  peculiar  grace  and  dignity, 
and  his  narrative  is  supported  by  the  great- 
ness of  his  character  and  achievements.  In 
the  second  class  we  have  Marcus  Antoni- 
nus: this  writer  has  given  us  a series  of  .re- 
flections on  his  own  life;  but  his  sentiments 
are  so  noble,  his  morality  so  sublime,  that 
his  meditations  are  universally  admired.  In 
the  third  class  we  have  some  others  of  t 4 


1777. — i*ETAT.  68. 


121 


pi  able  credit,  who  have  given  importance 
to  their  own  private  history  by  an  intermix- 
ture of  literary  anecdotes,  and  the  occur- 
rences of  their  own  times:  the  celebrated 
Huetius  1 has  published  an  entertaining  vol- 
* ume  upon  this  plan,  ‘ De  rebus  ad  eumper- 
tinenlibus.i  In  the  fourth  class  we  have 
the  journalist,  temporal  and  spiritual : Elias 
Ashmole,  William  Lilly,  George  Whitefield, 
John  Wesley,  and  a thousand  other  old  wo- 
men and  fanatick  writers  of  memoirs  and 
meditations.” 

I mentioned  to  him  that  Dr.  Hugh  Blair, 
in  his  Lectures  on  Rhetorick  and  Belles  Let- 
tres,  which  I heard  him  deliver  at  Edin- 
burgh, had  animadverted  on  the  Johnsonian 
style  as  too  pompous;  and  attempted  to  im- 
itate it,  by  giving  a sentence  of  Addison  in 
“ The  Spectator,”  No.  411,  in  the  manner 
of  Johnson.  When  treating  of  the  utility 
of  the  pleasures  of  imagination  in  preserv- 
ing us  from  vice,  it  is  observed  of  those 
“ who  know  not  how  to  be  idle  and  inno- 
cent,” that  “ their  very  first  step  out  of 
business  is  into  vice  or  folly;  ” which  Dr. 
Blair  supposed  would  have  been  expressed 
. - in  “ The  Rambler”  thus:  “ their  very  first 
step  out  of  the  regions  of  business  is  into 
the  perturbation  of  vice,  or  the  vacuity  of 
folly 2.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  these  are  not 
the  words  I should  have  used.  No,  sir; 
the  imitators  of  my  style  have  not  hit  it. 
Miss  Aikin  has  done  it  the  best;  for  she  has 
••imitated  the  sentiment  as  well  as  the  dic- 
' * Jion  3.” 

I infend,  before  this  work  is  concluded,  to 
exhibit  specimens  of  imitation  of  my  friend’s 
style  in  various  modes;  some  caricaturing  or 
mimicking  it,  and  some  formed  upon  it,  whe- 
ther intentionally,  or  with  a degree  of  sim- 
ilarity to  it,  of  which  perhaps  the  writers 
were  not  conscious. 

In  Baretti’s  Review,  which  he  published 
in  Italy,  under  the  title  of  “ Frusta  Let- 
teraria,”  it  is  observed,  that  Dr.  Robert- 
sofl  the  historian  had  formed  his  style  upon 
» .that  of  “ II  celebre  Samuele  Johnson .” 
My  friend  himself  was  of  that  opinion;  for 


1 [Iluet,  Bishop  of  Avranches. — See  ante,  v. 
i.  p.  32.— JEd.] 

2 When  Dr.  Blair  published  his  “ Lectures,” 
he  was  invidiously  attacked  for  having  omitted  his 
censure  on  Johnson’s  style,  and,  on  the  contrary, 
praising  it  highly.  But  before  that  time  Johnson’s 

• “ Lives  of  the  Poets  ” had  appeared,  in  which  his 
style  was  considerably  easier  than  when  he  wrote 

• “The  Rambler.”  It  would,  therefore,  have 
been  uncandid  in  Blair,  even  supposing  his  criti- 
cism to  have  been  just,  to  have  preserved  it. — 
Boswell. 

3 [Probably  in  an  essay  “ Against  Inconsistency 
in  our  Expectations,”  by  Miss  Aikin,  afterwards 

J Mrs.  Barbauld,  in  a volume  of  miscellaneous 
pieces  published  by  her  and  her  brother.  Dr. 
Aikin,  in  1773. — Ed.] 

"VOL’  II.  16 


he  once  said  to  me,  m a pleasant  humours 
“ Sir,  if  Robertson’s  style  be  faulty,  he  owes 
it  to  me;  that  is,  having  too  many  words, 
and  those  too  big  ones.” 

I read  to  him  a letter  which  Lord  Mon 
boddo  had  written  to  me,  containing  some 
critical  remarks  upon  the  style  ofhis  “ Jour- 
ney to  the  W estern  Islands  of  Scotland.” 
His  lordship  praised  the  very  fine  passage 
upon  landing  at  Icolmkill4:  but  his  own 
style  being  exceedingly  dry  and  hard,  he  dis- 
approved of  the  richness  of  Johnson’s  lan- 
guage, and  of  his  frequent  use  of  metaphori- 
cal expressions.  Johnson.  “ Why,  sir, 
this  criticism  would  be  just,  if,  in  my  style, 
superfluous  words,  or  words  too  big  for  the 
thoughts,  could  be  pointed  out;  but  this  I 
do  not  believe  can  be  done.  For  instance, 
in  the  passage  which  Lord  Monboddo  ad- 
mires, c We  were  now  treading  that  illustrious 
region,’  the  word  illustrious  contributes 
nothing  to  the  mere  narration;  for  the  fact 
might  he  told  without  it : but  it  is  not,  there- 
fore, superfluous;  for  it  wakes  the  mind  to 
peculiar  attention,  where  something  of  more 
than  usual  importance  is  to  be  presented. 
c Illustrious ! ’ — for  what?  and  then  the  sen- 
tence proceeds  to  expand  the  circumstances 
connected  with  Iona.  And,  sir,  as  to  met- 
aphorical expression,  that  is  a great  excel 
lence  in  style,  when  it  is  used  with  propriety, 
for  it  gives  you  two  ideas  for  one; — conveys 
the  meaning  more  luminously,  and  gener- 
ally with  a perception  of  delight.” 

He  told  me,  that  he  had  been  asked  to 
undertake  the  new  edition  of  the  “ Biogra 
phia  Britannica,”  but  had  declined  it;  which 
he  afterwards  said  to  me  he  regretted.  In 
this  regret  many  will  join,  because  it  would 
have  procured  us  more  of  Johnson’s  most 
delightful  species  of  writing;  and  although 
my  friend  Dr.  Kippis5  has  hitherto  dis- 
charged the  task  judiciously,  distinctly,  and 
with  more  impartially  than  might  have  been 
expected  from  a separatist,  it  were  to  have 
been  wished  that  the  superintendence  of  this 
literary  Temple  of  F ame  had  been  assigned 
to  “ a friend  to  the  constitution  in  church 
and  state.”  We  should  not  then  have  had 
it  too  much  crowded  with  obscure  dissenting 
teachers,  doubtless  men  of  merit  and  worth, 
but  not  quite  to  be  numbered  amongst  “ the 
most  eminent  persons  who  have  flourished 
in  Great  Britain  and  Ireland  6.” 


4 [See  ante,  v.  i.  p.  440. — Ed.] 

5 After  having  given  to  the  publick  the  first  five 
volumes  of  a new  edition  of  the  Biographia 
Britannia,  between  the  years  1778  and  1793, 
Dr.  Kippis  died,  October  8,  1795;  and  the  work 
is  not  likely  to  be  soon  completed. — Malone. 

6 In  this  censure,  which  has  been  carelessly 
uttered,  I carelessly  joined.  But  in  justice  to  Dr. 
Kippis,  who,  with  that  manly  candid  good  temper 
which  marks  his  character,  set  me  right,  I now 


122 


1777.— /ETAT.  68 


On  Saturday.  September  20,  after  break- 
fast, when  Taylor  was  gone  out  to  his  farm, 
Dr.  Johnson  and  I had  a serious  conversa- 
tion by  ourselves  on  melancholy  and  mad- 
ness; which  he  was,  I always  thought,  er- 
roneously inclined  to  confound,  together. 
Melancholy,  like  “ great  wit,”  may  be 
“ near  allied  to  madness;”  but  there  is,  in  my 
opinion,  a distinct  separation  between  them. 
When  he  talked  of  madness,  he  was  to  be 
understood  as  speaking  of  those  who  were 
in  any  great  degree  disturbed,  or  as  it  is 
commonly  expressed,  “ troubled  in  mind.” 
Some  of  the  ancient  philosophers  held,  that 
all  deviations  from  right  reason  were  mad- 
ness; and  whoever  wishes  to  see  the  opin- 
ions both  of  ancients  and  moderns  upon  this 
subject,  collected  and  illustrated  with  a va- 
riety of  curious  facts,  may  read  Dr.  Arnold’s 
very  entertaining  work  *. 

Johnson  said,  “ A madman  loves  to  be 

with  pleasure  retract  it;  and  I desire  it  may  be 
particularly  observed,  as  pointed  out  by  him  to 
me,  that  “ The  new  lives  of  dissenting  divines,  in 
the  first  four  volumes  of  the  second  edition  of  the 
‘ BiographiaBritannica,’  are  those  of  John  Aberne- 
thy,  Thomas  Amory,  George  Benson,  Hugh 
Broughton,  the  learned  puritan,  Simon  Browne, 
Joseph  Boyse,  of  Dublin,  Thomas  Cartwright,  the 
learned  puritan,  and  Samuel  Chandler.  The 
only  doubt  I have  ever  heard  suggested  is, 
whether  there  should  have  been  an  article  of  Dr. 
Amory.  But  I \vas  convinced,  and  am  still  con- 
vinced, that  he  was  entitled  to  one,  from  the  real- 
ity of  his  learning,  and  the  excellent  and  candid 
nature  of  his  practical  writings. 

“ The  new  lives  of  clergymen  of  the  church  of 
England,  in  the  same  four  volumes,  are  as  follows: 
John  Balguy,  Edward  Bentham,  George  Berkley, 
Bishop  of  Cloyne,  William  Berriman,  Thomas 
Birch,  William  Borlase,  Thomas  Bott,  James 
Bradley,  Thomas  Broughton,  John  Browne,  John 
Burton,  Joseph  Butler,  Bishop  of  Durham, 
Thomas  Carte,  Edmund  Castell,  Edmund  Chis- 
null,  Charles  Churchill,  William  Clarke,  Robert 
Clayton,  Bishop  of  Clogher,  John  Conybeare, 
Bishop  of  Bristo  , George  Castard,  and  Samuel 
Croxall. — 4 I am  not  conscious,’  says  Dr.  Kippis, 
‘ of  any  partiality  in  conducting  the  work.  I 
would  not  willingly  insert  a dissenting  minister  that 
does  not  justly  deserve  to  be  noticed,  or  omit  an 
established  clergyman  that  does.  At  the  same 
time,  I shall  not  be  deterred  from  introducing  dis- 
senters into  the  Biographia,  when  I am  satisfied 
that  they  are  entitled  to  that  distinction,  from  their 
writings,  learning,  and  merit.’  ” 

Let  me  add  that  the  expression  “ A friend  to 
the  constitution  in  church  and  state,”  was  not 
meant  by  me  as  any  reflection  upon  this  reverend 
gentleman,  as  if  he  were  an  enemy  to  the 
political  constitution  of  his  country,  as  established 
at  the  Revolution,  but,  from  my  steady  and 
avowed  predilection  for  a tory,  was  quoted  from 
“ Johnson’s  Dictionary,”  where  that  distinction  is 
so  defined. — Boswell. 

1  “ Observations  on  Insanity,”  by  Thomas 
Arnold,  M.  D.,  London,  1782. — Boswell. 


with  people  whom  he  fears;  not  as  a dog 
fears  the  lash : but  of  whom  he  stands  in 
awe.”  I was  struck  with  the  justice  of  this 
observation.  To  be  with  those  of  whom  a 
person,  whose  mind  is  wavering  and  deject- 
ed, stands  in  awe,  represses  and  composes 
an  uneasy  tumult  of  spirits2,  and  consoles 
him  with  the  contemplation  of  something 
steady,  and  at  least  comparatively  great. 

He  added,  “ Madmen  are  all  sensual  in 
the  lower  stages  of  the  distemper.  They 
are  eager  for  gratifications  to  soothe  their 
minds  and  divert  their  attention  from  the 
misery  which  they  suffer;  but  when  they 
grow  very  ill,  pleasure  is  toe  weak  for  them, 
and  they  seek  for  pain3.  Employment, 
sir,  and  hardships,  prevent  melancholy.  I 
suppose,  in  all  our  army  in  America,  there 
was  not  one  man  who  went  mad.” 

[“  He  was,”  says  Sir.  J.  Haw-  Hawk, 
kins,  “ a great  enemy  to  the  pres-  Apoph. 
ent  fashionable  way  of  supposing  p'  20S* 
worthless  and  infamous  persons  mad.”] 
[This  probably  meant  that  he  dis- 
approved  of  the  degree  of  impunity  D 
which  is  sometimes  afforded  to  crime,  un- 
der the  plea  of  insanity,  for  it  seems  almost 
certain  that  he  thought  (and  perhaps  felt) 
that  the  exercises  of  piety,  and  the  restraints 
of  conscience,  might  repress  a tendency 
towards  insanity.  So  at  least  Miss  Rey- 
nolds believed.]  [“  It  was  doubt- 
less,” she  says,  “ very  natural  for 
so  good  a man  to  keep  a strict 
watch  over  his  mind;  but  one  so  very^strict 
as  Dr.  Johnson  kept  may,  perhaps,  in  some 
measure,  be  attributed  to  his  dread  of  its 
hereditary  tendencies,  which,  I had  reason 
to  believe,  he  was  very  apprehensive  bor- 
dered upon  insanity.  Probably  his  studious 

2 Cardan  composed  his  mind  tending  to  mad- 
ness (or  rather  actually  mad,  for  such  he  seems 
in  his  writings,  learned  as  they  are),  by  exciting 
voluntary  pain.  V.  Card.  Op.  et  Vit. — Keab 
KEY. 

3 We  read  in  the  gospels,  that  those  unfortu- 

nate persons,  who  were  possessed  with  evil  spirits 
(which,  after  all,  I think  is  the  most  probable 
cause  of  madness,  as  was  first  suggested  to  me  by 
my  respectable  friend  Sir  John  Pringle),  had  re- 
course to  pain,  tearing  themselves,  and,  jumping 
sometimes  into  the  fire;  sometimes  into  the  water. 
Mr.  Seward  has  furnished  me  with  a remarkable 
anecdote  in  confirmation  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  obser- 
vation. A tradesman  who  had  acquired  a large 
fortune  in  London  retired  from  business,  and  went 
to  live  at  Worcester.  His  mind,  being  without 
its  usual  occupation,  and  having  nothing  else  to 
supply  its  place,  preyed  upon  itself,  so  that  exist- 
ence was  a torment  to  him.  At  last  he  was 
seized  with  the  stone;  and  a friend  who  found  him 
in  one  of  its  severest  fits,  having  expressed  his 
concern,  “ No,  no,  sir,”  said  he,  “ don’t  pity  me; 
what  I now  feel  is  ease,  compared  with  that 
torture  of  mind  from  which  it  relieves  me.”— 
Boswell.  * 


1777. — /ETAT.  68 


123 


attention  to  repel  their  prevalency,  together 
with  his  experience  of  divine  assistance  co- 
operating with  his  reasoning  faculties,  may 
have  proved  in  the  highest  degree  condu- 
cive to  the  exaltation  of  his  piety,  the  pre- 
eminency  of  his  wisdom,  and  1 think  it 
probable  that  all  his  natural  defects,  which 
so  peculiarly  debarred  him  from  unprofitable 
amusements,  were  also  conducive  to  the 
**ame  end. 

“ That  Dr.  Johnson’s  mind  was  preserved 
from  insanity  by  his  devotional  aspirations, 
may  surely  be  reasonably  supposed.  No 
man  could  have  a firmer  reliance  on  the  ef- 
ficacy of  prayer;  and  he  would  often,  with 
a solemn  earnestness,  beg  of  his  intimate 
friends  to  pray  for  him,  and  apparently  on 
very  slight  occasions  of  corporeal  indispo- 
sition.”] 

We  entered  seriously  upon  a question  of 
much  importance  to  me,  which  Johnson 
was  pleased  to  consider  with  friendly  at- 
tention. I had  long  complained  to  him 
that  I felt  myself  discontented  in  Scotland, 
as  too  narrow  a sphere,  and  that  I wished 
to  make  my  chief  residence  in  London,  the 
great  scene  of  ambition,  instruction,  and 
amusement;  a scene,  which  was  to  me,  com- 
paratively speaking,  a heaven  upon  earth. 
Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  I never  knew  any 
one  who  had  such  a gust  for  London  as  you 
have:  and  I cannot  blame  you  for  your 
wish  to  live  there;  yet,  sir,  were  I in  your 
father’s  place,  I should  not  consent  to  your 
settling  there;  for  I have  the  old  feudal  no- 
tions^ and  I should  be  afraid  that  Auchin- 
leck  would  be  deserted,  as  you  would  soon 
find  it  more  desirable  to  have  a country-seat 
in  a better  climate.  I own,  however,  that 
to  consider  it  as  a duty  to  reside  on  a fami- 
ly estate  is  a prejudice;  for  we  must  consid- 
er, that  working-people  get  employment 
equally,  and  the  produce  of  land  is  sold 
equally,  whether  a great  family  resides  at 
home  or  not';  and  if  the  rents  of  an  estate 
be  carried  to  London,  they  return  again  in 
the  circulation  of  commerce;  nay,  sir,  we 
must  perhaps  allow,  that  carrying  the  rents 
to  a distance  is  a good,  because  it  contrib- 
utes to  that  circulation.  We  must,  how- 
ever, allow,  that  a well-regulated  great  fam- 
ily may  improve  a neighbourhood  in  civility 
and  elegance,  and  give  an  example  of  good 
order,  virtue,  and  piety;  and  so  its  residence 
at  home  may  be  of  much  advantage.  But 
if  a great  family  be  disorderly  and  vicious, 
its  residence  at  home  is  very  pernicious  to 
a neighbourhood.  There  is  not  now  the 
same  inducement  to  live  in  the  country  as 
formerly;  the  pleasures  of  social  life  are  much 
better  enjoyed  in  town;  and  there  is  no 
longer  in  the  country  that  power  and  influ- 
ence in  proprietors  of  land  which  they  had 
in  old  times,  and  which  made  the  country 
so  agreeable  to  them.  The  Laird  of  Au- 


chinleck  now  is  not  near  so  great  a man  as 
the  Laird  of  Auchinleck  was  a hundred 
years  ago.” 

I told  him,  that  one  of  my  ancestors  nev- 
er went  from  home  without  being  attended 
by  thirty  men  on  horseback.  Johnson’s 
shrewdness  and  spirit  of  inquiry  were  ex- 
erted upon  every  occasion.  “ Pray,”  said 
he,  6i  how  did  your  ancestor  support  his 
thirty  men  and  thirty  horses  when  he  went 
at  a distance  from  home,  in  an  age  when 
there  was  hardly  any  money  in  circulation  ?” 
I suggested,  the  same  difficulty  to  a friend 
who  mentioned  Douglas’s  going  to  the  Ho- 
ly Land  with  a numerous  train  of  followers  h 
Douglas  could,  no  doubt,  maintain  follow- 
ers enough  while  living  upon  his  own  lands, 
the  produce  of  which  supplied  them  with 
food;  but  he  could  not  carry  that  food  to 
the  Holy  Land;  and  as  there  was  no  com- 
merce by  which  he  could  be  supplied  with 
money,  how  could  he  maintain  them  in  for 
eign  countries? 

I suggested  a doubt,  that  if  I were  to  re 
side  in  London,  the  exquisite  zest  with 
which  I relished  it  in  occasional  visits 
might  go  off,  and  I might  grow  tired  of  it. 
Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  you  find  no  man, 
at  all  intellectual,  who  is  willing  to  leave 
London.  No,  sir,  when  a man  is  tired  of 
London,  he  is  tired  of  life;  for  there  is  in 
London  all  that  life  can  afford.” 

To  obviate  his  apprehension,  that  by  set- 
tling in  London  I might  desert  the  seat  of 
my  ancestors,  I assured  him  that  I had  old 
feudal  principles  to  a degree  of  enthusiasm; 
and  that  I felt  all  the  dulcedo  of  the  natale 
solum.  I reminded  him,  that  the  Laird  of 
Auchinleck  had  an  elegant  house,  in  front 
of  which  he  could  ride  ten  miles  forward 
upon  his  own  territories,  upon  which  he  had 
upwards  of  six  hundred  people  attached  to 
him;  that  the  family  seat  was  rich  in  natural 
romantick  beauties  of  rock,  wood,  and  water, 
and  that  in  my  “ morn  of  life  ” I had  ap- 
propriated the  finest  descriptions  in  the  an- 
cient classicks  to  certain  scenes  there,  which 
were  thus  associated  in  my  mind.  That 
when  all  this  was  considered,  I should  cer- 
tianly  pass  a part  of  the  year  at  home,  and 
enjoy  it  the  more  from  variety,  and  from 
bringing  with  me  a share  of  the  intellectual 
stores  of  the  metropolis.  He  listened  to  all 
this,  and  kindly  <c  hoped  it  might  be  as  I 
now  supposed.” 

He  said,  a country  gentleman  should 
bring  his  lady  to  visit  London  as  soon  as  he 
can,  that  they  may  have  agreeable  topicks 


1 [“  James  de  Duglas  was  requested  by  King 
Robert  Bruce  in  his  last  hours  to  repair  with  his 
heart  to  Jerusalem,  and  humbly  to  deposit  it  at 
the  sepulchre  of  our  Lord;  ” which  he  did  in  1330 
— Hailes' s Ann.  2.  146.  Hence  the  crowned 
heart  in  the  arms  of  Douglas. — JTo.] 


124 


1777.— iETAT.  6S. 


"or  conversation  when  they  are  by  them- 
selves. 

As  I meditated  trying  my  fortune  in 
Westminster  Hall,  our  conversation  turned 
upon  the  profession  of  the  law  in  England. 
Johnson.  “ You  must  not  indulge,  too 
sanguine  hopes,  should  you  be  called  to  our 
bar.  I was  told,  by  a very  sensible  lawyer, 
that  there  are  a great  many  chances  against 
any  man’s  success  in  the  profession  of  the 
law;  the  candidates  are  so  numerous,  and 
those  who  get  large  practice  so  few.  He 
said,  it  was  by  no  means  true  that  a man 
of  good  parts  and  application  is  sure  of  hav- 
ing business,  though  he,  indeed,  allowed 
that  if  such  a man  could  but  appear  in  a few 
causes,  his  merit  would  be  known,  and  he 
would  get  forward;  but  that  the  great  risk 
was,  that  a man  might  pass  half  a life-time 
in  the  courts,  and  never  have  an  opportu- 
nity of  showing  his  abilities 

We  talked  of  employment  being  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  preserve  the  mind  from 
wearying  and  grQwing  fretful,  especially  in 
those  who  have  a tendency  to  melancholy; 
and  I mentioned  to  him  a saying  which 
somebody  had  related  of  an  American  sav- 
age, who,  when  an  European  was  expa- 
tiating on  all  the  advantages  of  money,  put 
this  question:  “Will  it  purchase  occupa- 
tion?”  Johnson.  “ Depend  upon  it,  sir, 
this  saying  is  too  refined  for  a savage. 
And,  sir,  money  will  purchase  occupation; 
it  will  purchase  all  the  conveniences  of  life; 
it  will  purchase  variety  of  company;  it  will 
purchase  all  sorts  of  entertainment1 2.” 

I talked  to  him  of  Forster’s  “ Voyage  to 
the  South  Seas,”  which  pleased  me;  but  I 
found  he  did  not  like  it.  “ Sir,”  said  he, 
“ there  is  a great  affectation  of  fine  writing 
in  it.”  Boswell.  “ But  he  carries  you 
along  wfth  him.”  Johnson.  “ No,  sir; 
he  does  not  carry  me  along  with  him;  he 
leaves  me  behind  him;  or  rather,  indeed,  he 

1 Now,  at  the  distance  of  fifteen  years  since 
this  conversation  passed,  the  observation  which  I 
have  had  an  opportunity  of  making  in  Westmin- 
ster Hall  has  convinced  me,  that,  however  true 
the  opinion  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  legal  friend  may  have 
been  some  time  ago,  the  same  certainty  of  success 
cannot  now  be  promised  to  the  same  display  of 
merit.  The  reasons,  however,  of  the  rapid  rise  of 
some,  and  disappointment  of  others  equally  re- 
spectable, are  such  as  it  might  seem  invidious  to 
mention,  and  would  require  a longer  detail  than 
would  be  proper  for  this  work. — Boswell. 
[Mr.  Boswell’s  personal  feelings  here  have  clouded 
his  perception,  for  Johnson’s  friend  was  far  from 
holding  out  any  thing  like  a certainty  of  success 
— Nay,  he  seems  to  have  scarcely  allowed  a pro- 
bability.— Ed.] 

2 [Nay,  it  may  be  said  to  purchase  or  rather  to 
create  occupation  too.  No  man  can  have  riches 

without  the  trouble  that  in  different  degrees  must 
accompany  them. — Ed.] 


sets  me  before  him,  for  he  makes  me  turn 
over  many  leaves  at  a time.” 

On  Sunday,  September  21,  we  went  to 
the  church  of  Ashbourne,  which  is  one  of 
the  largest  and  most  luminous  that  I have 
seen  in  any  town  of  the  same  size.  I felt 
great  satisfaction  in  considering  that  I was 
supported  ill  my  fondness  for  solemn  pub- 
lick  worship  by  the  general  concurrence  and 
munificence  of  mankind. 

Johnson  and  Taylor  were  so  different 
from  each  other,  that  I wondered  at  their 
preserving  an  intimacy.  Their  h a ving  been 
at  school  and  college  together  might,  in 
some  degree,  account  for  this;  but  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  has  furnished  me  with  a 
stronger  reason;  for  Johnson  mentioned  to 
him,  that  he  had  been  told  by  Taylor  he 
was  to  be  his  heir.  I shall  not  take  upon 
me  to  animadvert  upon  this;  but  certain  it 
is  that  Johnson  paid  great  attention  to 
Taylor.  He  now,  however,  said  to  me, 
u Sir,  I love  him;  but  I do  not  love  him 
more;  my  regard  for  him  does  not  increase. 
As  it  is  said  in  the  Apocrypha,  ‘ his  talk  is 
of  bullocks3.’  I do  not  suppose  he  is  very 
fond  of  my  company.  His  habits  are  by  no 
means  sufficiently  clerical:  this  he  knows 
that  I see;  and  no  man  likes  to  live  under 
the  eye  of  perpetual  disapprobation.” 

I have  no  doubt  tha*t  a good  many  ser 
mons  were  composed  for  Taylor  by  John 
son.  At  this  time  I found  upon  his  table  a 
part  of  one  which  he  had  newly  begun  to 
write:  and  Condo  pro  Tayloro  appears  in 
one  of  his  diaries.  When  to  these  circum- 
stances we  add  the  internal  evidence  from 
the  power  of  thinking  and  style,  in  the  col- 
lection which  the  Reverend  Mr.  Hayes  had 
published,  with  the  significant  title  of 
u Sermons  left  for  Publication , by  the  Re- 
verend John  Taylor,  LL.  D.,”  our  convic- 
tion will  be  complete. 

I,  however,  would  not  have  it  thought 
that  Dr.  Taylor,  though  he  conild  not  write 
like  Johnson  (as,  indeed,  who  could?),  did 
not  sometimes  compose  sermons  as  good  as 
those  which  we  generally  have  from  very 
respectable  divines.  He  showed  me  one 
with  notes  on  the  margin  in  Johnson’s 
hand-writing;  and  I was  present  when  he 
read  another  to  Johnson,  that  he  might 
have  his  opinion  of  it,  and  Johnson  said  it 
was  “ very  well.”  These,  we  may  be  sure, 
were  not  Johnson’s;  for  he  was  above  little 
arts,  or  tricks  of  deception. 

Johnson  was  by  no  means  of  opinion  that 
every  man  of  a learned  profession  should 
consider  it  as  incumbent  upon  him,  or  as 
necessary  to  his  credit,  to  appear  as  an  au- 

3  Ecclesiasticus,  chap,  xxxviii.  v.  25.  The 
whole  chapter  may  be  read  as  an  admirable  illus- 
tration of  the  superiority  of  cultivated  mil  ds  oror 
the  gr:>ss  and  illiterate. — Boswell 


1777.—  ^ETAT.  68. 


thour.  When,  in  the  ardour  of  ambition 
for  literary  fame,  I regretted  to  him  one  day 
that  an  eminent  judge1  had  nothing  of  it, 
and  therefore  would  leave  no  perpetual  mon- 
ument of  himself  to  posterity;  “ Alas!  sir,” 
said  Johnson,  “ what  a mass  of  confusion 
should  we  have,  if  every  bishop,  and  every 
judge,  every  lawyer,  physician,  and  divine, 
were  to  write  books ! ” 

I mentioned  to  Johnson  a respectable 
person  of  a very  strong  mind  2,  who  had  lit- 
tle of  that  tenderness  which  is  common  to 
human  nature;  as  an  instance  of  which, 
when  I suggested  to  him  that  he  should  in- 
vite his  son,  who  had  been  settled  ten  years 
in  foreign  parts,  to  come  home  and  pay  him 
a visit,  his  answer  was,  “ No,  no,  let  him 
mind  his  business.”  Johnson.  “ I do  not 
agree  with  him,  sir,  in  this.  Getting  mo- 
ney is  not  all  a man’s  business : to  cultivate 
kindness  is  a valuable  part  of  the  business 
of  life.” 

In  the  evening,  Johnson,  being  in  very 
good  spirits,  entertained  us  with  several 
characteristical  portraits;  I regret  that  any 
of  them  escaped  my  retention  and  diligence. 
I found  from  experience,  that  to  collect  my 
friend’s  conversation  so  as  to  exhibit  it  with 
any  degree  of  its  original  flavour,  it  was  ne- 
cessary to  write  it  down  without  delay.  To 
record  his  sayings,  after  some  distance  of 
time,  was  like  preserving  or  pickling  long- 
kept  and  faded  fruits,  or  other  vegetables, 
which,  when  in  that  state,  have  little  or 
nothing  of  their  taste  when  fresh. 

I shall  present  my  readers  with  a series 
of  what  I gathered  this  evening  from  the 
Johnsonian  garden. 

“ My  friend,  the  late  Earl  of  Corke,  had 
a great  desire  to  maintain  the  literary  char- 
acter of  his  family:  he  was  a genteel  man, 
but  did  not  keep  up  the  dignity  of  his  rank. 
He  was  so  generally  civil,  that  nobody 
thanked  him  for  it.” 

“ Did  we  not  hear  so  much  said  of  Jack 
Wilkes,  we  should  think  more  highly  of  his 
conversation.  Jack  has  a great  variety  of 
talk,  Jack  is  a scholar,  and  Jack  has  the 
manners  of  a gentleman.  But  after  hear- 
ing his  name  sounded  from  pole  to  pole,  as 
the  phoenix  of  convivial  felicity,  we  are  dis- 
appointed in  his  company.  He  has  always 
been  at  me:  but  I would  do  Jack  a kind- 
ness, rather  than  not 3.  The  contest  is  now 
over.”  , 

“ Garrick’s  gaiety  of  conversation  has 
delicacy  and  elegance;  Foote  makes  you 
laugh  more;  but  Foote  has  the  air  of  a 
buffoon  paid  for  entertaining  the  compa- 


1 [Probably  Lord  Mansfield. — Ed.] 

2 [He  means  his  father,  old  Lord  Auchinleck  ; 
and  the  absent  son  was  David,  who  spent  so  many 
years  in  Spain. — Ed.] 

' [Sbo  post,  21st  May,  1783. — Ed.] 


125 

ny.  He,  indeed,  well  deserves  his  hire.” 
[“  Foote’s  happiness  of  manner 
in  relating  was  such,”  Johnson  p^Jl142 
said,  “ as  subdued  arrogance  and  ' 
roused  stupidity:  his  stories  were  truly  like 
those  of  Biron,  in  Love’s  Labour  Lost,  so 
very  attractive 

‘ That  aged  ears  play’d  truant  with  his  tales, 
And  younger  hearings  were  quite  ravished. 

So  sweet  and  voluble  was  his  discourse.’  ” 

£C  Of  all  conversers,  however,”  added  he, 
“ the  late  Hawkins  Browne  was  the  most 
delightful  with  whom  I ever  was  in  compa- 
ny; his  talk  was  at  once  so  elegant,  so  ap- 
parently artless,  so  pure,  and  so  pleasing,  it 
seemed  a perpetual  stream  of  sentiment,  en- 
livened by  gaiety,  and  sparkling  with  ima- 
ges.” Mrs.  Piozzi  used  to  think  Mr.  John- 
son’s determined  preference  of  a cold,  mo- 
notonous talker  over  an  emphatical  and  vio- 
lent one,  would  make  him  quite  a favourite 
among  the  men  of  ton , whose  insensibility, 
or  affectation  of  perpetual  calmness,  cer- 
tainly did  not  give  to  him  the  offence  it 
does  to  many.  He  loved  “conversation 
without  effort,”  he  said;  and  the  encomi 
urns  which  he  so  often  pronounced  on  t!  e 
manners  of  Topham  Beauclerc  in  societj 
constantly  ended  in  that  peculiar  praise 
that  “ it  was  without  effort .”] 

“ Colley  Cibber  once  consulted  me  as  tc 
one  of  his  birthday  odes,  a long  time  before 
it  was  wanted.  I objected  very  freely  tc 
several  passages.  Cibber  lost  patience,  ana 
would  not  read  his  ode  to  an  end.  When 
we  had  done  with  criticism  we  walked  over 
to  Richardson’s,  the  authour  of  c Clarissa,’ 
and  I wondered  to  find  Richardson  dis- 
pleased that  I ‘ did  not  treat  Cibber  with 
more  respect .’  Now,  sir,  to  talk  of  respect 
for  a player 4/”  (smiling  disdainfully.) 
Boswell.  “ There,  sir,  you  are  always 
heretical:  you  never  will  allow  merit  to  a 
player.”  Johnson.  cc  Merit,  sir!  what 
merit?  Do  you  respect  a rope-dancer  or 
a ballad-singer?”  Boswell.  “ No,  sir; 
but  we  respect  a great  player,  as  a man 
who  can  conceive  lofty  sentiments,  and 
can  express  them  gracefully.”  Johnson. 
“ What,  sir,  a fellow  who  claps  a hump  on 
his  back,  and  a lump  on  his  leg,  and  cries, 
‘ lam  Richard  the  Third?3  Nay,  sir,  a 
ballad-singer  is  a higher  man,  for  he  does 
two  things;  he  repeats  and  he  sings:  there 
is  both  recitation  and  musick  in  his  perform- 

4 [Perhaps  Richardson’s  displeasure  was  created 
by  Johnson’s  paying  no  respect  to  the  age  of 
Cibber,  who  was  almost  old  enough  to  have  been 
his  grandfather.  Cibber  had  left  the  stage,  and 
ceased  to  be  a player  before  Johnson  left  Oxford; 
so  that  he  had  no  more  reason  to  despise  Cibber 
for  that  profession,  than  Cibber  would  have  had 
if  he  had  recalled  to  him  the  days  when  he  was 
usher  at  a school.-  -Ed.] 


126 


1 777. — iETAT.  68. 


ance;  the  player  only  recites.”  Boswell. 
tc  My  dear  sir ! you  may  turn  any  thing  into 
ridicule.  I allow,  that  a player  of  farce  is 
not  entitled  to  respect ; he  does  a little 
thing:  but  he  who  can  represent  exalted 
characters,  and  touch  the  noblest  passions, 
has  very  respectable  powers;  and  mankind 
have  agreed  in  admiring  great  talents  for 
the  stage.  We  must  consider,  too,  that  a 
great  player  does  what  very  few  are  capable 
to  do;  his  art  is  a very  rare  faculty.  Who 
can  repeat  Hamlet’s  soliloquy,  £ To  be,  or 
not  to  be,’  as  Garrick  does  it?  ” Johnson. 
“ Any  body  may.  Jemmy,  there  (a  boy 
about  eight  years  old,  who  was  in  the 
room),  will  do  it  as  well  in  a week.” 
Boswell.  ££  No,  no,  sir:  and  as  a proof 
of  the  merit  of  great  acting,  and  of  the 
value  which  mankind  set  upon  it,  Garrick 
has  got  a hundred  thousand  pounds.” 
Johnson.  ££  Is  getting  a hundred  thousand 
ounds  a proof  of  excellence?  That  has 
een  done  by  a scoundrel  commissary.” 

This  was  most  fallacious  reasoning.  I 
was  sure,  for  once,  that  I had  the  best  side 
of  the  argument.  I boldly  maintained  the 
just  distinction  between  a tragedian  and  a 
mere  theatrical  droll;  between  those  who 
rouse  our  terrour  arid  pity,  and  those  who 
only  make  us  laugh.  “ If,”  said  I,  ££  Bet- 
terton and  Foote  were  to  walk  into  this 
room,  you  would  respect  Betterton  much 
more  than  Foote.”  Johnson.  ££  If  Better- 
ton  were  to  walk  into  this  room  with 
Foote,  Foote  would  soon  drive  him  out  of 
it.  Foote,  sir,  quatenus  Foote,  has  pow- 
ers superiour  to  them  all.”  [The 
fact  was,  that  Johnson  could  not  see 
the  passions  as  they  rose  and  chased 
one  another  in  the  varied  features  of  the 
expressive  face  of  Garrick.  Mr.  Murphy 
remembered  being  in  conversation  with 
Johnson  near  the  side  of  the  scenes,  during 
the  tragedy  of  King  Lear:  when  Garrick 
came  off  the  stage,  he  said, “You  two  talk 
so  loud,  you  destroy  all  my  feelings.” 
■*  Prithee,”  replied  Johnson,  ££  do  not  talk 
of  feelings;  Punch  has  no  feelings.”] 

On  Monday,  September  22,  when  at  break- 
fast, I unguardedly  said  to  Dr.  Johnson,  ££  I 
wish  I saw  you  and  Mrs.  Macaulay  to- 
gether.” He  grew  very  angry;  and,  after 
a pause,  while  a cloud  gathered  on  his 
brow,  he  burst  out,  ££  No,  sir;  you  would 
not  see  us  quarrel,  to  make  you  sport. 
Do  n’t  you  know  that  it  is  very  uncivil  to 
vit  two  people  against  one  another?” 
Then,  checking  himself,  and  wishing  to  be 
more  gentle,  he  added,  ££  I do  not  say  you 
should  be  hanged  or  drowned  for  this;  but 
it  is  very  uncivil.”  Dr.  Taylor  thought 
him  in  the  wrong,  and  spoke  to  him  private- 
ly of  it;  but  I afterwards  acknowledged  to 
Johnson  that  l was  to  blame,  for  I candidly 
owned,  that  I meant  to  express  a desire  to 


see  a contest  between  Mrs.  Macaulay  and 
him;  but  then  I knew  how  the  contest 
would  end1;  so  that  I was  to  see  him  triumph. 
Johnson.  ££  Sir,  you  cannot  be  suie  how 
a contest  will  end;  and  no  man  has  a right 
to  engage  two  people  in  a dispute  by  which 
their  passions  may  be  inflamed;  and  they 
may  part  with  bitter  resentment  against 
each  other.  I would  sooner  keep  company 
with  a man  from  whom  I must  guard  my 
pockets,  than  with  a man  who  contrives  to 
bring  me  into  a dispute  with  somebody  that 
he  may  hear  it.  This  is  tne  great  fault 

of 1 (naming  one  of  our  friends), 

endeavouring  to  introduce  a subject  upon 
which  he  knows  two  people  in  the  compa- 
ny differ.”  Boswell.  ££  But  he  told  me, 
sir,  he  does  it  for  instruction.”  Johnson. 
££  Whatever  the  motive  be,  sir,  the  man 
who  does  so,  does  very  wrong.  He  has  no 
more  right  to  instruct  himself  at  such 
risk,  than  he  has  to  make  two  people  fight  a 
duel,  that  he  may  learn  how  to  defend  him- 
self.” 

He  found  great  fault  with  a gentleman 
of  our  acquaintance  for  keeping  a bad  ta- 
ble. ££  Sir,”  said  he,  ££  when  a man  is  in- 
vited to  dinner,  he  is  disappointed  if  he 
does  not  get  something  good.  I advised 
Mrs.  Thrale,  who  has  no  card-parties  at 
her  house,  to  give  sweetmeats,  and  such 
good  things,  in  an  evening,  as  are  not  com- 
monly given,  and  she  would  find  company 
enough  come  to  her;  for  every  body  loves 
to  have  things  which  please  the  palate  put 
in  their  way,  without  trouble  or  prepara 
tion.”  [And  of  another  lady’s  en-  Hawk 
tertainments,  he  said,  ££  What  signi-  Apoph. 
fies  going  thither?  there  is  neither  p'  207, 
meat,  drink,  nor  talk.”]  Such  was  his  at- 
tention to  the  minutiae  of  life  and  manners. 

He  thus  characterised  the  Duke  of  De- 
vonshire, grandfather  of  the  present  repre- 
sentative of  that  very  respectable  family: 
££  He  was  not  a man  of  superiour  abilities, 
but  he  was  a man  strictly  faithful  to  his 
word.  If,  for  instance,  he  had  promised 
you  an  acorn,  and  none  had  grown  that 
year  in  his  woods,  he  would  not  have  con- 
tented himself  with  that  excuse:  he  would 
have  sent  to  Denmark  for  it.  So  uncondi- 
tional was  he  in  keeping  his  word;  so  high 
as  to  the  point  of  honour.”  This  was  a 
liberal  testimony  from  the  tory  Johnson  to 
the  virtue,of  a great  whig  nobleman. 

Mr.  Burke’s  ££  Letter  to  the  Sheriffs  of 
Bristol,  on  the  Affairs  of  America,”  being 
mentioned,  Johnson  censured  the  composi- 
tion much,  and  he  ridiculed  the  definition 


1 [Mr.  Langton  is,  no  doubt,  meant  here,  and 
in  the  next  paragraph.  See  the  affair  of  the  7th 
May,  1773  (vol.  i.  p.  319  and  351);  where  the 
reader  will  find  the  cause  of  Johnson’s  frequent 
and  fretful  recurrence  to  this  complaint. — Ed  J 


1777.— ^ET AT.  68. 


127 


of  a fr-ee  government,  viz.  “ For  any 
practical  purpose,  it  is  what  the  people 
thinks  so  Vs  “ I will  let  the  King  of  France 
govern  me  on  those  conditions,”  said  he, 
“ for  it  is  to  be  governed  just  as  I please.” 
And  when  Dr.  Taylor  talked  of  a girl  being 
sent  to  a parish  workhouse,  and  asked  how 
much  she  could  be  obliged  to  work,  “ Why,” 
said  Johnson,  “ as  much  as  is  reasonable; 
and  what  is  that?  as  much  as  she  thinks 
reasonable.” 

Dr.  Johnson  obligingly  proposed  to  carry 
me  to  see  Ilam,  a romantick  scene,  now  be- 
longing to  a family  of  the  name  of  Port, 
but  formerly  the  seat  of  the  Congreves2. 
I suppose  it  is  well  described  in  some  of  the 
tours.  Johnson  described  it  distinctly  and 
vividly,  at  which  I could  not  but  express  to 
him  my  wonder;  because,  though  my  eyes, 
as  he  observed,  were  better  than  his,  I 
could  not  by  any  means  equal  him  in  rep- 
resenting visible  objects.  I said,  the  differ- 
ence between  us  in  this  respect  was  as  that 
between  a man  who  has  a bad  instrument, 
but  plays  well  on  it,  and  a man  who  has  a 
good  instrument,  on  which  he  can  play  very 
imperfectly. 

I recollect  a very  fine  amphitheatre,  sur- 
rounded with  hills  covered  with  woods,  and 
walks  neatly  formed  along  the  side  of  a 
rocky  steep,  on  the  quarter  next  the  house, 
with  recesses  under  projections  of  rock, 
overshadowed  with  trees;  in  one  of  which 
recesses,  we  were  told,  Congreve  wrote  his 
“ Old  Bachelor.”  We  viewed  a remarka- 
ble natural  curiosity  at  Ilam;  two  rivers 
bursting  near  each  other  from  the  rock,  not 
from  immediate  springs,  but  after  having 
run  for  many  miles  under  ground.  P’lott, 
in  his  “ History  of  Staffordshire3,”  gives 
an  account  of  this  curiosity;  but  Johnson 
would  not  believe  it,  though  we  had  the 
attestation  of  the  gardener,  who  said  he 
had  put  in  corks  4,  where  the  river  Many- 
fold  sinks  into  the  ground,  and  had  catched 
them  in  a net,  placed  before  one  of  the 
openings  where  the  water  bursts  out.  In- 


1 Edit.  2,  p 53. — Boswell. 

2 [This  is  a mistake.  The  Ports  had  been 
seated  at  Ilam  time  out  of  mind.  Congreve  had 
visited  that  family  at  Ilam;  and  his  seat,  that  is, 
the  bench,  on  which  he  sometimes  sat,  in  the 
gardens,  used  to  be  shown:  this,  Mr.  Bernard 
Port — one  of  the  ancient  family,  and  now  vicar  of 
Ilam — thinks  was  the  cause  of  Mr.  Boswell’s  error. 
— Ed.] 

3 Page  89. 

4 [The  gardener  at  Ilam  told  the  editor  that  it 
was  Johnson  himself  who  had  made  this  experi- 
ment; but  there  is  not  the  least  doubt  of  the  fact. 
The  river  sinks  suddenly  into  the  earth  behind  a 
hill  above  the  valley,  and  bursts  out  again  in  the 
same  direction,  and  with  the  same  body  of  water, 
about  four  miles  below.- -Ed.] 


deed,  such  subterraneous  courses  of  watei 
are  found  in  various  parts  of  our  globe  5 6. 

Talking  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  unwillingness 
to  believe  extraordinary  things,  I ventured 
to  say,  “ Sir,  you  come  near  Hume’s  argu 
ment  against  miracles,  c That  it  is  more 
probable  witnesses  should  lie,  or  be  mista- 
ken, than  that  they  should  happen.’  ” 
Johnson.  “Why,  sir,  Hume,  taking  the 
proposition  simply,  is  rights.  But  the 
Christian  Revelation  is  not  proved  by  the 
miracles  alone,  but  as  connected  with  pro- 
phecies, and  with  the  doctrines  in  confirma- 
tion of  which  the  miracles  were  wrought.” 

He  repeated  his  observation,  that  the  dif- 
ferences among  Christians  are  really  of  no 
consequence.  “ For  instance,”  said  he, 
“ if  a Protestant  objects  to  a Papist,  c You 
worship  images;’  the  Papist  can  answer, 
‘ I do  not  insist  on  your  doing  it;  you  may 
be  a very  good  Papist  without  it;  I do  it 
only  as  a help  to  my  devotion.’  ” I said, 
the  great  article  of  Christianity  is  the  reve 
lation  of  immortality  7.  Johnson  admitted 
it  w.as. 

In  the  evening,  a gentleman  farmer,  who 
was  on  a visit  at  Dr.  Taylor’s,  attempted 
to  dispute  with  Johnson  in  favour  of  Mun- 
go Campbell 8,  who  shot  Alexander,  Earl 


5 See  Plott’s  “ Elistory  of  Staffordshire,”  p 
88,  and  the  authorities  referred  to  by  him. — Bos- 
well. 

6 [This  is  not  quite  true.  It  is  indeed  more 
probable  that  one  or  two  interested  witnesses 
should  lie,  than  that  a miracle  should  have  hap 
pened;  but  that  distant  and  unconnected  wit- 
nesses and  circumstances  should  undesignedly 
concur  in  evidencing  a falsehood — and  that  false- 
hood one  in  itself  unnatural — would  be  more  mi- 
raculous than  any  miracle  in  Scripture;  and  thus 
by  Hume’s  own  argument  the  balance  of 
probability  is  in  favour  of  the  miracles. — Ed  ] 

7 [This  is  loosely  expressed.  The  ancients 
believed  in  immortality,  and  even  a state  of  retri- 
bution. Warburton  argues  that  Moses  was  not 
ignorant  of,  and  the  Mahomedans  acknowledge, 
a future  state.  On  so  vital  a question  it  is  not 
safe  to  rest  on  Mr.  Boswell’s  colloquial  phrases, 
which  have  some  importance  when  they  appear 
to  be  sanctioned  by  the  concurrence  of  TJr.  John- 
son. Immortality  is,  indeed,  assured , and  a 
thousand  social  blessings  and  benefits  are  vouch- 
safed to  us  by  the  Christian  revelation;  but  “ the 
great  article  of  Christianity  ” is  surely  the 
atonement  ! — Ed.] 

8 [Campbell  terminated  his  own  life  in  prison 
It  is  hardly  to  be  believed,  (though  there  was 
every  such  appearance),  that  the  government 
could  have  permitted  him  to  be  executed;  for 
Lord  Eglintoune  was  grossly  the  aggressor,  and 
Campbell  fired  (whether  accidentally  or  designedly) 
when  in  the  act  of  falling,  as  he  retreated  front 
Lord  Eglintoune.  It  does  no  credit  to  Johnson  to 
have  it  recorded  that  he  said  that  he  was  glad 
they  had  found  means  to  convict  a man 


123 


1777.— ^ETAT.  68. 


of  Eglintoune,  upon  his  having  fallen,  when 
retreating  from  his  lord  snip,  who  he  believed 
was  about  to  seize  his  gun,  as  he  had  threat- 
ened to  do.  He  said  he  should  have  done 
just  as  Campbell  did.  Johnson.  “ Who- 
ever would  do  as  Campbell  did,  deserves  to 
be  hanged;  not  that  I could,  as  a juryman, 
have  found  him  legally  guilty  of  murder; 
but  I am  glad  they  found  means  to  convict 
him.”  The  gentleman  farmer  said,  “A 
poor  man  has  as  much  honour  as  a rich  man; 
and  Campbell  had  that  to  defend.”  John- 
son exclaimed,  “ A poor  man  has  no  hon- 
our.” The  English  yeoman,  not  dis- 
mayed, proceeded:  “ Lord  Eglintoune  was 
a damned  fool  to  run  on  upon  Campbell,  af- 
ter being  warned  that  Campbell  would 
shoot  him  if  he  did.”  Johnson,  who  could 
not  bear  any  thing  like  swearing,  angrily 
replied,  “ He  was  not  a damned  fool:  he 
only  thought  too  well  of  Campbell.  He  did 
not  believe  Campbell  would  he  such  a 
damned  scoundrel,  as  to  do  so  damned  a 
thing.”  His  emphasis  on  damned , accom- 
panied with  frowning  looks,  reproved.  his 
opponent’s  want  of  decorum  in  his  presence. 

Talking  of  the  danger  of  being  mortified 
by  rejection,  when  making  approaches  to 
the  acquaintance  of  the  great,  I observed 
“I  am,  however,  generally  for  trying, 

1 Nothing  venture,  nothing  have.’  ” John- 
son. “ Very  true,  sir;  but  I have  always 
been  more  afraid  of  failing  than  hopeful  of 
success.”  And,  indeed,  though  he  had  all 
just  respect  for  rank,  no  man  ever  less 
courted  the  favour  of  the  great. 

During  this  interview  at  Ashbourne, 
Johnson  seemed  to  be  more  uniformly  so- 
cial, cheerful,  and  alert,  than  I had  almost 
ever  seen  him.  He  was  prompt  on  great 
occasions  and  on  small.  Taylor,  who 
praised  every  thing  of  his  own  to  excess,  in 
short,  “ whose  geese  were  all  swans,”  as 
the  proverb  says,  expatiated  on  the  excel- 
lence of  his  bull-dog,  which  he  told  us  was 
<c  perfectly  well  shaped.”  Johnson,  after 
examining  the  animal  attentively,  thus  re- 
pressed the  vain-glory  of  our  host: — “ No, 
sir,  he  is  not  well  shaped;  for  there  is  not 
the  quick  transition  from  the  thickness  of 
the  fore-part,  to  the  tenuity — the  thin  part 
— behind, — which  abull-dog  ought  to  have.” 
This  tenuity  was  the  only  hard  word  that 
I heard  him  use  during  this  interview,  and 
it  will  be  observed,  he  instantly  put  another 
expression  in  its  place.  Taylor  said,  a 
small  bull-dog  was  as  good  as  a large  one. 
Johnson.  “ No,  sir:  for,  in  proportion  to 
his  size,  he  has  strength:  and  your  argu- 
ment would  prove,  that  a good  bull-dog 
may  be  as  small  as  a mouse.”  It  was 

whom  he  would  not,  on  his  own  responsibility, 
have  found  guilty.  Lord  Eglintoune  was  a friend 
of  Mr.  Eoswell's^  and  the  son  of  the  lady  who 
treated  Johnson  with  such  flattering  attention. — 
See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  455. — Ed.] 


amazing  how  he  eirered  wit:  perspicuity  * 
and  keenness  upon  every  thing  that  oc- 
curred in  conversation.  Most  men,  whom 
I know,  would  no  more  think  of  discussing 
a question  about  a bull-dog,  than  of  at- 
tacking a bull. 

I cannot  allow  any  fragment  whatever  that 
floats  in  my  memory  concerning  the  great 
subject  of  this  work  to  be  lost.  Though 
a small  particular  may  appear  trifling  to 
some,  it  will  be  relished  by  others;  whfib 
every  little  spark  adds  something  to  the 
general  blaze:  and  to  please  the  true,  can- 
did, warm  admirers  of  Johnson,  and  in  any 
degree  increase  the  splendour  of  his  repu- 
tation, I bid  defiance  to  the  shafts  of  ridi- 
cule, or  even  of  malignity.  Showers  of 
them  have  been  discharged  at  my  “ Jour- 
nal of  a Tour  to  the  Hebrides;  ” yet  it  still 
sails  unhurt  along  the  stream  of  time,  and, 
as  an  attendant  upon  Johnson, 

“ Pursues  the  triumph,  and  partakes  the  gale.” 

One  morning  after  breakfast,  when  the 
sun  shone  bright,  we  walked  out  together, 
and  “ pored  ” for  some  time  with  placid  in 
dolence  upon  an  artificial  waterfall,  which 
Dr.  Taylor  had  made  by  building  a strong 
dyke  of  stone  across  the  river  behind  the 
garden.  It  was  now  somewhat  obstructed 
by  branches  of  trees  and  other  rubbish,  which 
had  come  down  the  river,  and  settled  close 
to  it.  Johnson,  partly  from  a desire  to  see 
it  play  more  freely,  and  partly  from  that  in- 
clination to  activity  which  will  animate,  at 
times,  the  most  inert  and  sluggish  mortal, 
took  a long  pole  which  was  lying  on  a bank, 
and  pushed  down  several  parcels  of  this 
wreck  with  painful  assiduity,  while  I stood 
quietly  by,  wondering  to  behold  the  sage 
thus  curiously  employed,  and  smiling  with  a 
humorous  satisfaction  each  time  when  he 
carried  his  point.  He  worked  till  he  was 
quite  out  of  breath;  and  having  found  a 
large  dead  cat  so  heavy  that  he  could  not 
move  it  after  several  efforts,  “Come,”  said 
he  (throwing  down  the  pole),  11  you  shall 
take  it  now;  ” which  I accordingly  did,  and 
being  a fresh  man,  soon  made  the  cat  tum- 
ble over  the  cascade.  This  may  be  laugh- 
ed at  as  too  trifling  to  record;  but  it  is  a 
small  characteristic  trait  in  the  Flemish  pic- 
ture which  I give  of  my  friend,  and  in  which, 
therefore,  I mark  the  most  minute  particu- 
lars. And  let  it  be  remembered,  that 
“iEsop  at  play  ” is  one  of  the  instructive  ap- 
ologues of  antiquity. 

I mentioned  an  old  gentleman  of  our  ac- 
quaintance whose  memory  was  beginning  to 
fail.  Johnso.n.  “ There  must  be  a diseas- 
ed mind,  where  there  is  a failure  of  memory 
at  severity.  A man’s  head,  sir,  must  be 
morbid,  if  he  fails  so  soon1.”  My  friend, 


1 [This  is  one  of  those  violent  and  absurd  as 

sertions  into  which  Johnson  was  so  often  betrayed 


1777.— /ETAT.  68. 


129 


being  now  himself  sixty-eight,  might  thinK 
thus:  but  I imagine,  that  threescore 
and  ten,  the  Psalmist’s  period  of 
y ' sound  human  life,  in  later  ages,  may 
nave  a failure,  though  there  be  no  disease  in 
the  constitution. 

Talking  of  Rochester’s  Poems,  he  said, 
he  had  given  them  to  Mr.  Steevens  to  cas- 
trate * 1 for  the  edition  of  the  poets,  to  which 
he  was  to  write  prefaces.  Dr.  Taylor  (the 
only  time  I ever  heard  him  say  any  thing 
witty)  2 observed,  that  “ if  Rochester  had 
been  castrated  himself,  his  exceptionable 
poems  would  not  have  been  written.”  I 
asked  if  Burnet  had  not  given  a good  Life 
of  Rochester.  Johnson.  “We  have  a 
good  Death  ; there  is  not  much  Life”  I 
asked  whether  Prior’s  poems  were  to  be 
printed  entire  : Johnson  said  they  were.  I 
mentioned  Lord  Hailes’s  censure  of  Prior, 
in  his  preface  to  a collection  of  “ Sacred 
Poems,”  by  various  hands,  published  by 
him  at  Edinburgh  a great  many  years  ago, 
where  he  mentions  “ those  impure  tales 
which  will  be  the  eternal  opprobrium  of 
their  ingenious  authour.”  Johnson.  “Sir, 
Lord  Hailes  has  forgot.  There  is  nothing 
in  Prior  that  will  excite  to  lewdness.  If 
Lord  Hailes  thinks  there  is,  he  must  be 
more  combustible  than  other  people.”  I 
instanced  the  tale  of  “ Paulo  Purganti  and 
nis  wife.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  there  is  noth- 
:ng  there,  but  that  his  wife  wanted  to  be 
Kissed,  when  poor  Paulo  was  out  of  pocket. 
No,  sir,  Prior  is  a lady’s  book.  No  lady  is 
ashamed  to  have  it  standing  in  her  libra- 
ry 3 *.” 

The  hypochondriack  disorder  being  men- 
tioned, Dr.  Johnson  did  not  think  it  so  com- 
mon as  I supposed.  “ Dr.  Taylor,”  said 
he,  " is  the  same  one  day  as  another. 
Burke  and  Reynolds  are  the  same.  Beau- 
clerk,  except  when  in  pain,  is  the  same.  I 
am  not  so  myself ; but  this  I do  not  men- 
tion commonly.” 

I complained  of  a wretched  changefulness, 
so  that  I could  not  preserve,  for  any  long 

by  his  private  feelings  and  prejudices:  the  Psalmist 
says,  and  successive  ages  have  proved,  that  the 
years  of  man  are  threescore  years  and  ten ; yet, 
because  Johnson  was  now  near  seventy,  he 
ventures  to  assert  that  any  decay  of  the  intellect 
at  that  age  must  be  morbid. — Ed.] 

1 This  was  unnecessary,  for  it  had  been  done 
in  the  early  part  of  the  present  century  by  Jacob 
Tonson. — Malone. 

2 I am  told  that  Horace,  Earl  of  Orford,  has  a 
collection  of  Bon-Mots  by  persons  who  never 
fcaid  but  one. — Boswell. 

3 [What  extraordinary  “ laxity  of  talk  ! ” It 
is  surprising  enough  that  Mr.  Boswell  should  have 
recorded  any  thing  so  indecent  as  these  expres- 
sions; but  that  Johnson  should  have  maintained 
tmch  sentiments  is  very  astonishing  and  very 

1;  rentable. — Ed.] 

VOL.  TI. 


continuance,  the  same  views  of  any  thing 
It  was  most  comfortable  to  me  to  ex  peri 
ence  in  Dr.  Johnson’s  company  a relief 
from  this  uneasiness.  His  steady  vigorous 
mind  held  firm  before  me  those  objects  which 
my  own  feeble  and  tremulous  imagination 
frequently  presented  in  such  a wavering 
state,  that  my  reason  could  not  judge  well 
of  them. 

Dr.  Johnson  advised  me  to-dly  to  have 
as  many  books  about  me  as  I could;  that  I 
might  read  upon  any  subject  upon  which  I 
had  a desire  for  instruction  at  the  time. 
“ What  you  read  then,”  said  he,  “ you  will 
remember;  but  if  you  have  not  a book  im- 
mediately ready,  and  the  subject  moulds  in 
your  mind,  it  is  a chance  if  you  have  again 
a desire  to  study  it.”  He  added,  “ if  a man 
never  has  an  eager  desire  for  instruction, 
he  should  prescribe  a task  for  himself.  But 
it  is  better  when  a man  reads  from  imme- 
diate inclination.” 

[He  used  to  say,  that  no  man  Hawk 
read  long  together  with  a folio  on  Apoph. 
his  table.  “ Books,”  said  he,  p‘ 197_8' 
“ that  you  may  carry  to  the  fire,  and  hold 
readily  in  your  hand,  are  the  most  useful 
after  all.”  He  would  say,  “such  boola 
form  the  mass  of  general  and  easy  reading.” 
He  was  a great  friend  to  books  like  the 
French  Esprits  d’un  tel ; for  example, 
Beauties  of  Watts,  &c.  &c.  : “ at  which,” 
said  he,  “ a man  will  often  look  and  be  tempt- 
ed to  go  on,  when  he  would  have  been 
frightened  at  books  of  a larger  size,  and  of 
a more  erudite  appearance.”] 

He  repeated  a good  many  lines  of 
Horace’s  Odes  while  we  were  in  the  chaise; 
I remember  particularly  the  Ode  “ Ehev 
fugaces .” 

He  said,  the  dispute  as  to  the  compara 
tive  excellence  of  Homer  or  Virgil  4 was  in- 
accurate. “We  must  consider,”  said  he, 
“ whether  Homer  was  not  the  greatest  poet, 
though  Virgil  may  have  produced  the  finest 
poem  5.  Virgil  was  indebted  to  Homer  for 
the  whole  invention  of  the  structure  of  an 
epick  poem,  and  for  many  of  his  beauties.” 

He  told  me  that  Bacon  was  a favourite 
authour  with  him;  but  he  had  never  read 
his  works  till  he  was  compiling  the  Eng- 
lish Dictionary,  in  which  he  said,  I might 

4 I am  informed  by  Mr.  Langton,  that  a great 
many  years  ago  he  was  present  when  this  question 
was  agitated  between  Dr.  Johnson  and  Mr.  Burke: 
and,  to  use  Johnson’s  phrase,  they  “ talked  their 
best;”  Johnson  for  Homer,  Burke  for  Virgil.  It 
may  well  be  supposed  to  have  been  one  of  the 
ablest  and  most  brilliant  contests  that  ever  was 
exhibited.  How  much  must  we  regret  that  it  has 
not  been  preserved! — Boswell. 

5 But  where  is  the  inaccuracy , if  the  admirers 
of  Homer  contend,  that  he  was  not  only  prior  to 
Virgil  in  point  of  time,  but  superiour  in  excellence 
— J.  Boswell 


17 


130 


1777.— ^ETAT.  68. 


see  Bacon  very  oflen  quoted.  , Mr.  Seward 
recollects  his  having  mentioned,  that  a dic- 
tionary of  the  English  language  might  he 
compiled  from  Bacon’s  writings  alone,  and 
that  he  had  once  an  intention  of  giving  an 
edition  of  Bacon,  at  least  of  his  English 
works,  and  writing  the  life  of  that  great 
man.  Had  he  executed  this  intention, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  would  have 
done  it  in  a most  masterly  manner.  Mal- 
let’s Life  of  Bacon  has  no  inconsiderable 
merit  as  an  acute  and  elegant  dissertation 
relative  to  its  subject;  but  Mallet’s  mind 
was  not  comprehensive  enough  to  embrace 
the  vast  extent  of  Lord  Verulam’s  genius 
and  research.  Dr.  Warburton  therefore 
observed,  with  witty  justness,  u that  Mal- 
let in  his  Life  of  Bacon  had  forgotten  that 
he  was  a philosopher;  and  if  he  should 
write  the  Life  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough, 
which  he  had  undertaken  to  do,  he  would 
probably  forget  that  he  was  a general.” 

Wishing  to  be  satisfied  what  degree  of 
truth  there  was  in  a story  which  a friend  of 
Johnson’s  and  mine  had  told  me  to  his  dis- 
advantage, I mentioned  it  to  him  in  direct 
terms;  and  it  was  to  this  effect : that  a gen- 
tleman 1 who  had  lived  in  great  intimacy 
with  him,  shown  him  much  kindness,  and 
even  relieved  him  from  a spunging-house, 
having  afterwards  fallen  into  bad  circum- 
stances, was  one  day,  when  Johnson  was 
at  dinner  with  him,  seized  for  debt,  and 
carried  to  prison;  that  Johnson  sat  still  un- 
disturbed, and  went  on  eating  and  drinking; 
upon  which  the  gentleman’s  sister,  who  was 
present,  could  not  suppress  her  indignation: 
“ What,  sir,”  said  she,  “ are  you  so  unfeel- 
ing, as  not  even  to  offer  to  go  to  my  bro- 
ther in  his  distress;  you  who  have  been  so 
much  obliged  to  him  ? ” And  that  Johnson 
answered,  “ Madam,  I owe  him  no  obliga- 
tion; what  he  did  for  me  he  would  have 
done  for  a dog.” 

Johnson  assured  me,  that  the  slory  was 
absolutely  false;  but,  like  a man  conscious 
of  being  in  the  right,  and  desirous  of  com- 
pletely vindicating  himself  from  such  a 
charge,  he  did  not  arrogantly  rest  on  a 
mere  denial,  and  on  his  general  character, 
but  proceeded  thus:  “ Sir,  I was  very  inti- 
mate with  that  gentleman,  and  was  once 
relieved  by  him  from  an  arrest;  but  I never 
was  present  when  he  was  arrested,  never 
Knew  that  he  was  arrested,  and  I believe  he 
never  was  in  difficulties  after  the  time  when 


1 [It  appears  from  part  of  the  original  journal  in 
Mr.  Anderdon’s  papers,  that  the  friend  who  told 
the  r.tcry  was  Mr.  Beauclerk,- and  the  gentleman 
and  lady  alluded  to  were  Mr.  (probably  Henry) 
and  Miss  Harvey.  There  is  reason  to  fear  that 
Mr.  Boswell’s  indiscretion  in  betraying  Mr.  Beau- 
clerk’s  name  a little  impaired  the  cordiality  be- 
ween  him  and  Dr.  Johnson.  — Er.] 


he  relieved  me.  I loved,  him  much;  yet,  in 
talking  of  his  general  character,  I may  have 
said,  though  I do  not  remember  that  I ever 
did  say  so,  that  as  his  generosity  proceeded 
from  no  principle,  but  was  a part  of  his  pro- 
fusion, he  would  do  for  a dog  what  he  would 
do  for  a friend : but  I never  applied  this  re- 
mark to  any  particular  instance,  and  cer- 
tainly not  to  his  kindness  to  me.  If  a pro- 
fuse man,  who  does  not  value  his  money, 
and  gives  a large  sum  to  a prostitute,  gives 
half  as  much,  or  an  equally  large  sum  to 
relieve  a friend,  it  cannot  be  esteemed  as 
virtue.  This  was  all  that  I could  say  of 
that  gentleman;  and,  if  said  at  all,  it  must 
have  been  said  after  his  death.  Sir,  I 
would  have  gone  to  the  world’s  end  to 
relieve  him.  The  remark  about  the 
dog,  if  made  by  me,  was  such  a sally  as 
might  escape  one  when  painting  a man 
highly.” 

On  Tuesday,  September  23,  Johnson  was 
remarkably  cordial  to  me.  It  being  neces- 
sary for  me  to  return  to  Scotland  soon,  I 
had  fixed  on  the  next  day  for  my  setting 
out,  and  I felt  a tender  concern  at  the  thought 
of  parting  with  him.  He  had,  at  this  time, 
frankly  communicated  to  me  many  particu- 
lars, which  are  inserted  in  this  work  in  their 
proper  places;  and  once,  when  I happened 
to  mention  that  the  expense  of  my  jaunt 
would  come  to  much  more  than  I had  com- 
puted, he  said,  “ Why,  sir,  if  the  expense 
were  to  be  an  inconvenience,  you  would 
have  reason  to  regret  it;  but,  if  you  have 
had  the  money  to  spend,  I know  not  that 
you  could  have  purchased  as  much  pleasure 
with  it  in  any  other  way.” 

During  this  interview  at  Ashbourne, 
Johnson  and  I frequently  talked  with"  won- 
derful pleasure  of  mere  trifles  which  had 
occurred  in  our  tour  to  the  Hebrides;  for  it 
had  left  a most  agreeable  and  lasting  im- 
pression upon  his  mind. 

He  found  fault  with  me  for  using  the 
phrase  to  make  money.  “ Do  n’t  you  see,” 
said  he,  “ the  impropriety  of  it?  To  make 
money  is  to  coin  it:  you  should  say  get  mo- 
ney.” The  phrase,  however,  is,  I think, 
pretty  current.  But  Johnson  was  at  all 
times  jealous  of  infractions  upcn  the  genu- 
ine English  language,  and  prompt  to  repress 
colloquial  barbarisms;  such  as  pledging 
myself  for  undertaking ; -line  for  depart 
ment , or  branch , as  the  civil  line,  the  bank- 
ing line.  He  was  particularly  indignant 
against  the  almost  universal  use  of  the  word 
idea , in  the  sense  of  notion  or  opinion , 
when  it  is  clear,  that  idea  can  only  signify 
something  of  which  an  image  can  be  form- 
ed in  the  mind.  We  may  have  an  idea  or 
image  of  a mountain,  a tree,  a building;  but 
we  cannot  surely  have  an  idea  or  image  of 
an  argument  ox  proposition.  Yet  we  heai 
the  sages  of  the  law  “ delivering  their  idea* 


1777. — dETAT.  68. 


131 


upon  the  question  under  consideration; 55 
and  the  first  speakers  in  parliament  “ entire- 
ly coinciding  in  the  idea  which  has  been 
ably  stated  by  an  honourable  member;  ” or 
“ reprobating  an  idea  as  unconstitutional, 
and  fraught  with  the  most  dangerous  con- 
sequences to  a great  and  free  country.” 
Johnson  called  this  “ m odern  cant.” 

I perceived  that  1m  pronounced  the  word 
heard1,  as  if  spelt  with  a double  e,  heerd , 
instead  of  sounding  it  herd , as  is  most 
usually  done2.  He  said,  his  reason  was, 
that  if  it  were  pronounced  herd,  there  would 
be  a single  exception  from  the  English 
pronunciation  of  the  syllable  ear,  and  he 
thought  it  better  not  to  have  that  excep- 
tion. 

He  praised  Grainger’s  “ Ode  on  Soli- 
tude,” in  Dodsley’s  collection,  and  repeat- 
ed, with  great  energy,  the  exordium  • 

“ O Solitude,  romantick  maid, 

Whether  by  nodding  towers  you  tread ; 

Or  haunt  the  desert’s  trackless  gloom, 

Or  hover  o’er  the  yawning  tomb; 

Or  climb  the  Andes’  clifted  side. 

Or  by  the  Nile’s  coy  source  abide: 

Or,  starting  from  your  half-year’s  sleep, 
From  Hecla  view  the  thawing  deep: 

Or,  at  the  purple  dawn  of  day, 

Tadnor’s  marble  waste  survey  3 — ” 

observing,  <c  This,  sir,  is  very  no- 
Recoii  ble.”  [“I  shall  never  forget,”  says 
> * Miss  Reynolds,  to  whom  Johnson 

also  repeated  these  verses,  “ the  concor- 
dance of  the  sound  of  his  voice  with  the 
grandeur  of  those  images;  nor,  indeed,  the 
gothic  dignity  of  his  aspect,  his  look  and 
manner,  when  repeating  sublime  passages. 
But  what  wTas  very  remarkable,  though  his 
cadence  in  reading  poetry  was  so  judicious- 
ly emphatical  as  to  give  additional  force  to 
the  words  uttered,  yet  in  reading  prose,  par- 
ticularly on  common  or  familiar  subjects, 
narrations,  essays,  letters,  &c.  nothing  could 
be  more  injudicious  than  his  manner,  be- 

1  [I  consider  the  pronunciation  of  this  word, 
which  Boswell  justly  makes  an  objection  to,  as 
provincial;  but  I think  he  must  have  misappre- 
hended Dr.  Johnson’s  “ reason.”  There  are 
many  words,  in  which  these  three  letters  occur, 
that  are  pronounced  similarly,  e.  g.  earn,  learn, 
&c. ; nor  would  the  single  exception  be  an  objec- 
tion, as  uniformity  is  not  the  jus  et  norma  lo- 
quendi  in  English. — Hall.] 

2 In  the  age  of  Queen  Elizabeth  this  word  was 
frequently  written,  as  doubtless  it  was  pronounced, 
hard. — Malone. 

3 [In  Dodsley’s  collection,  and  in  Miss  Rey- 
nold’s Recollections,  the  two  last  lines  are  thus 
given: 

“ Or  Tadnor’s  marMe  wastes  survey, 

Or  in  yon  roofless  cloister  stray.” 

But  Bishop  Percy,  in  his  Reliques,  vol  i p.  264, 
corrects  them  as  given  in  the  text. — Ed.] 


ginning  every  period  with  a pompous  ac- 
cent, and  reading  it  with  a whine,  or  with  a 
kind  of  spasmodic  struggle  for  utterance ; 
and  this,  not  from  any  natural  infirmity, 
but  from  a strange  singularity,  in  reading 
on,  in  one  breath,  as  if  he  had  made  a reso 
lution  not  to  respire  till  he  had  closed  the 
sentence.”] 

In  the  evening  our  gentleman-farmer,  and 
two  others,  entertained  themselves  and  the 
company  with  a great  number  of  tunes  on 
the  fiddle.  Johnson  desired  to  have  “ Let 
Ambition  fire  thy  Mind  ” played  over  again, 
and  appeared  to  give  a patient  attention  to 
it;  though  he  owned  to  me  that  he  was  ve- 
ry insensible  to  the  power  of  musick.  I told 
him  that  it  affected  me  to  such  a degree,  as 
often  to  agitate  my  nerves  painfully,  pro- 
ducing in  my  mind  alternate  sensations  of 
pathetic  dejection,  so  that  I was  ready  to 
shed  tears;  and  of  daring  resolution,  so  that 
I was  inclined  to  rush  into  the  thickest  part 
of  the  battle.  <c  Sir,”  said  he,  “ I should 
never  hear  of  it,  if  it  made  me  such  a fool.” 

Much  of  the  effect  of  musick,  I am  satis- 
fied, is  owing  to  the  association  of  ideas. 
Tha*  air,  which  instantly  and  irresistibly 
exciter  in  the  Swiss,  when  in  a foreign  land, 
the  moladie  diipais,  has,  I am  told,  no  in- 
trinsici.  power  of  sound.  And  1 know  from 
my  own  experience,  that  Scotch  reels, 
though  brisk,  make  me  melancholy,  be- 
cause I used  to  hear  them  in  my  early 
years,  at  a time  when  Mr.  Pitt  called  for 
soldiers,  “ from  the  mountains  of  the 
north,”  and  numbers  of  brave  Highland- 
ers were  going  abroad,  never  to  return. 
Whereas  the  airs  in  “ The  Beggar’s  Ope- 
ra,” many  of  which  are  very  soft,  never  fail 
to  render  me  gay,  because  they  are  asso- 
ciated with  the  warm  sensations  and  high 
spirits  of  London.  This  evening,  while 
some  of  the  tunes  of  ordinary  composition 
were  played  with  no  great  skiU,  my  frame 
was  agitated,  and  I was  conscious  of  a.  ge- 
nerous attachment  to  Dr.  Johnson,  as  my 
preceptor  and  friend,  mixed  with  an  affec- 
tionate regret  that  he  was  an  old  man,  whom 
1 should  probably  lose  in  a short  time.  I 
thought  I could  defend  him  at  the  point  of 
my  sword.  My  reverence  and  affection  for 
him  were  in  full  glow.  I said  to  him,  “ My 
dear  sir,  we  must  meet  every  year,  if  you 
do  n’t  quarrel  with  me.”  Johnson.  “ Nay, 
sir,  you  are  more  likely  to  quarrel  with  me, 
than  I with  you.  My  regard  for  you  is 
greater  almost  than  I have  words  to  ex- 
press; but  I do  not  choose  to  be  always  re- 
peating it:  write  it  down  in  the  first  leaf  of 
your  pocket-book,  and  never  doubt  of  it 
again.” 

I talked  to  him  of  misery  being  “ the 
doom  of  man,”  in  this  life,  as  displayed  in 
his  “Vanity  o ’ Human  Wishes.”  Yet  I 
observed  that  tnings  were  done  upon  the 


132 


1777.— vETAT.  63 


supposition  of  happiness;  grand  houses  were 
built,  fine  gardens  were  made,  splendid  pla- 
ces of  publick  amusement  were  contrived, 
and  crowded  with  company.  Johnson. 
“ Alas,  sir,  these  are  only  struggles  for  hap- 
piness. When  I first  entered  Iianelagh,  it 
gave  an  expansion  and  gay  sensation  to  my 
mind,  such  as  I never  experienced  any 
where  else.  But,  as  Xerxes  wept  when  he 
viewed  his  immense  army,  and  considered 
that  not  one  of  th^t  great  multitude  would 
be  alive  a hundred  years  afterwards,  so  it 
went  to  my  heart  to  consider  that  there  was 
not  one  in  all  that  brilliant  circle  that  was 
not  afraid  to  go  home  and  think;  but  that  the 
thoughts  of  each  individual  there  would  be 
distressing  when  alone.55  This  reflection 
was  experimentally  just.  The  feeling  of 
languor1,  which  succeeds  the  animation  of 
gaiety,  is  itself  a very  severe  pain;  and 
when  the  mind  is  then  vacant,  a thousand 
disappointments  and  vexations  rush  in  and 
excruciate.  Will  not  many  even  of  my 
fairest  readers  allow  this  to  be  true? 

I suggested,  that  being  in  love,  and  flat- 
tered with  hopes  of  success;  or  having  some 
favourite  scheme  in  view  for  the  next  day, 
might  prevent  that  wretchedness  of  which 
we  had  been  talking.  Johnson.  “ Why, 
sir,  it  may  sometimes  be  so  as  you  suppose; 
but  my  conclusion  is  in  general  but  too 
true.55 

While  Johnson  and  I stood  in  calm  con- 
ference by  ourselves  in  Dr.  Taylor’s  garden, 
at  a pretty  late  hour  in  a serene  autumn 
night,  looking  up  to  the  heavens,  I direct- 
ed the  discourse  to  the  subject  of  a future 
state.  My  friend  was  in  a placid  aud  most 
benignant  frame  of  mind.  “ Sir,55  said  he, 
“ I do  not  imagine  that  all  things  will  be 
made  clear  to  us  immediately  after  death, 
but  that  the  ways  of  Providence  will  be  ex- 
plained to  us  very  gradually.55  I ventured 
to  ask  him  whether,  although  the  words  of 
some  texts  of  Scripture  seemed  strong  in 
support  of  the  dreadful  doctrine  of  an  eter- 
nity of  punishment,  we  might  not  hope  that 
the  denunciation  was  figurative,  and  would 
not  literally  be  executed.  Johnson.  “Sir, 
you  are  to  consider  the  intention  of  punish- 
ment in  a future  state.  W e have  no  reason 
to  be  sure  that  we  shall  then  be  no  longer 
liable  to  offend  against  God.  We  do  not 
know  that  even  the  angels  are  quite  in  a state 
of  security;  nay,  we  know  that  some  of 
them  have  fallen.  It  may  therefore,  per- 

1 Pope  mentions, 

“ Stretch’d  on  the  rack  of  a too  easy  chair.” 

But  I recollect  a couplet  quite  apposite  to  my  sub- 
iect  in  “ Virtue,  an  Ethick  Epistle,”  a beautiful 
%r.d  instructive  poem,  by  an  anonymous  writer,  in 
1758;  who,  treating  of  pleasure  in  excess,  says, 

Till  languor,  suffering  on  ttie  rack  of  bliss, 

Confess  that  man  was  never  made  for  this.” — Boswell. 


haps,  be  necessary,  in  order  to  preserve 
both  men  and  angels  in  a state  of  rectitude, 
that  they  should  have  continually  before 
them  the  punishment,  of  those  who  have 
deviated  from  it ; but  we  hope  that  by  some 
other  means  a fall  from  rectitude  may  be 
prevented.  Some  of  the  texts  of  Scripture 
upon  this  subject  are.  as  you  observe,  in- 
deed strong;  but  they  may  admit  of  a miti- 
gated interpretation.55  He  talked  to  me 
upon  this  awful  and  delicate  question  in  a 
gentle  tone,  and  as  if  afraid  to  be  decisive. 

After  supper  I accompanied  him  to  his 
apartment,  and  at  my  request  he  dictated  to 
me  an  argument  in  favour  of  the  negro  who 
was  then  claiming  his  liberty,  in  an  action 
in  the  court  of  session  in  Scotland.  He  had 
always  been  very  zealous  against  slavery  in 
every  form,  in  which  I with  all  deference 
thought  that  he  discovered  “ a zeal  without 
knowledge.”  Upon  one  occasion,  when  in 
company  with  some  very  grave  men  at  Ox- 
ford, his  toast  was,  “ Here’s  to  the  next  in- 
surrection of  the  negroes  in  the  West  In- 
dies.55 His  violent  prejudice  against  our 
West  Indian  and  American  settlers  appear- 
ed whenever  there  was  an  opportunity. 
Towards  the  conclusion  of  his  “ Taxation 
no  Tyranny,55  he  says,  “ how  is  it  that  we 
hear  the  loudest  yelps  for  liberty  among  the 
drivers  of  negroes?55  and  in  his  conversation 
with  Mr.  Wilkes2  he  asked,  “Where  did 
Beckford  and  Trecothick  learn  English?55 
That  Trecothick  could  both  speak  and 
write  good  English  is  well  known.  I my 
self  was  favoured  with  his  correspondence 
concerning  the  brave  Corsicans.  And  that 
Beckford  could  speak  it  with  a spirit  of  hon- 
est resolution  even  to  his  majesty,  as  his 
“ faithful  lord  mayor  of  London,55  is  com- 
memorated by  the  noble  monument  erected 
to  him  in  Guildhall. 

The  argument  dictated  by  Dr.  Johnson 
[will  be  found  in  the  Appendix]. 

1 record  Dr.  Johnson’s  argument  fairly 
upon  this  particular  case;  where,  perhaps, 
he  was  in  the  right.  But  I beg  leave  to  en- 
ter my  most  solemn  protest  against  his  gen 
eral  doctrine  with  respect  to  the  slave  trade. 
For  I will  resolutely  say,  that  his  unfavour- 
able notion  of  it  was  owing  to  prejudice, 
and  imperfect  or  false  information.  The 
wild  and  dangerous  attempt  which  has  for 
some  time  been  persisted  in  to  obtain  an 
act  of  our  legislature,  to  abolish  so  very  im- 
portant and  necessary  a branch  of  commer- 
cial interest,  must  have  been  crushed  at 
once,  had  not  the  insignificance  of  the  zeal- 
ots who  vainly  took  the  lead  in  it  made  the 
vast  body  of  planters,  merchants,  and  oth- 
ers, whose  immense  properties  are  involved 
in  that  trade,  reasonably  enough  suppose  that 
there  could  be  no  danger.  The  encourage- 

2 See  ante , p.  76. — Bosw.si  t 


1777.— -/ET  AT.  68. 


133 


ment  which  the  attempt  has  received  excites 
my  wonder  and  indignation;  and  though 
some  men  of  superior  abilities  have  support- 
ed it,  whether  from  a love  of  temporary 
popularity  when  prosperous,  or  a love  of 
general  mischief  when  desperate,  my  opin- 
ion is  unshaken.  To  abolish  a status, 
which  in  all  ages  God  has  sanctioned,  and 
man  has  continued,  would  not  only  be  rob- 
bery to  an  innumerable  class  of  our  fellow- 
subjects,  but  it  would  be  extreme  cruelty  to 
African  savages,  a portion  of  whom  it  saves 
from  massacre,  or  intolerable  bondage  in 
their  own  country,  and  introduces  into  a 
much  happier  state  of  life;  especially  now 
when  their  passage  to  the  West  Indies  and 
there  treatment  there  is  humanely  regulated. 
To  abolish  that  trade  would  be  to 

“ shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind.” 

Whatever  may  have  passed  elsewhere 
concerning  it,  the  house  of  lords  is  wise  and 
independent: 

Intaminatis  fulget  bonoribus; 

Nec  sumit  aut  ponit  secures 
Arbitrio  popularis  aurse. 

I have  read,  conversed,  and  thought  much 
upon  the  subject,  and  would  recommend  to 
all  who  are  capable  of  conviction  an  excel- 
lent tract  by  my  learned  and  ingenious 
friend,  John  Ranby,  Esq.,  entitled  “ Doubts 
on  the  Abolition  of  the  Slave  Trade.”  To 
Mr.  Ranby’s  “ Doubts,”  I will  apply  Lord 
Chancellor  Hardwicke’s  expression  in  praise 
of  a Scotch  law  book,  called  “ Dirleton’s 
Doubts:  ” “ his  doubts ,”  said  his  lordship, 
“ are  better  than  most  people’s  certainties .” 

When  I said  now  to  Johnson,  that  I was 
afraid  I kept  him  too  late  up,  “ No,  sir,” 
said  he,  “I  do  n’t  care  though  I sit  all  night 
with  you.”  This  was  an  animated  speech 
from  a man  in  his  sixty-ninth  year. 

[Dr.  Johnson,  as  Mrs.  Piozzi  re- 
lates,  loved  late  hours  extremely,  or 
p‘  * more  properly  hated  early  ones. 
Nothing  was  more  terrifying  to  him  than 
the  idea  of  retiring  to  bed,  which  he  never 
would  call  going  to  rest,  or  suffer  another 
to  call  so.  “I  lie  down,”  said  he,  “ that 
my  acquaintance  may  sleep;  but  I lie  down 
to  endure  oppressive  misery,  and  soon  rise 
again  to  pass  the  night  in  anxiety  and  pain.” 
By  this  pathetic  manner,  which  no  one  ever 
possessed  in  so  eminent  a degree,  he  used  to 
shock  that  lady  from  quitting  his  company, 
till  she  hurt  her  own  health  not  a little  by 
sitting  up  with  him  when  she  was  herself 
far  from  well:  nor  was  it  an  easy  matter  to 
oblige  him  even  by  compliance,  for  he 
always  maintained  that  no  one  forbore  their 
own  gratifications  for  the  sake  of  pleasing 
another,  and  if  one  did  sit  up  it  was  proba- 
bly to  amuse  one’s  self.  Some  right,  how- 
ever, he  certainly  had  to  say  so,  as  he  made 


his  company  exceedingly  entertaining  wheD 
he  had  once  forced  one,  by  his  vehement 
lamentations  and  piercing  reproofs,  not  to 
quit  the  room,  but  to  sit  quietly  and  make 
tea  for  him,  as  Mrs.  Thrale  often  did  in 
London  till  four  o’clock  in  the  morning. 
At  Streatham,  she  managed  better,  having 
always  some  friend  who  was  kind  enough 
to  engage  him  in  talk,  and  favour  her  re- 
treat.] 

[Indeed,  he  has  been  known  to  Hawk, 
say,  “ Whoever  thinks  of  going  to  Apoph. 
bed  before  twelve  o’clock  is  a p' 2n* 
scoundrel.”  Having  nothing  in  particular 
to  do  himself,  and  having  none  of  his  time 
appropriated,  he  was  a troublesome  guest  to 
persons  who  had  much  to  do. 

He  rose  too  as  unwillingly  as  he  went  to 
bed.] 

Had  I been  as  attentive  not  to  displease 
him  as  I ought  to  have  been,  I know  not 
but  this  vigil  might  have  been  fulfilled;  but 
I unluckily  entered  upon  the  controversy 
concerning  the  right  of  Great  Britain  to  tax 
America,  and  attempted  to  argue  in  favour 
of  our  fellow-subjects  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Atlantick.  I insisted  that  America 
might  be  very  well  governed,  and  made  to 
yield  sufficient  revenue  by  the  means  of  in- 
fluence, as  exemplified  in  Ireland,  while  the 
people  might  be  pleased  with  the  imagina- 
tion of  their  participating  of  the  British  con- 
stitution, by  having  a body  of  representa- 
tives, without  whose  consent  money  could 
not  be  exacted  from  them.  Johnson  could 
not  bear  my  thus  opposing  his  avowed  opin- 
ion, which  he  had  exerted  himself  with  an 
extreme  degree  of  heat  to  enforce;  and  the 
violent  agitation  into  which  he  was  thrown, 
while  answering,  or  rather  reprimanding 
me,  alarmed  me  so,  that  I heartily  repent- 
ed of  my  having  unthinkingly  introduced 
the  subject.  I myself,  however,  grew  warm, 
and  the  change  was  great,  from  the  calm 
state  of  philosophical  discussion  in  which 
we  had  a little  before  been  pleasingly  em- 
ployed. 

I talked  of  the  corruption  of  the  British 
parliament,  in  which  I alleged  that  any 
question,  however  unreasonable  or  unjust, 
might  be  carried  by  a venal  majority;  and 
I spoke  with  high  admiration  of  the  Roman 
senate,  as  if  composed  of  men  sincerely  de- 
sirous to  resolve  what  they  should  think 
best  for  their  country.  My  friend  would 
allow  no  such  character  to  the  Roman  sen 
ate;  and  he  maintained  that  the  British 
parliament  was  not  corrupt,  and  that  there 
was  no  occasion  to  corrupt  its  members 
asserting,  that  there  was  hardly  ever  any 
question  of  great  importance  before  parlia- 
ment, any  question  in  which  a man  might 
not  very  well  vote  either  upon  one  side  or 
the  other.  He  said  there  had  been  none  in 
his  time  except  that  respecting  America. 


134 


1777  — JET  AT.  63. 


We  were  fatigued  by  the  contest,  which 
was  produced  by  my  want  of  caution;  and 
he  was  not  then  in  the  humour  to  slide  into 
easy  and  cheerful  talk.  It  therefore  so  hap- 
pened, that  we  were  after  an  hour  or  two 
very  willing  to  separate  and  go  to  bed. 

On  Wednesday,  September  24,  I went 
into  Dr.  Johnson’s  room  before  he  got  up, 
and  finding  that  the  storm  of  the  preceding 
night  was  quite  laid,  I sat  down  upon  his 
bed-side,  and  he  talked  with  as  much  readi- 
ness and  good  humour  as  ever.  He  recom- 
mended to  me  to  plant  a considerable  part 
of  a large  moorish  farm  which  I had  pur- 
chased, and  he  made  several  calculations  of 
the  expense  and  profit;  for  he  delighted  in 
exercising  his  mind  on  the  science  of  num- 
bers. He  pressed  upon  me  the  importance 
of  planting  at  the  first  in  a very  sufficient 
manner,  quoting  the  saying,  “ In  hello  non 
licet  his  err  are;  ” and  adding,  “ this  is 
equally  true  in  planting.” 

I spoke  with  gratitude  of  Dr.  Taylor’s 
nospitality;  and  as  evidence  that  it  was  not 
on  account  of  his  good  table  alone  that 
Johnson  visited  him  often,  I mentioned  a 
little  anecdote  which  had  escaped  my 
friend’s  recollection,  and  at  hearing  which 
repeated,  he  smiled.  One  evening  when  I 
was  sitting  with  him,  F rank  delivered  this 
message:  u Sir,  Dr.  Taylor  sends  his  com- 
pliments to  you,  and  begs  you  will  dine  with 
him  to-morrow.  He  has  got  a hare.” 
“ My  compliments,”  said  Johnson,  “ and 
I’ll  dine  with  him — hare  or  rabbit.” 

After  breakfast  I departed,  and  pursued 
my  journey  northwards. 

[“TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ Ashbourne,  25th  Sept.  1777. 

Letters,  “ Boswell  is  gone,  and  is,  I hope, 
v.  i.  p.  pleased  that  he  has  been  here; 
384,390.  though  to  look  on  any  thing  with 
pleasure  is  not  very  common.  He  has  been 
gay  and  good-humoured  in  his  usual  way, 
but  we  have  not  agreed  upon  any  other  ex- 
pedition. He  had  spent  more  money  than 
he  intended,  and  I supplied  him;  my  defi- 
ciencies are  again  made  up  by  Mr.  Thrale’s 
bill,  for  which  I thank  him.”] 

A.nd  again. 

[“Ashbourne,  29th  Sept.  1777. 

cC  Boswell,  while  he  was  here,  saw  Ked- 
dlestone  and  the  silk-mills,  and  took  Chals- 
worth  in  his  way  home.  He  says,  his  wife 
does  not  love  me  quite  well  yet,  though  w< 
have  made  a formal  peace.  He  kept  his 
journal  very  diligently;  but  then  what  was 
the i o to  journalise?  I should  be  glad  4 ) see 
whH  he  says  of  . . . . '.  I think  \ told 

you  that  I took  him  to  Ham  2.”] 


» [No  doubt  Dr.  Taylor. — Ed.] 

2 [Printed  in  the  Letters  by  mistake  Ham. — 
Ei».i 


I took  my  post-chaise  from  the  Green 
Man,  a very  good  inn  at  Ashbourne,  the 
mistress  of  which,  a mighty  civil  gentlewo- 
man, courtesying  very  low,  presented  me 
with  an  engraving  of  the  sign  of  her  house: 
to  which  she  had  subjoined,  in  her  own 
hand-writing,  an  address  in  such  singular 
simplicity  of  style,  that  I have  preserved  it 
pasted  upon  one  .of  the  boards  of  my  original 
Journal  at  this  time,  and  shall  here  insert  it 
for  the  amusement  of  my  readers: 

“ M.  Killingley’s  duty  waits  upon  Mr 
Boswell,  is  exceedingly  obliged  to  him  for 
this  favour;  whenever  he  comes  this  way, 
hopes  for  a continuance  of  the  same.  Would 
Mr.  Boswell  name  the  house  to  his  extensive 
acquaintance,  it  would  be  a singular  favour 
conferred  on  one  who  has  it  not  in  her  pow 
er  to  make  any  other  return  but  her  most 
grateful  thanks,  and  sincerest  prayers  for 
his  happiness  in  time,  and  in  a blessed 
eternity. 

“ Tuesday  morning.” 

From  this  meeting  at  Ashbourne  I tie 
rived  a considerable  accession  to  my  John 
sonian  store.  I communicated  my  original 
Journal  to  Sir  William  Forbes,  in  whom  I 
have  always  placed  deserved  confidence; 
and  what  he  wrote  to  me  concerning  it  is  so 
much  to  my  credit  as  the  biographer  of 
Johnson,  that  my  readers  will,  I hope, 
grant  me  their  indulgence  for  here  insert- 
ing it:  “ It  is  not  once  or  twice  going  over 
it,”  says  Sir  William,  “ that  will  satisfy  me, 
for  I find  in  it  a high  degree  of  instruction 
as  well  as  entertainment;  and  I derive  more 
benefit  from  Dr.  Johnson’s  admirable,  dis 
cussions  than  I should  be  able  to  draw  from 
his  personal  conversation;  for  I suppose 
there  is  not  a man  in  the  world  to  whom  he 
discloses  his  sentiments  so  freely  as  to  your- 
self.” 

I cannot  omit  a curious  circumstance 
which  occurred  at  Edensor-inn,  close  by 
Chatsworth,  to  survey  the  magnificence  of 
which  I had  gone  a considerable  way  out 
of  my  road  to  Scotland.  The  inn  was  then 
kept  by  a very  jolly  landlord,  whose  name, 
I think,  was  Malton.  He  happened  to  men- 
tion that  “ the  celebrated  Dr.  Johnson  had 
been  in  his  house.”  I inquired  who  this 
Dr.  Johnson  was,  that  I might  hear  my 
host’s  notion  of  him.  (t  Sir,”  said  he, 
“ Johnson,  the  great  writer;  Oddity , as 
they  call  him.  He ’s  the  greatest  writer  in 
England;  he  writes  for  the  ministry;  he 
has  a correspondence  abroad,  and  lets  them 
know  what’s  going  on.” 

My  friend,  who  had  a tnorough  depen- 
dence upon  the  authen  ticity  of  my  relation 
without  any  embellishment , as  falsehood  or 
fiction  is  too  gently  called,  laughed  a gorwi 
deal  at  this  representation  of  himself. 


1777. — AST  AT.  63. 


135 


1“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ 13th  Octobei . 1777. 

« Though  I am  still  at  Ashbourne,  I re- 

tters  ceiye  your  dear  letters  that  come  to 
S ST’  Lichfield,  and  you  continue  that  di- 
» e,  10,  rection,  for  I think  to  get  thither  as 
soon  as  I can 

****** 

“ I cannot  but  think  on  your  kindness 
and  my  master’s.  Life  has,  upon  the 
whole,  fallen  short,  very  short,  of  my  early 
expectation;  but  the  acquisition  of  such  a 
friendship,  at  an  age  when  new  friendships 
are  seldom  acquired,  is  something  better 
than  the  general  course  of  things  gives  man 
a right  to  expect.  I think  on  it  with  great 
delight. — I am  not  very  apt  to  be  delighted.” 

“ TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ Lichfield,  22d  October,  1777. 

“ I am  come,  at  last,  to  Lichfield,  and  am 
really  glad  that  I have  got  away  from  a place 
where  there  was  indeed  no  evil,  but  very  little 
good.  You  may,  I believe,  write  once  to 
Lichfield  after  you  receive  this,  but  after 
that  it  will  be  best  to  direct  to  London. 
***** 

“ My  visit  to  Stowhill  has  been  paid.  I 
have  seen  there  a collection  of  misery. 
Mrs.  Aston  paralytick,  Mrs.  Walmsley 
lame,  Mrs.  Hervey  blind,  and  I think  an- 
other lady  deaf.  Even  such  is  life. 

“ I hope  dear  Mrs.  Aston  is  a little  better; 
it  is,  however,  very  little.  She  was,  I be- 
lieve, glad  to  see  me;  and  to  have  any  body 
glad  to  see  me  is  a great  pleasure  h” 

“ TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“Lichfield,  29th  Oct.  1777. 

“ Though  after  my  last  letter  I might 
justly  claim  an  interval  of  rest,  yet  I write 
again  to  tell  you,  that  for  this  turn  you  will 
hear  but  once  more  from  Lichfield.  This 
day  is  Wednesday — on  Saturday  I shall 
write  again,  and  on  Monday  I shall  set  out 
to  seek  adventures;  for  you  know — 

None  but  the  brave  desert  the  fair. 

“ On  Monday  we  hope  to  see  Birming- 
ham, the  seat  of  the  mechanick  arts;  and  I 
know  not  whether  our  next  stage  will  be 
Oxford,  the  mansion  of  the  liberal  arts;  or 
London,  the  residence  of  all  the  arts  to- 
gether. The  chy mists  call  the  world  Aca- 
demia Paracelsi ; my  ambition  is  to  be  his 
fellow-student — to  see  the  works  of  nature, 
and  hear  the  lectures  of  truth.  To  London, 
therefore!  London  may,  perhaps,  fill  me; 
and  I hope  to  fill  my  part  of  London.”] 

1 “ Mr.  Johnson  sends  his  compliments  to  the 
ladies  at  Stowhill,  of  whom  he  would  have  taken  a 
more  formal  leave,  but  that  he  was  willing  to 
spare  a ceremo  ly  which  he  hopes  would  have 
been  no  pleasure  to  them,  and  would  have  been 
painful  to  himself.” 


[tcDR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  ASTON 

“London,  20th  Nov.  1777 

“Dear  madam, — Through  Bir-  rem 
mingham  and  Oxford  I got  without  ms. 
any  difficulty  or  disaster  to  London, 
though  not  in  so  short  a time  as  I expected, 
for  I did  not  reach  Oxford  before  the  sec- 
ond day.  I came  home  very  much  incom- 
moded by  obstructed  respiration;  but  by 
vigorous  methods  am  something  better.  I 
have  since  been  at  Brighthelmstone,  and 
am  now  designing  to  settle. 

“ Different  things,  madam,  are  fit  fci  dif- 
ferent people.  It  is  fit  for  me  to  settle,  and 
for  you  to  move.  I wish  I could  hear  of 
you  at  Bath;  but  I am  afraid  that  is  hardly 
to  be  expected  from  your  resolute  inactivity 
My  next  hope  is  that  you  will  endeavour 
to  grow  well  where  you  are.  I cannot  help 
thinking  that  I saw  a visible  amendment  be- 
tween the  time  when  I left  you  to  go  to 
Ashbourne,  and  the  time  when  I came  back. 
I hope  you  will  go  on  mending  and  mend- 
ing, to  which  exercise  and  cheerfulness  will 
very  much  contribute.  Take  care,  there- 
fore. dearest  madam,  to  be  busy  and  cheerful 

“ I have  great  confidence  in  the  care  and 
conversation  Of  dear  Mrs.  Gastrell.  It  is 
very  much  the  interest  of  all  that  know  her 
that  she  should  continue  well,  for  she  is  one 
of  few  people  that  has  the  proper  regard  for 
those  that  are  sick.  She  was  so  kind  to  me 
that  I hope  I never  shall  forget  it,  and  if  it 
be  troublesome  to  you  to  write,  I shall  hope 
that  she  will  do  me  another  act  of  kindness 
by  answering  this  letter;  for  I beg  that  J 
may  hear  from  you  by  some  hand  or  another 
I am,  madam,  your  most  obedient  servant. 

“Sam.  Johnson.”] 

[CCDR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER. 

“ London,  20th  Nov.  1777. 

“ Dear  love, — You  ordered  me 
to  write  you  word  when  I came  ^i^aoE 
home.  I have  been  for  some  days 
at  Brighthelmstone,  and  came  back  on  Tues- 
day night. 

“You  know  that  when  I left  you  I was 
not  well;  I have  taken  physick  very  dili- 
gently, and  am  perceptibly  better;  so  much 
better  that  I hope  by  care  and  perseverance 
to  recover,  and  see  you  again  from  time  to 
time. 

“Mr.  Nollekens,  the  statuary,  has  had 
my  direction  to  send  you  a cast  of  my  head. 
I will  pay  the  carriage  when  we  meet.  Let 
me  know  how  you  like  it;  and  what  the 
ladies  of  your  rout  say  to  it.  I have  heard 
different  opinions.  I cannot  think  where 
you  can  put  it. 

“ I found  every  body  here  well.  Miss 
[Thrale]  has  a mind  to  be  womanly,  and 
her  womanhood  does  not  set  well  upon 
her. 

“ Please  to  make  my  compliments  to  &]| 


136 


1777.— ^ET  AT.  68. 


the  ladies  and  an  the  gentlemen  to  whom  I 
owe  them,  that  is,  to  a great  part  of  the 
town.  I am,  dear  madam,  your  most  hum- 
ble servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

“MR.  BOSWELL  TO  DR.  JOHNSON1 *. 

“ Edinburgh,  29th  Sept.  1777. 

“ My  dear  sir, — By  the  first  post  I in- 
form you  of  my  safe  arrival  at  my  own 
house,  and  that  I had  the  comfort  of  finding 
my  wife  and  children  all  in  good  health. 

“ When  I look  back  upon  our  late  inter- 
view, it  appears  to  me  to  have  answered 
expectation  better  than  almost  any  scheme 
ofhappiness  thatl  ever  put  in  execution.  My 
Journal  is  stored  with  wisdom  and  wit;  and 
my  memory  is  filled  with  the  recollection  of 
lively  and  affectionate  feelings,  which  now, 
l think,  yield  me  more  satisfaction  than  at 
the  time  when  they  were  first  excited.  I 
have  experienced  this  upon  other  occasions. 
I shall  be  obliged  to  you  if  you  will  explain 
it  to  me;  for  it  seems  wonderful  that 
pleasure  should  be  more  vivid  at  a distance 
than  when  near.  I wish  you  may  find 
yourself  in  a humour  to  do  me  this  favour; 
but  I flatter  myself  with  no  strong  hope  of 
it;  for  I have  observed,  that  unless  upon 
very  serious  occasions,  your  letters  to  me 
are  not  answers  to  those  which  I write.” 

(I  then  expressed  much  uneasiness  that  I 
had  mentioned  to  him  the  name  of  the  gen- 
tleman who  had  told  me  the  story  so  much 
to  his  disadvantage,  the  truth  of  which  he 
had  completely  refuted;  for  that  my  having 
done  so  might  be  interpreted  as  a breach  of 
confidence,  and  offend  one  whose  society  I 
valued  : therefore  earnestly  requesting  that 
no  notice  might  be  taken  of  it  to  any  body, 
till  I should  be  in  London,  and  have  an  op- 
portunity to  talk  it  over  with  the  gentle- 
man.) 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“London,  29th  Nov.  1777. 

“Dear  sir, — You  will  wonder,  or  you 
have  wondered,  why  no  letter  has  come 
from  me.  What  you  wrote  at  your  return 
had  in  it  such  a strain  of  cowardly  caution 
as  gave  me  no  pleasure.  I could  not  well 
do  what  you  wished;  I had  no  need  to  vex 
you  with  a refusal.  I have  seen  Mr.  [Beau- 
clerk],  and  as  to  him  have  set  all  right,  with- 
out any  inconvenience,  so  far  as  I know,  to 
you.  Mrs.  Thrale  had  forgot  the  story. 
You  may  now  be  at  ease. 

“ And  at  ease  I certainly  wish  you,  for 
the  kindness  that  you  showed  in  coming  so 
long  a journey  to  see  me.  It  was  pity  to 
keep  you  so  long  in  pain,  but,  upon  re- 
viewing the  matter,  I do  not  see  what  I 
could  have  done  better  than  I did. 

“ I hope  you  found  at  your  return  my 


dear  enemy  and  all  her  little  people  quite 
well,  and  had  no  reason  to  rep  nl  of  youi 
journey.  I think  on  it  with  great  grati- 
tude. 

“ I was  not  well  when  you  left  me  at  the 
doctor’s,  and  I grew  worse;  yet  1 staid  on, 
and  at  Lichfield  was  very  ill.  Travelling, 
however,  did  not  make  me  worse;  and  when  I 
came  to  London,  I complied  with  a sum- 
mons to  go  to  Brighthelmstone,  where  I 
saw  Beauclerk,  and  staid  three  days. 

“ Our  club  has  recommenced  last  Friday, 
but  I was  not  there.  Langton  has  another 
wench9.  Mrs.  Thrale  is  in  hopes  of  a 
young  brewer.  They  got  by  their  trade 
last  year  a very  large  sum,  and  their  ex- 
penses are  proportionate. 

“ Mrs.  Williams’s  health  is  very  bad. 
And  I have  had  for  some  time  a very  diffi- 
cult and  laborious  respiration;  but  I am 
better  by  purges,  abstinence,  and  other 
methods.  I am  yet,  however,  much  behind- 
hand in  my  health  and  rest. 

u Dr.  Blair’s  sermons  are  now  universal- 
ly commended;  but  let  him  think  that  I had 
the  honour  of  first  finding  and  first  praising 
his  excellencies.  I did  not  stay  to  add  my 
voice  to  that  of  the  publick. 

“ My  dear  friend,  let  me  thank  you  once 
more  for  your  visit  : you  did  me  great 
honour,  and  I hope  met  with  nothing  that 
displeased  you.  I staid  long  at  Ashbourne, 
not  much  pleased,  yet  awkward  at  depart 
ing.  I then  went  to  Lichfield,  where  I found 
my  friend  at  Stowhill3  very  dangerously 
diseased.  Such  is  life.  Let  us  try  to  pass 
it  well,  whatever  it  be,  for  there  is  surely 
something  beyond  it. 

“ Well,  now,  I hope  all  is  well;  write  as 
soon  as  you  can  to,  dear  sir,  your  affection 
ate  servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“to  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“ Edinburgh,  29th  Nov.  1777. 

“ My  dear  sir, — This  day’s  post  has  at 
length  relieved  me  from  much  uneasiness,  by 
bringing  me  a letter  from  you.  I was,  in- 
deed, doubly  uneasy;  on  my  own  account 
and  yours.  I was  very  anxious  to  be  se- 
cured against  any  bad  consequences  from 
my  imprudence  in  mentioning  the  gentle- 
man’s name  who  had  told  me  a story  to 
your  disadvantage;  and  as  I could  hardly 
suppose  it  possible  that  you  would  delay  so 
long  to  make  me  easy,  unless  you  were  ill, 
I was  not  a little  apprehensive  about  you. 
You  must  not  be  offended  when  I venture 
to  tell  you  that  you  appear  to  me  to  have 
been  too  rigid  upon  this  occasion.  The 
‘ cowardly  caution  which  gave  you  no  plea- 
sure, ’ was  suggested  to  me  by  a friend 
here,  to  whom  I mentioned  the  strange 
story,  and  the  detection  of  its  falsity,  as  an 


1 [This  letter  is  put  a little  out  of  its  chronolog- 

ical place,  to  keep  it  near  the  answer. — Ed.] 


2 A daughter  born  to  him. — Boswell. 

3 Mrs.  Aston. — Boswf.ll. 


1777.— /ET  AT.  68. 


instance  how  one  may  be  deceived  by  what 
is  apparently  very  good  authority.  But, 
as  I am  still  persuaded,  that  as  I might  have 
obtained  the  truth  without  mentioning  the 
gentleman’s  name,  it  was  wrong  in  me  to 
do  it,  I cannot  see  that  you  are  just  in  blam- 
ing my  caution.  But  if  you  were  ever  so 
just  in  your  disapprobation,  might  you  not 
have  dealt  more  tenderly  with  me  ? 

“ I went  to  Auchinleck  about  the  middle 
of  October,  and  passed  some  time  with  my 
father  very  comfortably. 

* v * * * # 

cc  I am  engaged  in  a criminal  prosecution 
against  a country  schoolmaster,  for  indecent 
behaviour  to  his  female  scholars.  There  is 
no  statute  against  such  abominable  conduct; 
but  it  is  punishable  at  common  law.  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  you  for  your  assistance 
in  this  extraordinary  trial.  I ever  am,  my 
dear  sir,  your  faithful  humble  servant, 

“ James  Boswell.” 

About  this  time  I wrote  to  Johnson,  giv- 
ing him  an  account  of  the  decision  of  the 
negro  cause,  by  the  court  of  session,  which 
by  those  who  hold  even  the  mildest  and 
best  regulated  slavery  in  abomination  (of 
which  number  I do  not  hesitate  to  declare 
that  I am  none)  should  be  remembered 
with  high  respect,  and  to  the  credit  of 
Scotland;  for  it  went  upon  a much  broader 
ground  than  the  case  of  Somerset,  which 
was  decided  in  England  1 ; being  truly  the 
general  question,  whether  a perpetual  obli- 
gation of  service  to  one  master  in  any  mode 
should  be  sanctified  by  the  law  of  a free 
country.  A negro,  then  called  Joseph 
Knight,  a native  of  Africa,  having  been 
brought  to  Jamaica  in  the  usual  course  of 
the  slave  trade,  and  purchased  by  a Scotch 
gentleman  in  that  island,  had  attended  his 
master  to  Scotland,  where  it  was  officiously 
suggested  to  him  that  he  would  be  found 
entitled  to  his  liberty  without  any  limitation. 
He  accordingly  brought  his  action,  in  the 
course  of  which  the  advocates  on  both  sides 
did  themselves  great  honour.  Mr.  Mac- 
laurin  has  had  the  praise  of  Johnson,  for 
his  argument2  in  favour  of  the  negro,  and 
Mr.  Macconochie  3 distinguished  himself  on 
the  same  side,  by  his  ingenuity  and  extra- 
ordinary research.  Mr.  Cullen,  on  the  part 

1 See  State  Trials,  vol.  xi.  p.  339,  and  Mr. 
Hargrave’s  argument. — Boswell. 

2 The  motto  to  it  was  happily  chosen: 

“ Quamvis  ille  niger,  quamvis  tu  candidus  esses,” 

I cannot  avoid  mentioning  a circumstance  no  less 
strange  than  true,  that  a brother  advocate  in  con- 
siderable practice  [Mr.  Wright],  but  of  whom  it 
certainly  cannot  be  said,  Ingenuas  didicit  Jideli- 
ter  artes  asked  Mr.  Maclaurin,  with  a face  of 
flippant  assurance,  “ Are  these  words  your  own  ? ” 
— Boswell. 

3 [Afterwards  a lord  of  session,  by  the  title  of 

VOL  1'.  18 


i 37 

of  the  master,  discovered  good  informaf  r -n 
and  sound  reasoning;  in  which  he  was 
well  supported  by  Mr.  James  Ferguson,  re- 
markable for  a manly  understanding,  and  a 
knowledge  both  of  books  and  of  the  world 
But  I cannot  too  highly  praise  the  speech 
whicf  Mr.  Henry  Dundas  generously  con 
tributed  to  the  cause  of  the  sooty  stranger 
Mr.  Dundas’s  Scottish  accent,  which  has 
been  so  often  in  vain  obtruded  as  an  objec- 
tion to  his  powerful  abilities  imparliament, 
was  no  disadvantage  to  him  in  his  own 
country.  And  I do  declare,  that  upon  this 
memorable  question  he  impressed  me,  and 
I believe  all  his  audience,  with  such  feelings 
as  were  produced  by  some  of  the  most  emi- 
nent orations  of  antiquity.  This  testimony 
I liberally  give  to  the  excellence  of  an  old 
friend,  with  whom  it  has  been  my  lot  to 
differ  very  widely  upon  many  political  top- 
icks:  yet  I persuade  myself  without  malice. 
A great  majority  of  the  lords  of  session  de- 
cided for  the  negro.  But  four  of  their 
number,  the  Lord  President,  Lord  Elliock, 
Lord  Monboddo,  and  Lord  Covington,  res- 
olutely maintained  the  lawfulness  of  a sta- 
tus, which  has  been  acknowledged  in  all 
ages  and  countries,  and  that  when  freedom 
flourished,  as  in  old  Greece  and  Rome. 

[ccTO  MRS.  GASTRELL4. 

“ Bol  t-court,  Fleet-street,  23d  Dec.  1777. 

“ Dear  madam, — Your  long  si-  Pemb 
lence  portended  no  good;  yet  I hope  ms. 
the  danger  is  not  so  near  as  our 
anxiety  sometimes  makes  us  fear.  Winter 
is  indeed  to  all  those  that  any  distemper  has 
enfeebled  a very  troublesome  time;  hut  care 
and  caution  may  pass  safely  through  it,  and 
from  spring  and  summer  some  relief  is  al 
ways  to  be  hoped.  When  1 came  hither  I 
fell  to  taking  care  of  myself,  and  by  physick 
and  opium  had  the  constriction  that  ob- 
structed my  breath  very  suddenly  removed. 
My  nights  still  continue  very  laborious  and 
tedious,  but  they  do  not  grow  worse. 

“ I do  not  ask  you,  dear  madam,  to  take 
care  of  Mrs.  Aston;  I know  how  little  you 
want  any  such  exhortations;  but  I earnest- 
ly entreat  her  to  take  care  ofherself.  Many 
lives  are  prolonged  by  a diligent  attention 
to  little  things,  and  I am  far  from  thinking 
it  unlikely  that  she  may  grow  better  by  de- 
grees. However,  it  is  her  duty  to  try,  and 
when  we  do  our  duty  we  have  reason  to 
hope.  I am,  dear  madam,  your  most  hum- 
ble servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“27th  December,  1777. 

“ Dear  sir, — This  is  the  time  of  the 
year  in  which  all  express  their  good  wishes 

Lord  Meadowbank,  and  father  of  the  preseat  Lord 
Meadowbank. — El.] 

4 [See  ante,  p.  46. — Ed.] 


1778.— /ETAT.  69. 


138 

to  their  friends,  and  T send  mine  to  you  and 
your  family.  May  your  lives  be  long-,  hap- 
py, and  good.  I "have  been  much  out  of 
order,  but,  I hope,  do  not  grow  worse. 

“ The  crime  of  the  schoolmaster  whom 
you  are  engaged  to  prosecute  is  very  great, 
and  may  be  suspected  to  be  too  common.  In 
our  law  it  would  be  a breach  of  the  peace 
and  a misdemeanour:  that  is,  a kind  of  in- 
definite crime,  not  capital,  but  punishable 
at  the  discretion  of  the  court.  You  cannot 
want  matter:  all  that  needs  to  be  said  will 
easily  occur. 

“ Mr.  Shaw,  the  authour  of  the  Gaelick 
Grammar,  desires  me  to  make  a request  for 
him  to  Lord  Eglintoune,  that  he  may  be 
appointed  chaplain  to  one  of  the  new-rais- 
ed regiments. 

“ All  our  friends  are  as  they  were;  little 
has  happened  to  them  of  either  good  or 
bad.  Mrs.  Thrale  ran  a great  black  hair- 
dressing pin  into  her  eye;  but  by  great 
evacuation  she  kept  it  from  inflaming,  and 
it  is  almost  well.  Miss  Reynolds  has  been 
out  of  order,  but  is  better.  Mrs.  Williams 
is  in  a very  poor  state  of  health. 

“ If  I should  write  on,  I should,  perhaps, 
write  only  complaints,  and  therefore  I will 
content  myself  with  telling  you,  that  I love 
to  think  on  you,  and  to  hear  from  you;  and 
that  1 am,  dear  sir,  yours  faithfully, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“to  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“ Edinburgh,  8th  Jan.  1778. 

“ Dear  sir, — Your  congratulations  upon 
a new  year  are  mixed  with  complaint:  mine 
must  be  so  too.  My  wife  has  for  some  time 
been  ill,  having  been  confined  to  the  house 
these  three  months  by  a severe  cold,  attend- 
ed with  alarming  symptoms.” 

(Here  I gave  a particular  account  of  the 
iistress  which  the  person,  upon  every  ac- 
count most  dear  to  me,  suffered;  and  of  the 
dismal  state  of  apprehension  in  which  I now 
was:  adding  that  I never  stood  more  in 
need  of  his  consoling  philosophy.) 

“ Did  you  ever  look  at  a book  written  by 
Wilson,  a Scotchman,  under  the  Latin 
name  of  Volusenus , according  to  the  cus- 
tom of  literary  men  at  a certain  period  ? It 
is  entitled  “ De  Animi  Tranquillitate .”  I 
earnestly  desire  tranquillity.  Bona  res 
quies  ; but  I fear  I shall  never  attain  it; 
for,  when  unoccupied,  I grow  gloomy,  and 
occupation  agitates  me  to  feverishness. 

****** 

“ I am,  dear  sir,  your  most  affectionate 
humble  servant,  “James  Boswell.” 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ 24th  Jmuary,  1778. 

“ Dear  sir, — To  a letter  sc  interesting 
as  your  last,  it  is  proper  to  return  some  an- 
swer, however  little  I may  be  disposed  to 
write. 


“ Your  alarm  at  yojr  .ady’s  illness  wa„ 
reasonable,  and  not  disproportionate  to  the 
appearance  of  the  disorder.  I hope  your 
physical  friend’s  conjecture  is  now  verified, 
and  all  fear  of  a consumption  at  an  end:  a 
little  care  and  exercise  will  then  restore  her. 
London  is  a good  air  for  ladies;  and  if  you 
bring  her  hither,  I will  do  for  her  what  she 
did  for  me — I will  retire  from  my  apart- 
ments for  her  accommodation.  Behave 
kindly  to  her,  and  keep  her  cheerful. 

“ You  always  seem  to  call  for  tenderness 
Know  then,  that  in  the  first  month  of  the 
present  year  I very  highly  esteem  and  very 
cordially  love  you.  I hope  to  tell  you  this 
at  the  beginning  of  every  year  as  long  as 
we  live;  and  why  should  we  trouble  our- 
selves to  tell  or  hear  it  oftener? 

“ Tell  Veronica,  Euphemia,  and  Alexan- 
der, that  I wish  them,  as  well  as  their  pa- 
rents, many  happy  years. 

“ You  have  ended  the  negro’s  cause 
much  to  my  mind.  Lord  Auchinleek  and 
dear  Lord  Hailes  were  on  the  side  of  liber- 
ty. Lord  Hailes’s  name  reproaches  me;  but 
if  he  saw  my  languid  neglect  of  my  own  af- 
fairs, he  would  rather  pity  than  resent  my 
neglect  of  his.  I hope  to  mend,  ut  et  mihi 
vivam  et  amicis.  I am,  dear  sir,  yours  af- 
fectionately, “ Sam.  Johnson. 

“ My  service  to  my  fellow-traveller,  Jo- 
seph.” 

Johnson  maintained  a long  and  intimate 
friendship  with  Mr.  Welch,  who  succeeded 
the  celebrated  Henry  Fielding  as  one  of  his 
majesty’s  justices  of  the  peace  for  West 
minster;  kept  a regular  office  for  the  police 
of  that  great  district;  and  discharged  his  im- 
portant trust,  for  many  years,  faithfully  and 
ably.  Johnson,  who  had  an  eager  and  un 
ceasing  curiosity  to  know  human  life  in  all 
its  variety,  told  me,  that  he  attended  Mr 
Welch  in  his  office  for  a whole  winter,  to 
hear  the  examinations  of  the  culprits;  but 
that  he  found  an  almost  uniform  tenor  of 
misfortune,  wretchedness,  and  profligacy. 
Mr.  Welch’s  health  being  impaired,  he  was 
advised  to  try  the  effect  of  a warm  climate, 
and  Johnson,  by  his  interest  with  Mr.  Cha- 
mier,  procured  him  leave  of  absence  to  go 
to  Italy,  and  a promise  that  the  pension  or 
salary  of  two  hundred  pounds  a year,  which 
government  allowed  him,  should  not  be  dis- 
continued. Mr.  Welch  accordingly  wTent 
abroad,  accompanied  by  his  daughter  Anne, 
a young  lady  of  uncommon  talents  and  lite 
rature. 

“TO  SAUNDERS  WELCH,  ESQ.,  AT  THE 
ENGLISH  COFFEE-HOUSE,  ROME. 

“ 3d  February,  1778. 

“ Dear  sir, — To  have  suffered  one  of 
my  best  and  dearest  friends  to  pass  almost 
two  years  in  foreign  countries  without  a 
letter,  has  a very  shameful  appearance  of 


1778. — AST  AT.  69. 


139 


inattention.  But  ths  truth  s,  that  there 
was  no  particular  time  in  which  I had  any 
thing  particular  to  say;  and  general  expres- 
sions of  good  will,  I hope,  our  long  friend- 
ship is  grown  too  solid  to  want. 

“ Of  public  affairs  you  have  information 
from  the  newspapers  wherever  you  go,  for 
the  English  keep  no  secret;  and  of  other 
things  Mrs.  Nollekens  informs  you.  My 
intelligence  could,  therefore,  be  of  no  use; 
and  Miss  Nancy’s  letters  made  it  unneces- 
sary to  write  to  you  for  information;  I was 
likewise  for  some  time  out  of  humour,  to 
find  that  motion  and  nearer  approaches  to 
the  sun  did  not  restore  your  health  so  fast 
as  I expected.  Of  your  health  the  accounts 
have  lately  been  more  pleasing;  and  I have 
the  gratification  of  imagining  to  myself  a 
length  of  years  which  I hope  you  have  gain- 
ed, and  of  which  the  enjoyment  will  be  im- 
proved by  a vast  accession  of  images  and 
observations  which  your  journeys  and  va- 
rious residence  have  enabled  you  to  make 
and  accumulate.  You  have  travelled  with 
this  felicity,  almost  peculiar  to  yourself, 
that  your  companion  is  not  to  part  from 
you  at  your  journey’s  end;  but  you  are  to 
live  on  together,  to  help  each  other’s  recol- 
lections, and  to  supply  each  other’s  omis- 
sions. The  world  has  few  greater  plea- 
sures than  that  which  two  friends  enjoy,  in 
tracing  back,  at  some  distant  time,  those 
transactions  and  events  through  which  they 
have  passed  together.  One  of  the  old  man’s 
miseries  is,  that  he  cannot  easily  find  a com- 
panion able  to  partake  with  him  of  the  past. 
You  and  your  fellow-traveller  have  this 
comfort  in  store,  that  your  conversation 
will  be  not  easily  exhausted;  one  will  al- 
ways be  glad  to  say  what  the  other  will  al- 
ways be  willing  to  hear. 

“ That  you  may  enjoy  this  pleasure  long, 
your  health  must  have  your  constant  atten- 
tion. I suppose  you  propose  to  return  this 
year.  There  is  no  need  of  haste:  do  not 
come  hither  before  the  height  of  summer, 
that  you  may  fall  gradually  into  the  incon- 
veniences of  your  native  clime.  July  seems 
to  be  the  proper  month.  August  and  Sep- 
tember will  prepare  you  for  the  winter. 
After  having  travelled  so  far  to  find  health, 
you  must  take  care  not  to  lose  it  at  home; 
and  I hope  a little  'care  will  effectually  pre- 
serve it. 

“ Miss  Nancy  has  doubtless  kept  a con- 
stant and  copious  journal.  She  must  not 
expect  to  be  •welcome  when  she  returns 
without  a great  mass  of  information.  Let 
her  review  her  journal  often,  and  set  down 
what  she  finds  herself  to  have  omitted,  that 
she  may  trust  to  memory  as  little  as  possi- 
ble, for  memory  is  soon  confused  by  a quick 
succession  of  things;  and  she  will  grow  ev- 
ery djiy  less  confident  of  the  truth  of  her  own 
narratives,  unless  she  can  recur  to  some 


written  memorials.  If  she  has  satisfied  her 
self  with  hints,  instead  of  full  representa 
tions,  let  her  supply  the  deficiencies  now 
while  her  memory  is  yet  fresh,  and  while 
her  father’s  memory  may  help  her.  If  she 
observes  this  direction,  she  will  not  have 
travelled  in  vain;  for  she  will  bring  home  a 
book  with  which  she  may  entertain  herself 
to  the  end  of  life.  If  it  were  not  now  too 
late,  I would  advise  her  to  note  the  impres- 
sions which  the  first  sight  of  any  thing  new 
and  wonderful  made  upon  her  mind.  Let 
her  now  set  her  thoughts  down  as  she  can 
recollect  them;  for  faint  as  they  may  alrea- 
dy be,  they  will  grow  every  day  fainter 

“ Perhaps  I do  not  flatter  myself  unrea- 
sonably when  I imagine  tha*  you  may  wish 
to  know  something  of  me.  I can  gratify 
your  benevolence  with  no  account  of  health. 
The  hand  of  time,  or  of  disease,  is  very 
heavy  upon  me.  I pass  restless  and  uneasy 
nights,  harassed  with  convulsions  of  my 
breast,  and  flatulencies  at  my  stomach;  and 
restless  nights  make  heavy  days.  But  no- 
thing will  be  mended  by  complaints,  and 
therefore  I will  make  an  end.  When  we 
meet,  we  will  try  to  forget  our  cares  and 
our  maladies,  and  contribute,  as  we  can,  to 
the  cheerfulness  of  each  other.  I£  I had 
gone  with  you,  I believe  I should  have  been 
better;  but  I do  not  know  that  it  was  in  my 
power.  I am,  dear  sir,  your  most  humble 
servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

This  letter,  while  it  gives  admirable  ad 
vice  how  to  travel  to  the  best  advantage, 
and  will  therefore  be  of  very  general  use, 
is  another  eminent  proof  of  Johnson’s  warm 
and  affectionate  heart l. 

[CCDR.  JOHNSGN  TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER 
“19th  February,  1778. 

“ Dear  madam, — I have  several 
little  things  to  mention  which  I mss5011 
have  hitherto  neglected. 

cc  You  judged  rightly  in  thinking  that  the 
bust 2 would  not  please.  It  is  condemned 
by  Mrs.  Thrale,  Mrs.  Reynolds,  and  Mrs. 
Garrick;  so  that  your  disapprobation  is  not 
singular. 

“ These  things  have  never  cost  me  any 

1 The  friendship  between  Mr.  Welch  and  him 
was  unbroken.  Mr.  Welch  died  not  many  months 
before  him,  and  bequeathed  him  five  guineas  for  a 
ring,  which  Johnson  received  with!  tenderness,  as 
a kind  memorial.  Ilis  regard  was  constant  for  his 
friend  Mr.  Welch’s  daughters;  of  whom  Jane  is 
married  to  Mr.  Nollekens,  the  statuary,  whose 
merit  is  too  well  known  to  require  any  praise  from 
me. — Boswell.  [See  a great  deal  about  Miss 
Anne  in  Miss  Hawkins’s  Memoirs. — Ed.] 

2 [This  bust,  and  the  walking-stick  mentioned 
by  Boswell,  are  now  in  the  possession  of  Mrs 
Pearson,  of  Hill  Ridware,  near  Lichfield  -Mar 
wood.} 


140 


1778. — vETAT.  69 


thing,  so  that  I do  not  much  know  the  price. 
My  bust  was  made  for  the  Exhibition,  and 
shown  for  honour  of  the  artist,  who  is  a man 
of  reputation  above  any  of  the  other  sculp- 
tors. To  be  modelled  in  clay  costs,  I be- 
lieve, twenty  guineas;  but  the  casts,  when 
the  model  is  made,  are  of  no  great  price; 
whether  a guinea  or  two  guineas,  I cannot 
tell. 

“ When  you  complained  for  want  of  oys- 
ters, I ordered  you  a barrel  weekly  for  a 
month;  you  sent  me  word  sooner  that  you 
had  enough,  hut  I did  not  countermand  the 
rest.  If  you  could  not  eat  them,  could  you 
not  give  them  away  ? When  you  want  any 
thing  send  me  word. 

“ I am  very  poorly,  and  have  very  rest- 
less and  oppressive  nights,  but  always  hope 
for  better.  Pray  for  me.  I am  your  most 
humble  servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

“ TO  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“ Edinburgh,  26th  February,  1778. 

tc  My  dear  sir, — Why  I have  delayed, 
for  near  a month,  to  thank  you  for  your  last 
affectionate  letter,  I cannot  say;  for  my 
mind  has  been  in  better  health  these  three 
weeks^than  for  some  years  past.  I believe  I 
have  evaded  till  I could  send  you  a copy  of 
Lord  Hailes’s  opinion  on  the  negro’s  cause, 
which  he  wishes  you  to  read,  and  correct 
any  errors  that  there  may  be  in  the  lan- 
guage; for,  says  he, c we  live  in  a critical, 
though  not  a learned  age;  and  I seek  to 
screen  myself  under  the  shield  of  Ajax.’  I 
communicated  to  him  your  apology  for 
keeping  the  sheets  of  his  c Annals’  so  long. 
He  says,  c I am  sorry  to  see  that  Dr.  John- 
son is  in  a state  of  languor.  Why  should  a 
sober  Christian,  neither  an  enthusiast  nor  a 
fanatick,  be  very  merry  or  very  sad?’  I 
envy  his  lordship’s  comfortable  constitution; 
but  well  do  I know  that  languor  and  dejec- 
tion will  afflict  the  best,  however  excellent 
their  principles.  I am  in  possession  of 
Lord  Hailes’s  opinion  in  his  own  hand- 
writing, and  have  had  it  for  some  time.  My 
excuse  then  for  procrastination  must  be, 
that  I wanted  to  have  it  copied;  and  I have 
now  put  that  off  so  long,  that  it  will  be  bet- 
ter to  bring  it  with  me  than  send  it,  as  I 
shall  probably  get  you  to  look  at  it  sooner 
when  I solicit  you  in  person. 

“ My  wife,  who  is,  I thank  God,  a good 
dea.  better,  is  much  obliged  to  you  for  your 
very  po*ite  and  courteous  offer  of  your 
apartment:  but,  if  she  goes  to  London,  it 
wil.  be  best  for  her  to  have  lodgings  in  the 
more  airy  vicinity  of  Hyde-park.  I,  how- 
ever, doubt  much  if  I shall  be  able  to  pre- 
vail with  her  to  accompany  me  to  the  me- 
tropolis; for  she  is  so  different  from  you  and 
me,  that  she  dislikes  travelling;  and  she  is 
so  anxious  about  her  children,  that  she 
thinks  she  should  be  unhappy  if  at  a dis- 


tance from  them.  She  therefore  wisnes 
rather  to  go  to  some  country  place  in  Scot- 
land, where  she  can  have  them  with  her. 

“ I purpose  being  in  London  about  the 
20th  of  next  month,  as  I think  it  creditable 
to  appear  in  the  house  of  lords  as  one  of 
Douglas’s  counsel,  in  the  great  and  last 
competition  between  Duke  Hamilton  and 
him. 

****** 

“ I am  sorry  poor  Mrs.  Williams  is  so 
ill:  though  her  temper  is  unpleasant,  she 
lias  always  been  polite  and  obliging  to  me. 
I wish  many  happy  years  to  good  Mr.  Le- 
vett,  who,  I suppose,  holds  his  usual  place 
at  your  breakfast-table  K I ever  am,  my 
dear  sir,  your  affectionate  humble  servant, 
“James  Boswell.” 

£f  TO  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“ Edinburgh,  28th  Feb.  1778. 

“ My  dear  sir, — You  are  at  present 
busy  amongst  the  English  poets,  preparing, 
for  the  public  instruction  and  entertainment, 
prefaces  biographical  and  critical.  It  will 
not,  therefore,  be  out  of  season  to  appeal  to 
you  for  the  decision  of  a controversy  which 
has  arisen  between  a lady  and  me  concern- 
ing a passage  in  Parnell.  That  poet  tells 
us,  that  his  hermit  quitted  his  cell 

‘ to  know  the  world  by  sight, 

To  find  if  books  or  swains  report  it  right; 

(For  yet  by  swains  alone  the  world  he  knew, 
Whose  feet  came  wand’ring  o’er  the  nightly 
dew).’ 

I maintain,  that  there  is  an  inconsistency 
here;  for  as  the  hermit’s  notions  of  the 
world  were  -formed  from  the  reports  both 
of  books  and  swains,  he  could  not  justly  be 
said  to  know  by  swains  alone.  Be  pleased 
to  judge  between  us,  and  let  us  have  your 
reasons1 2. 

“ What  do  you  say  to  c Taxation  no  Ty- 
ranny,’ now,  after  Lord  North’s  declara- 
tion, or  confession,  or  whatever  else  his 
conciliatory  speech  should  be  called?  I 
never  differed  from  you  in  politicks  but  up- 


1 Dr.  Percy,  the  Bishop  of  Dromore,  humor- 
ously observed,  that  Levett  used  to  breakfast  on 
the  crust  of  a roll,  which  Johnson,  after  tearing 
out  the  crum  for  himself,  threw  to  his  humble 
friend. — Boswell.  Perhaps  the  word  threw  is 
here  too  strong.  Dr.  Johnson  never  treated  Lev- 
ett with  contempt;  it  is  clear  indeed,  from  various 
circumstances,  that  he  had  great  kindness  for  him. 
I have  often  seen  Johnson  at  brfakfast,  accompa- 
nied, or  rather  attended,  by  Levett,  who  had  al- 
ways the  management  of  the  tea-kettle. — Ma 
lone.  [Sir  .1.  Hawkins  states,  that  “ Dr.  John- 
son frequently  observed  that  Levett  was  indebted 
to  him  for  nothing  more  than  house-room,  his 
share  in  a penny  loaf  at  breakfast,  and  now  ano 
then  a dinner  on  a Sunday.” — Ed.] 

2 See  this  subject  discussed  in  a subsequent  page, 
under  Ma^  3 1779.-—M  o\f 


1778. — /ETAT.  69. 


141 


ton  two  f oints,— -the  Middlesex  election,  and 
the  taxation  of  the  Americans  by  the  Brit- 
ish houses  of  representatives.  There  is  a 
charm  in  the  word  parliament , so  I avoid 
it.  As  I am  a steady  and  a warm  tory,  I 
regret  that  the  king  does  not  see  it  to  be 
better  for  him  to  receive  constitutional  sup- 
plies from  his  American  subjects  by  the 
voice  of  their  own  assemblies,  where  his 
royal  person  is  represented,  than  through 
the  medium  of  his  British  subjects.  I am 
persuaded  that  the  power  of  the  crown, 
which  I wish  to  increase,  would  be  greater 
when  in  contact  with  all  its  dominions,  than 
if  c the  '•ays  of  regal  bounty 15  were  c to 
shine5  upon  America  through  that  dense 
and  troubled  body  a modern  British  parlia- 
ment. But,  enough  of  this  subject;  for 
your  angry  voice  at  Ashbourne  upon  it  still 
sounds  awful  £ in  my  mind’s  ears.’ — I ever 
am,  my  dear  sir,  your  most  affectionate 
humble  servant,  “ James  Boswell.” 

I “dr.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  MONTAGU. 

“ 5th  March,  1778. 

Mont  “ Madam, — And  so  you  are  alarm- 

ms.  ’ ed,  naughty  lady?  You  might 
know  that  I was  ill  enough  when 
Mr.  Thrale  brought  you  my  excuse.  Could 
you  think  that  I missed  the  honour  of  be- 
ing at  (your)  table  for  any  slight  reason? 
But  you  (have)  too  many  to  miss  any  one 
of  us,  and  I am  (proud)  to  be  remembered 
at  last. 

“ I am  much  better.  A little  cough  (still) 
remains  which  will  not  confine  me.  To 
houses  (like  yours)  of  great  delicacy  I am 
not  willing  to  bring  it. 

“ Now,  dear  madam,  we  must  talk  of 
bus:ness.  Poor  Davies,  the  bankrupt 
bookseller,  is  soliciting  his  friends  to  collect 
a small  sum  for  the  re-purchase  of  part  of 
his  household  stuff.  Several  of  them  gave 
him  five  guineas.  It  would  bean  honour 
to  him  to  owe  part  of  his  relief  to  Mrs. 
Montagu. 

“ Let  me  thank  you,  madam,  once  more 
for  your  inquiry;  you  have,  perhaps,  among 
your  numerous  train  not  one  that  values  a 
kind  word  or  a kind  look  more  than,  madam, 
your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  MONTAGU. 

“6th  March,  1778. 

“ Madam, — I hope  Davies1 2,  who  does 
not  want  wit,  does  not  want  gratitude,  and 

1 Alluding  to  a line  in  his  “ Vanity  of  Hftman 
Wanes, ” describing  Cardinal  Wolsey  in  a state 
of  elevation: 

“Through  him  the  rays  of  regal  bounty  shine.”  — 

Boswell. 

2 [Tom  Davies,  the  bookseller,  in  whose  be- 
• half  he  more  than  once  appealed  to  the  charity  of 

Mrs.  Montagu. — Ed.] 


then  he  will  be  almost  as  thankful  for  the 
bill  as  I am  for  the  letter  that  enclosed  it. 

“ If  I do  not  lose,  what  I hope  always  to 
keep,  my  reverence  for  transcendent  merit, 
I shall  continue  to  be,  with  unalterable 
fidelity,  madam,  your  most  obliged,  and 
most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

“ TO  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“ Edinburgh,  12th  March,  1778 

“ My  dear  sir, — The  alarm  of  your 
late  illness  distressed  me  but  a few  hours; 
for  on  the  evening  of  the  day  that  it  reached 
me,  I found  it  contradicted  in  ‘ The  London 
Chronicle,’  which  I could  depend  upon  as 
authentick  concerning  you,  Mr.  Strahan 
being  the  printer  of  it.  I did  not  see  the 
paper  in  which  c the  approaching  extinction 
of  a bright  luminary’  was  announced.  Sir 
William  Forbes  told  me  of  it;  and  he  says 
he  saw  me  so  uneasy,  that  he  did  not  give 
me  the  report  in  such  strong  terms  as  he 
read  it.  He  afterwards  sent  me  a letter 
from  Mr.  Langton  to  him,  which  relieved 
me  much.  I am,  however,  not  quite  easy, 
as  I have  not  heard  from  you;  and  now  I 
shall  not  have  that  comfort  before  I see  you, 
for  I set  out  for  London  to-morrow  before 
the  post  comes  in.  I hope  to  be  with  you 
on  Wednesday  morning:  and  I ever  am, 
with  the  highest  veneration,  my  dear  sir, 
your  most  obliged,  faithful,  and  affectionate 
humble  servant,  “James  Boswell.” 

On  Wednesday,  March  18,  I arrived  in 
London,  and  was  informed  by  good  Mr. 
Francis,  that  his  master  was  better,  and 
was  gone  to  Mr.  Thrale’s  at  Streatham,  to 
which  place  I wrote  to  him,  begging  to 
know  when  he  would  be  in  town.  He  was 
not  expected  for  some  time;  but  next  day, 
having  called  on  Dr.  Taylor,  in  Dean’s 
yard,  Westminster,  I found  him  there,  and 
was  told  he  had  come  to  town  for  a few 
hours.  He  met  me  with  his  usual  kind- 
ness, but  instantly  returned  to  the  writing 
of  something  on  which  he  was  employed 
when  I came  in,  and  on  which  he  seemed 
much  intent.  Finding  him  thus  engaged, 
I made  my  visit  very  short,  and  had  no 
more  of  his  conversation,  except  his  ex- 
pressing a serious  regrel  that  a friend  of 
ours  3 was  living  at  too  much  expense,  con- 
sidering how  poor  an  appearance  he  made. 
“ If,”  said  he,  “ a man  has  splendour  from 
his  expense,  if  he  spends  his  money  in  pride 
or  in  pleasure,  he  has  value;  but  if  he  lets 
others  spend  it  for  him,  which  is  most  com- 
monly the  case,  he  has  no  advantage  from 
it.” 

On  Friday,  March  20,  I found  him  at  his 
own  house,  sitting  with  Mis.  Williams,  and 
was  informed  that  the  room  formerly  allot* 


[Mr.  Langton. — Ed.] 


142 


1778.— /ETAT.  69. 


ted  to  nie  was  now  appropriated  to  a chari- 
table purpose;  Mrs.  Desmoulins  1S  and,  I 
think,  her  daughter,  and  a Miss  Carmi- 
chael, being  all  lodged  in  it.  Such  was  his 
humanity,  and  such  his  generosity,  that 
Mrs.  Desmoulins  herself  told  me  he  allowed 
her  half  a guinea  a week.  Let  it  be  remem- 
bered, that  this  was  above  a twelfth  part  of 
his  pension. 

His  liberality,  indeed,  was  at  all  periods 
of  his  life  very  remarkable.  Mr.  Howard, 
of  Lichfield,  at  whose  father’s  house  John- 
son had  in  his  early  years  been  kindly  re- 
ceived, told  me,  that  when  he  was  a boy  at 
the  Charter-house,  his  father  wrote  to  him 
to  go  and  pay  a visit  to  Mr.  Samuel  John- 
son, which  he  accordingly  did,  and  found 
him  in  an  upper  room,  of  poor  appearance. 
Johnson  received  him  with  much  courte- 
ousness, and  talked  a great  deal  to  him,  as 
to  a schoolboy,  of  the  course  of  his  educa- 
tion, and  other  particulars.  When  he  af- 
terwards came  to  know  and  understand  the 
high  character  of  this  great  man,  he  recol- 
lected his  condescension  with  wonder.  He 
added,  that  when  he  was  going  away,  Mr. 
Johnson  presented  him  with  half  a guinea; 
and  this,  said  Mr.  Howard,  was  at  a time 
when  he  probably  had  not  another. 

Ed  [Johnson’s  patience  was  as  much 

D‘  tried  by  these  inmates  as  his  gene- 
rosity. The  dissensions  that  the 
p!°i64.J  many  odd2  inhabitants  of  his  house 
chose  to  live  in  distressed  and  morti- 
fied him  exceedingly.  He  really  was  some- 
times afraid  of  going  home,  because  he  was 
so  sure  to  be  met  at  the  door  with  number- 
less complaint^;  and  he  used  to  lament  pa- 
thetically to  Mrs.  Thrale,  and  to  Mr.  Sas- 
tres,  the  Italian  master,  Avho  was  much  his 
favourite,  that  they  made  his  life  miserable 
from  the  impossibility  he  found  of  making 
theirs  happy,  when  every  favour  he  bestow- 


1  Daughter  of  Dr.  Swinfen,  Johnson’s  god- 
father, and  widow  of  Mr.  Desmoulins,  a writing- 
master. — B OSWELL. 

2 [In  Malone’s  MS.  notes,  he,  on  more  than 
one  occasion,  reprobates  “ the  misrepresenta- 
tions,” as  he  calls  them,  “ of  this  mendacious  la- 
dy,” on  the  subject  of  Johnson’s  inmates  and  pen- 
sioners; and  he  particularly  notices  this  passage, 
from  which,  he  says,  “ it  might  be  inferred  that 
he  had  twenty  in  his  house,  whereas  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams, Mrs.  Desmoulins  occasionally,  and  Levett, 
with  his  two  servants,  composed  the  whole.” 
This  is  the  style  in  which  Malone  and  Boswell 
usually  treated  Mrs.  Piozzi;  and,  as  generally 
happens,  she  is  right,  or,  at  least,  justifiable  in 
what  she  says.  Surely,  in  this  particular  case, 

vhen  we  find  that,  besides  Dr.  Johnson,  his  house 
contained  Mr.  Levett,  Mrs.  Williams,  Miss  Car- 
michael, Mrs.  Desmoulins,  Miss  Desmoulins,  a 
negro,  and  a female  servant,  Mrs.  Piozzi  was  jus- 
iJied  in  talking  of  his  “ many  inmates.” — Ed.] 


ed  on  one  was  wormwood  to  the  rest.  If, 
however,  Mrs.  Thrale  ventured  to  blame 
their  ingratitude,  and  condemn  their  con- 
duct, he  would  instantly  set  about  softening 
the  one  and  justifying  the  other;  and  fin- 
ished commonly  by  telling  her,  that  she 
knew  not  how  to  make  allowances  for  situ- 
ations she  never  experienced.] 

We  retired  from  Mrs.  Williams  to  an 
other  room.  Tom  Davies  soon  after  joined 
us.  He  had  now  unfortunately  failed  in  his 
circumstances,  and  was  much  indebted  to 
Dr.  Johnson’s  kindness  for  obtaining  for 
him  many  alleviations  of  his  distress.  Af- 
ter he  went  away,  Johnson  blamed  his  folly 
in  quitting  the  stage,  by  which  he  and  his 
wife  got  five  hundred  pounds  a year.  I 
said,  I believed  it  was  owing  to  Churchill’s 
attack  upon  him, 

“ He  mouths  a sentence  as  curs  mouth  a bone.” 

Johnson.  “ I believe  so  too,  sir.  But 
what  a man  is  he  who  is  to  be  driven  from 
the  stage  by  aline?  Another  line  would 
have  driven  him  from  his  shop ! ” 

I told  him  that  I was  engaged  as  counsel 
at  the  bar  of  the  house  of  commons  to  op- 
pose a road-bill  in  the  county  of  Stirling, 
and  asked  him  what  mode  he  would  advise 
me  to  follow  in  addressing  such  an  audi- 
ence. Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  you  must 
provide  yourself  with  a good  deal  of  extra- 
neous matter,  which  you  are  to  produce  oc- 
casionally, so  as  to  fill  up  the  time;  for  you 
must  consider,  that  they  do  not  listen  much 
If  you  begin  with  the  strength  of  your 
cause,  it  may  be  lost  before  they  begin  to 
listen.  When  you  catch  a moment  of  at- 
tention, press  the  merits  of  the  question  up- 
on them.”  He  said,  as  to  one  point  of  the 
merits,  that  he  thought  “it  would  be  a 
wrong  thing  to  deprive  the  small  landhold- 
ers of  the  privilege  of  assessing  themselves 
for  making  and  repairing  the  high  roads: 
it  was  destroying  a certain  portion  of  liber- 
ty without  a good  reason,  which  was  al- 
ways a bad  thing.”  When  l mentioned 
this  observation  next  day  to  Mr.  Wilkes, 
he  pleasantly  said,  “ What!  does  he  talk  of 
liberty?  Liberty  is  as  ridiculous  in  his 
mouth  as  religion  in  mine.”  Mr.  Wilkes’s 
advice  as  to  the  best  mode  of  speaking  at 
the  bar  of  the  house  of  commons  was  not 
more  respectful  towards  the  senate  than  that 
of  Dr.  Johnson.  “ Be  as  impudent  as  you 
can,  as  merry  as  you  can,  and  say  whatever 
comes  uppermost.  Jack  Lee  3 is  the  best 

3  [Mr.  Lee,  afterwards  solicitor-general  in  the 
Rockingham  administration.  “ He  was  a mar. 
of  strong  parts,  though  of  coarse  manners,  and  who 
never  hesitated  to  express  in  the  coarsest  language 
whatever  he  thought.” — Wraxall's  Mem.  \ol. 
ii.  p 237.  lie  was  particularly  distinguished  by 
the  violence  of  his  invective  against  the  person* 


1778.— /ETAT.  69. 


143 


Heard  there  oi  any  counsel;  and  he  is  the 
most  impudent  dog,  and  always  abusing 

us.” 

In  my  interview  with  Dr.  Johnson  this 
evening,  I was  quite  easy,  quite  as  his  com- 
panion; upon  which  I find  in  my  journal 
the  following  reflection:  “ So  ready  is  my 
mind  to  suggest  matter  for  dissatisfaction, 
that  I felt  a sort  of  regret  that  I was  so  easy. 
I missed  that  awful  reverence  with  which  I 
used  to  contemplate  Mr.  Samuel  Johnson, 
in  the  complex  magnitude  of  his  literary, 
moral,  and  religious  character.  I have  a 
wonderful  superstitious  love  of  mystery; 
when,  perhaps,  the  truth  is,  that  it  is  owing 
to  the  cloudy  darkness  of  my  own  mind.  I 
should  be  glad  that  I am  more  advanced  in 
my  progress  of  being,  so  that  I can  view 
Dr.  Johnson  with  a steadier  and  clearer 
eye.  My  dissatisfaction  to-night  was  fool- 
ish. Would  it  not  be  foolish  to  regret  that 
we  shall  have  less  mystery  in  a future  state? 
That c we  now  see  in  a glass  darkly,’  but  shall 
c then  see  face  to  face  1 ? ’ ” This  reflection, 
which  I thus  freely  communicate,  will  be 
valued  by  the  thinking  part  of  my  readers, 
who  may  have  themseives  experienced  a 
similar  state  of  mind. 

He  returned  next  day  to  Streatham,  to 
Mr.  Thrale’s;  where,  as  Mr.  Strahan  once 
complained  to  me,  cc  he  was  in  a great  mea- 
sure absorbed  from  the  society  of  his  old 
friends.”  I was  kept  in  London  by  busi- 
ness, and  wrote  to  him  on  the  27th,  that  u a 
separation  from  him  for  a week,  when  we 
were  so  near,  was  equal  to  a separation  for 
a year,  when  we  were  at  four  hundred  miles 
distance.”  I went  to  Streatham  on  Mon- 
day, March  30.  Before  he  appeared,  Mrs. 
Thrale  made  a very  characteristical  remark : 
“ I do  not  know  for  certain  what  will  please 
Dr.  Johnson:  but  I know  for  certain  that  it 
will  displease  him  to  praise  any  thing,  even 
what  he  likes,  extravagantly.” 

At  dinner  he  laughed  at  querulous  de- 
clamations against  the  age,  on  account 
of  luxury, — increase  of  London, — scarcity 
of  provisions, — and  other  such  topicks. 
“ Houses,”  said  he,  •“  will  be  built  till  rents 
fall;  and  corn  is  more  plentiful  now  than 
ever  it  was.” 

I had  before  dinner  repeated  a ridiculous 
story  told  me  by  an  old  man,  who  had  been 
a passenger  with  me  in  the  stage-coach  to- 
day. Mrs.  Thrale,  having  taken  occasion 
to  allude  to  it  in  talking  to  me,  called  it 
tc  The  story  told  you  by  the  old  woman .” 
“ Now,  madam,”  said  I,  “ give  me  leave  to 
catch  you  in  the  fact:  it  was  not  an  old  wo- 
man, but  an  old  man,  whom  I mentioned  as 
having  told  me  this.”  I presumed  to  take 
an  opportunity,  in  the  presence  of  Johnson, 

and  administration  of  Lord  Shelburne  in  1782. — 
Ed.] 

1  [l  Cor.  c.  xiii.  v.  12. — Ed.] 


of  showing  this  lively  lady  2 how  ready  sht 
was,  unintentionally,  to  deviate  from  exact 
authenticity  of  narration. 

Thomas  a Kempis  (he  observed)  must  be 
a good  book,  as  the  world  has  opened  its 
arms  to  receive  it.  It  is  said  to  have  been 
printed,  in  one  language  or  other,  as  many 
times  as  there  have  been  months  since  it 
first  came  out 3.  I always  was  struck  with 
this  sentence  in  it:  “ Be  not  angry  that  you 
cannot  make  others  as  you  wish  them  to  be, 
since  you  cannot  make  yourself  as  vou  wish 
to  be  4.” 

He  said,  “ I was  angry  with  Hurd  about 
Cowley  for  having  published  a selection  of 
his  works:  but,  upon  better  consideration, 
I think  there  is  no  impropriety  in  a man’s 
publishing  as  much  as  he  chooses  of  any 
authour,  if  he  does  not  put  the  rest  out  of 
the  way.  A man,  for  instance,  may  print 
the  Odes  uf  Horace  alone.”  He  seemed  to 
be  in  a more  indulgent  humour  than  when 
this  subject  was  discussed  between  him  and 
Mr.  Murphy5. 

When  we  were  at  tea  and  coffee,  there 
came  in  Lord  Trimlestown,  in  whose  fam- 
ily was  an  ancient  Irish  peerage,  but  it  suf- 
fered by  taking  the  generous  side  in  the 
troubles  of  the  last  century 6.  He  was  a 


2 [If  mistakes  like  this  were  all  that  Mr.  Bos- 
well could  impute  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  he  had  better 
have  spared  his  censures.  The  inaccuracy  was 
evidently  trifling;  probably  had  no  effect  on  the 
story,  and  might  be  involuntary,  as  Mrs.  Thrale 
might  not  have  distinctly  heard  whether  Boswell 
had  said  old  man  or  old  woman.  The  editor 
notices  these  trifles  to  show  the  animus , the  spir- 
it in  which  Mr.  Boswell  is  prone  to  distort  Mrs. 
Thrale’s  character. — Ed.] 

3 The  first  edition  was  in  1492.  Between  that 
period  and  1792,  according  to  this  account,  there 
were  three  thousand  six  hundred  editions.  But 
this  is  very  improbable. — Malone. 

4 The  original  passage  is:  Si  non  potes  te  talem 

facere,  qualem  vis,  quomodo  poteris  alium  ad  tu- 
um  habere  beneplacitum  ? De  Imit.  Christ,  lib.  i. 
cap.  xvi. — J.  Boswell. 

6 [See  ante , p.  59. — Ed.] 

6 Since  this  was  written,  the  attainder  has  been 
reversed;  and  Nicholas  Barnewall  is  now  a peer 
of  Ireland  with  this  title.  The  person  mentioned 
in  the  text  had  studied  phsyick,  and  prescribed 
gratis  to  the  poor.  Hence  arose  the  subsequent 
conversation. — Malone.  [We  find  in  one  of 

the  magazines  of  the  day,  with  the  ironical  title 
of  “ Remarkable  Instance  of  Filial  Affection,” 
an  advertisement  dated  19th  July,  1768,  and  sign- 
ed “ Thomas  Barnewell,”  warning  the  public  nol 
to  buy  any  timber  trees  which  his  father,  Lord 
Trimlestown,  is  about  to  sell,  as  he  is  advised  that 
his  father  is  tenant  for  life,  and  has  no  right  to 
sell  such  trees,  and  that  the  advertiser  is  resolved 
to  put  the  law  in  force  against  any  one  who  shall 
make  a bargain  contrary  to  his  interest. — Reper- 
tory, vol.  i.  p.  118.  Johnson’s  visitor  must  hav* 
been  the  dutiful  son. — Ed.] 


i44 


1778.— /ETAT.  69 


man  of  pie  asing  conversation,  and  was  ac- 
companied by  a young  gentleman,  his  son. 

I mentioned  that  I had  in  my  possession 
the  Life  of  Sir  Robert  Sibbald,  the  celebrat- 
ed Scottish  antiquary,  and  founder  of  the 
royal  college  of  physicians  at  Edinburgh, 
in  the  original  manuscript  in  his  own  hand 
writing;  and  that  it  was,  I believed,  the 
most  natural  and  candid  account  of  himself 
that  ever  was  given  by  any  man.  As  an 
instance,  he  tells  that  the  Duke  of  Perth, 
then  chancellor  of  Scotland,  pressed  him 
very  much  to  come  over  to  the  Roman  Cath- 
olick  faith:  that  he  resisted  all  his  grace’s 
arguments  for  a considerable  time,  till  one 
day  he  felt  himself,  as  it  were,  instantane- 
ously convinced,  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes 
ran  into  the  duke’s  arms,  and  embraced  the 
ancient  religion;  that  he  continued  very 
steady  in  it  for  some  time,  and  accompanied 
his  grace  to  London  one  winter,  and  lived 
in  his  household;  that  there  he  found  the 
rigid  fasting  prescribed  by  the  church  very 
severe  upon  him;  that  this  disposed  him  to 
reconsider  the  controversy;  and  having  then 
seen  that  he  was  in  the  wrong,  he  returned 
to  Protestantism.  I talked  of  some  time  or 
other  publishing  this  curious  life.  Mrs. 
Thrale.  “ I think  you  had  as  well  let 
alone  that  publication.  To  discover  such 
weakness  exposes  a man  when  he  is  gone.” 
Johnson.  “ Nay,  it  is  an  honest  picture 
of  human  nature.  How  often  are  the  pri- 
mary motives  of  our  greatest  actions  as 
small  as  Sibbald’s  for  his  reconversion ! ” 
Mrs.  Thrale.  cc  But  may  they  not  as 
well  be  forgotten?”  Johnson.  “No, 
madam;  a man  loves  to  review  his  own 
mind.  That  is  the  use  of  a diary  or  jour- 
nal.” Lord  Trimlestown.  “ True,  sir. 
As  the  ladies  love  to  see  themselves  in  a 
glass,  so  a man  likes  to  see  himself  in  his 
journal.”  Boswell.  “ A very  pretty  al- 
lusion.” Johnson.  “ Yes,  indeed.”  Bos- 
well. “ And  as  a lady  adjusts  1 her  dress 
before  a mirrour,  a man  adjusts  his  charac- 
ter by  looking  at  his  journal.”  1 next  year 
found  the  very  same  thought  in  Atterbury’s 
“ Funeral  Sermon  on  Lady  Cutts;  ” where, 
having  mentioned  her  Diary,  he  says,  “ In 

1 [Boswell  seems  much  pleased  with  his  own 
ingenuity,  and  the  coincidence  of  thoughts  between 
Bishop  Atterbury  and  himself;  but  I don't  quite 
understand  his  expression  “ a man  adjusting  his 
character.”  If  he  means  that  a man,  by  referring 
to  his  journal,  as  a lady  to  her  looking-glass,  im- 
proves his  mind  and  conduct  daily,  I suspect  there 
is  more  of  fancy  than  truth  in  it.  Men  may  con- 
sult their  diaries  and  read  their  conduct  in  the  day 
that  is  gone  by;  but,  generally,  to  as  little  advan- 
tage as  the  person  figured  by  St.  James  in  a simi- 

lar strain: — “ He  beholds  his  natural  face  in  a 
glass;  he  beholdeth  himself  and  goeth  his  way, 

and  straightway  forgetteth  what  manner  of  man 

he  was.” — Chap.  i.  v.  23. — Hall.] 


this  glass  she  every  day  dressed  he  mmd.” 
This  is  a proof  of  coincidence,  and  not  of 
plagiarism;  for  I had  never  read  that  ser- 
mon before. 

Next  morning,  while  we  were  at  break- 
fast, Johnson  gave  a very  earnest  recom- 
mendation of  what  he  himself  practise] 
with  the  utmost  conscientiousness:  I mean 
a strict  attention  to  truth  2,  even  in  the  most 
minute  particulars.  “ Accustom  your  chil- 
dren,” said  he,  “ constantly  to  this:  if  a 
thing  happened  at  one  window,  and  they,« 
when  relating  it,  say  that  it  happened  at  an- 
other, do  not  let  it  pass,  but  instantly  check 
them:  you  do  not  know  where  deviation 
from  truth  will  end.”  Boswell.  “ It 
may  come  to  the  door : and  when  once  an 
account  is  at  all  varied  in  one  circumstance, 
it  may  by  degrees  be  varied  so  as  to  be  to- 
tally different  from  what  really  happened.” 
Our  lively  hostess,  whose  fancy  was  impa- 
patient  of  the  rein,  fidgeted  at  this,  and  ven- 
tured to  say,  “ Nay,  this  is  too  much.  If 
Dr.  Johnson  should  forbid  me  to  drink  tea, 

I would  comply,  as  I should  feel  the  restraint 
only  twice  a day;  but  little  variations  in  nar- 
rative must  happen  a thousand  times  a day, 
if  one  is  not  perpetually  watching.”  John- 
son. “ Well,  madam,  and  you  ought  to  be 
perpetually  watching.  It  is  more  from 
carelessness  about  truth,  than  from  inten- 
tional lying,  that  there  is  so  much  falsehood 
in  the  world.” 

In  his  review  of  Dr.  Warton’s  “ Essay 
on  the  Writings  and  Genius  of  Pope,” 
Johnson  has  given  the  following  salutary 
caution  upon  this  subject:  “Nothing  but 
experience  could  evince  the  frequency  of 
false  information,  or  enable  any  man  to  con- 
ceive  that  so  many  groundless  reports 
should  be  propagated  as  every  man  of  emi- 
nence may  hear  of  himself.  Some  men  re- 
late what  they  think  as  what  they  know  ; 
some  men  of  confused  memories  and  habit- 
ual inaccuracy  ascribe  to  one  man  what  be- 
longs to  another;  and  some  talk  on  with- 
out thought  or  care.  A few  men  are  suffi- 
cient to  broach  falsehoods,  which  are  after- 
wards innocently  diffused  by  successive  re- 
laters  3.”  Had  he  lived  to  read  what  Sir 
John  Hawkins  and  Mrs.  Piozzi  have  related 
concerning  himself,  how  much  would  he 
have  found  his  observation  illustrated4* 
He  was  indeed  so  much  impressed  with  the 
prevalence  of  falsehood,  voluntary  or  unin- 
tentional, that  I never  knew  any  person 
who,  upon  hearing  an  extraordinary  cir- 
cumstance told,  discovered  more  of  the  in - 
credulus  odi.  He  would  say  with  a signi 
ficant  look  and  decisive  tone,  “ It  is  not  so. 


2 [See  ante,  p.  32. — Ed.] 

3 Literary  Magazine,  1756,  p.  37. — Boswell. 

4 [Sir  John  Hawkins  has  not,  it  is  believed, 
■tated  any  thing  false , though  he  may  have 


1778— iETAT.  69. 


145 


Do  not  tell  this  again  ” He  inculcated 
upon  al  his  friends  the  importance  of  per- 
petual vigilance  against  the  slightest  degrees 
of  falsehood;  the  effect  of  which,  as  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  observed  tome,  has  been, 
that  all  who  were  of  his  school  are  distin- 
guished for  a love  of  truth  and  accuracy, 
which  they  would  not  have  possessed  in  the 
same  degree  if  they  had  not  been  acquainted 
with  Johnson. 

Talking  of  ghosts,  he  said,  ££  It  is  won- 
derful that  five  thousand  years  have  now 
elapsed  since  the  creation  of  the  world,  and 
still  it  is  undecided  whether  or  not  there 
has  ever  been  an  instance  of  the  spirit  of 
any  person  appearing  after  death.  All  ar- 
gument is  against  it;  but  all  belief  is  for  it.” 

He  said,  £C  John  Wesley’s  conversation 
is  good,  but  he  is  never  at  leisure.  He  is 
always  obliged  to  go  at  a certa-in  hour. 
This  is  very  disagreeable  to  a man  who 
loves  to  fold  his  legs  and  have  out  his  talk, 
as  I do.” 

On  Friday,  April  3,  I dined  with  him  in 
London,  in  a company2  where  were  pres- 

sometimes  discoloured  and  misrepresented;  and 
after  all  that  Mr.  Boswell  and  Mr.  Malone  have 
said  of  Mrs.  Piozzi,  nothing  is  proved — indeed 
nothing  is  asserted — (and  the  assertions  are  often 
disproved) — but  verbal  inaccuracies , such  as 
saying  “ old  woman  ” for  “ old  man  ” and  so 
forth.  A majority  of  Mrs.  Piozzi’s  anecdotes  are 
confirmed  by  Mr.  Boswell’s  own  account. — Ed.] 

• 1 The  following  plausible  but  over-prudent 
counsel  on  this  subject  is  given  by  an  Italian  wri- 
ter, quoted  by  “ Rhedi  de  generations  insecta- 
rum,,>  with  the  epithet  of  “ divini  poetce .” 

‘ Sempre  a quel  ver  ch’  a faccia  di  menzogna 

Dee  l’liom  chiudere  le  labbra  quanto  ei  puote  ; 

Periche  senza  colpa  fa  vergogna.’’ — Boswell. 

2 [The  Club. — This  seems  to  be  the  only 
instance  in  which  Mr.  Boswell  has  ventured  to 
give  in  any  detail  the  conversation  of  that  society; 
and  we  see  that  on  this  occasion  he  has  not  men- 
tioned the  namies , but  has  disguised  the  parties 
under  what  look  like  initials.  All  these  letters, 
however — even  with  the  names  of  the  company 
before  us — it  is  not  easy  to  appropriate.  It  ap- 
pears by  the  books  of  the  Club,  as  Mr.  Hatchett 
informs  the  editor,  that  the  company  on  that  eve- 
ning consisted  of  Dr.  Johnson,  president,  Mr. 
Burke,  Mr.  Boswell,  Dr.  George  Fordyce,  Mr. 
Gibbon,  Dr.  Johnson  ( again  named).  Sir  Josh- 
ua Reynolds,  Lord  Upper  Ossory,  and  Mr.  R.  B. 
Sheridan.  In  Mr.  Boswell’s  account,  the  initial 
E.  no  doubt  stands  for  Edmund  Burke;  F.,  in 
allusion  to  his  family  name  of  Fitzpatrick,  prob- 
ably means  Lord  Upper  Ossory;  but  the  appropri- 
ation of  the  other  letters  is  very  difficult.  The 
editor  suspects,  from  some  circumstances  of  the 
conversation,  and  from  the  double  entry  of  John- 
son’s name,  that,  although  it  was  his  night  to  be 
president,  he  was  not  actually  in  the  chair — per- 
haps from  having  come  too  late.  If  this  suspicion 
be  correct,  the  initial  P.  would  mean  President; 
but  it  would  be  still  in  doubt  who  the  president 

vol.  ii  19 


ent  several  eminent  men,  whom  I shall  not 
name,  but  distinguish  their  parts  in  the  con 
versation  by  different  letters. 

F.  <c  I have  been  looking  at  this  famous 
antique  marble  dog  of  Mr.  Jennings,  val- 
ued at  a thousand  guineas,  said  to  be  Al- 
cibiades’s  dog.”  Johnson.  £C  His  tail  then 
must  be  docked.  That  was  the  mark  of 
Alcibiades’s  dog.”  E.  ££  A thousand  guin- 
eas ! The  representation  of  no  animal  what- 
ever is  worth  so  much.  At  this  rate,  a dead 
dog  would  indeed  be  better  than  a living 
lion.”  Johnson.  ££  Sir,  it  is  not  the  worth 
of  the  thing,  but  of  the  skill  in  forming  it, 
which  is  so  highly  estimated.  Every  thing 
that  enlarges  the  sphere  of  human  powers, 
that  shows  man  he  can  do  what  he  thought 
he  could  not  do,  is  valuable.  The  first  man 
who  balanced  a straw  upon  his  nose;  John- 
son3, who  rode  upon  three  horses  at  a 
time  ; in  short,  all  such  men  deserve  the  ap 
plause  of  mankind,  not  on  account  of  the 
use  of  what  they  did,  but  of  the  dexterity 
which  they  exhibited.”  Boswell.  ££  Yet 
a misapplication  of  time  and  assiduity  is  not 
to  be  encouraged.  Addison,  in  one  of  his 
£ Spectators,’  commends  the  judgment  of  a 
king,  who,  as  a suitable  reward  to  g man 
that  by  long  perseverance  had  attained  to 
the  art  of  throwing  a barley-corn  through 
the  eye  of  a needle,  gave  him  a bushel  of 
barley.”  Johnson.  ££  He  must  have  been 
a king  of  Scotland,  where  barley  is  scarce.” 

F.  “ One  of  the  most  remarkable  antique 
figures  of  an  animal  is  the  boar  at  Flor- 
ence.” Johnson.  ££  The  first  boar  that 
is  well  made  in  marble  should  be  preserved 
as  a wonder.  When  men  arrive  at  a facili- 
ty of  making  boars  well,  then  the  workman- 
ship is  not  of  such  value;  but  they  should 
however  be  preserved  as  examples,  and  as 
a greater  security  for  the  restoration  of  the 
art,  should  it  be  lost.” 

E.  “We  hear  prodigious  complaints  at 

was.  J.  probably  meant  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 
and  R.  might  be  Richard  B.  Sheridan;  for  though 
some  of  the  observations  made  by  R.  are  not  very 
like  Mr.  Sheridan's  style,  it  must  be  recollected 
that  he  was  at  this  period  a very  young  man,  and 
not  yet  in  parliament.  The  medical  observations, 
and  the  allusions  to  Holland,  made  by  C.,  suggest 
that  Dr.  Fordyce,  a physician  who  was  educated 
in  Holland,  was  meant,  although  the  editor  can- 
not surmise  why  he  should  have  been  designated 
by  the  letter  C.  If  these  conjectures  be  just,  it 
would  follow  that  P.,  the  President,  was  Mi 
Gibbon.  Why  Mr.  Boswell  did  not  adopt  one 
uniform  mode  of  designating  his  interlocutors,  and 
why  he  has  involved  a simple  matter  in  so  much 
mystery,  is  unaccountable.  The  editor  offers  his 
explanation  of  the  four  last  names  merely  as  a 
conjecture,  with  which  he  himself  is  not  entirely 
satisfied.  Sir  James  Mackintosh  and  Mr.  Chal-  _ 
mers  are  equally  dubious. — Ed.] 

3 [See  ante , v.  i.  p.  ISC. — Ed.] 


146 


1778.— ^TAT.  69. 


present  of  emigration  I am  convinced 
that  emigration  makes  a country  more  pop- 
ulous.” J.  “ That  sounds  very  much  like 
a paradox.”  E.  “ Exportation  of  men, 
like  exportation  of  all  other  commodities, 
makes  more  be  produced.”  Johnson.  “ But 
there  would  be  more  people  were  there  not 
emigration,  provided  there  were  food  for 
more.”  E.  “ No;  leave  a few  breeders, 
and  you  ’ll  have  more  people  than  if  there 
were  no  emigration.”  Johnson.  “ Nay, 
sir,  it  is  plain  there  will  be  more  people,  if 
there  are  more  breeders.  Thirty  cows  in 
good  pasture  will  produce  more  calves  than 
ten  cows,  provided  they  have  good  bulls. 
E.  “ There  are  bulls  1 enough  in  Ireland.” 
Johnson,  (smiling).  “ So,  sir,  I should 
think  from  your  argument.”  Boswell. 
“ You  said  exportation  of  men,  like  ex- 
portation of  other  commodities,  makes  more 
be  produced.  But  a bounty  is  given  to  en- 
courage the  exportation  of  corn,  and  no 
bounty  is  given  for  the  exportation  of  men; 
though,  indeed,  those  who  go  gain  by  it.” 
R.  “ But  the  bounty  on  the  exportation  of 
corn  is  paid  at  home.”  E.  “ That’s  the 
same  thing.”  Johnson.  “ No,  sir.”  It. 
££  A man  who  stays  at  home  gains  nothing 
by  his  neighbour’s  emigrating.”  Boswell. 
££  I can  understand  that  emigration  may  be 
the  cause  that  more  people  may  be  produced 
in  a country;  but  the  country  will  not  there- 
fore be  the  more  populous;  for  the  people 
issue  from  it.  It  can  only  be  said  that  there 
is  a flow  of  people.  It  is  an  encouragement 
to  have  children,  to  know  that  they  can  get 
a living  by  emigration.”  R.  ££  Yes,  if 
there  were  an  emigration  of  children  under 
six  years  of  age.  But  they  do  n’t  emigrate 
till  they  could  earn  their  livelihood  in  some 
way  at  home.”  C.  ££  It  is  remarkable  that 
the  most  unhealthy  countries,  where  there 
are  the  most  destructive  diseases,  such  as 
Egypt  and  Bengal,  are  the  most  populous.’1’ 
Johnson.  ££  Countries  which  are  the  most 
populous  have  the  most  destructive  diseases. 
That  is  the  true  state  of  the  proposition.” 
C.  ££  Holland  is  very  unhealthy,  yet  it  is  ex- 
ceedingly populous.”  Johnson.  £C  I know 
not  that  Holland  is  unhealthy.  But  its  pop- 
ulousness is  owing  to  an  influx  of  people 
from  all  other  countries.  Disease  cannot  be 
the  cause  of  populousness;  for  it  not  only 
carries  off  a great  proportion  of  the  people, 
but  those  who  are  left  are  weakened,  and 
unfit  for  the  purposes  of  increase.” 

R.  ££  Mr.  E.  I do  n’t  mean  to  flatter,  but 
when  posterity  reads  one  of  your  speeches 
in  parliament,  it  will  be  difficult  to  believe 
that  you  took  so  much  pains,  knowing  with 

1 [All  this,  as  Mr.  Boswell  elsewhere  says,  must 
be  a very  imperfect  record  of  the  conversation. 
Mr.  Burke  no  doubt  meant  to  allude  (perhaps  with 
a double  meaning ) to  the  superabundant  popula- 
tion of  Ireland. — Ed.] 


certainty  that  it  could  produce  no  effect, 
that  not  one  vote  would  be  gained  by  it.” 
E.  “Waving  your  compliment  to  me,  1 
shall  say,  in  general,  that  it  is  very  well 
worth  while  for  a man  to  take  pains  to  speak 
well  in  parliament.  A man,  who  has  vani- 
ty, speaks  to  display  his  talents;  and  if  a 
man  speaks  well,  he  gradually  establishes  a 
certain  reputation  and  consequence  in  the 
general  opinion,  which  sooner  or  later  will 
have  its  political  reward.  Besides,  though 
not  one  vote  is  gained,  a good  speech  has 
its  effect.  Though  an  act  which  has  been 
ably  opposed  passes  into  a law,  yet  in  its 
progress  it  is  modelled,  it  is  softened  in  such 
a manner,  that  we  see  plainly  the  minister 
has  been  told,  that  the  members  attached  to 
him  are  so  sensible  of  its  injustice  or  absur- 
dity from  what  they  have  heard,  that  it  must 
be  altered.”  Johnson.  ££  And,  sir,  there 
is  a gratification  of  pride.  Though  we  can- 
not out-vote  them,  we  will  out-argue  them. 
They  shall  not  do  wrong  without  its  be- 
ing shown  both  to  themselves  and  to  the 
wor'd.”  E.  ££  The  house  of  commons  is  a 
mixed  body.  (I  except  the  minority,  which 
I hold  to  be  pure  (smiling),  but  I take  the 
whole  house.)  It  is  a mass  by  no  means 
pure;  but  neither  is  it  wholly  corrupt,  though 
there  is  a large  proportion  of  corruption  in 
it.  There  are  many  members  who  general- 
ly go  with  the  minister,  who  will  not  go  all 
lengths.  There  are  many  honest  well-mean- 
ing country  gentlemen  who  are  in  parlia- 
ment only  to  keep  up  the  consequence  of 
their  families.  Upon  most  of  these  a good 
speech  will  have  influence.”  Johnson 
“We  are  all  more  or  less  governed  by  inter- 
est. But  interest  will  not  make  us  do  every 
thing.  In  a case  which  admits  of  doubt, 
we  try  to  think  on  the  side  which  is  for  out 
interest,  and  generally  bring  ourselves  to 
act  accordingly.  But  the  subject  must  ad* 
mit  of  diversity  of  colouring;  it  must  re* 
ceive  a colour  on  that  side.  In  the  house 
of  commons  there  are  members  enough  who 
will  not  vote  what  is  grossly  unjust  or  absurd. 
No,  sir;  there  must  always  be  right  enough, 
or  appearance  of  right,  to  keep  wrong  in 
countenance.”  Boswell.  ££  There  is  sure- 
ly always  a majority  in  parliament  who 
have  places,  or  who  want  to  have  them,  and 
who  therefore  will  be  generally  ready  to 
support  government  without  requiring  any 
pretext.”  E.  ££  True,  sir;  that  majority 
will  always  follow 

* Quo  clamor  vocat  et  turba  faventium.’  ” 

Boswell.  “Well  now,  let  us  take  the 
common  phrase,  Place-hunters.  I thought 
they  had  hunted  without  regard  to  anything, 
just  as  their  huntsman,  the  minister,  leads, 
looking  only  to  the  prey2.”  J.  “ But  tak- 

2 Lord  Bolingbroke,  who,  however  detestable 
as  a metaphysician,  must  be  allowed  to  have  had 


1778.— JETAT.  69. 


147 


mg  your  metaphor,  you  know  that  in 
hunting  there  are  few  so  desperately  keen 
as  to  follow  without  reserve.  Some  do  not 
choose  to  leap  ditches  and  hedges  and  risk 
their  necks,  or  gallop  over  steeps,  or  even  to 
dirty  themselves  in  bogs  and  mire.'*’  Bos- 
well. “ I am  glad  there  are  some  good, 
quiet,  moderate,  political  hunters.”  E.  “ I 
believe  in  any  body  of  men  in  England  I 
should  have  been  in  the  minority ! I have 
always  been  in  the  minority.”  P.  “ The 
house  of  commons  resembles  a private 
company.  How  seldom  is  any  man  con- 
vinced by  another’s  argument;  passion  and 
pride  rise  against  it.”  R.  “ What  would 
be  the  consequence,  if  a minister,  sure  of 
a majority  in  the  house  of  commons,  should 
resolve  that  there  should  be  no  speaking 
at  all  upon  his  side?”  E.  “He  must 
soon  go  out.  That  has  been  tried;  hut  it 
was  found  it  would  not  do.” 

E.  “ The  Irish  language  is  not  primitive; 
it  is  Teutonick,  a mixture  of  the  northern 
tongues;  it  has  much  English  in  it.”  John- 
son. “It  may  have  been  radically  Teutonick; 
but  English  and  High  Dutch  have  no  simi- 
larity to  the  eye,  though  radically  the  same. 
Once,  when  looking  into  Low  Dutch,  I 
found,  in  a whole  page,  only  one  word  sim- 
ilar to  English;  stroem,  like  stream , and  it 
signified  tide  V’  E.  “ I remember  having 
seen  a Dutch  sonnet,  in  which  I found  this 
word,  roesjiopies.  Nobody  would  at  first 
think  that  this  could  be  English;  but  when 
tve  inquire,  we  find  roes,  rose,  and  nopie , 
knob,  so  we  have  rosebuds .” 

Johnson.  “ I have  been  reading  Thick- 
nesse’s  Travels,  which  I think  are  enter- 
taining.” Boswell.  “ What,  sir,  a good 
hook?”  Johnson.  “Yes,  sir,  to  read 
once.  I do  not  say  you  are  to  make  a 
study  of  it,  and  digest  it;  and  I believe  it 
to  be  a true  book  in  his  intention.  All 

admirable  talents  as  a political  writer,  thus  de- 
scribes the  house  of  commons  in  his  “ Letter  to 
Sir  William  Wyndham;” — “ You  know  the  na- 
ture of  that  assembly:  they  grow,  like  hounds, 
fond  of  the  man  who  shows  them  game,  and  by 
whose  halloo  they  are  used  to  be  encouraged.  ’ ’ — 
Boswell. 

1 [Dr.  Johnson  seems  to  have  been  in  error  in 
this  point.  Stroem  signifies  just  what  stream 
does  in  English — current , flowing  water,  and 
thence  tide  : and  the  languages  have  undoubtedly 
a great  similarity.  Let  us  take  as  examples  the 
explanations  given  in  Marin’s  Dutch  Dictionary, 
of  the  very  two  words  to  which  Johnson  alluded, 
with  the  English  subjoined  : 

current. — Stroom — ras 
stream — race. 

tide. — Water — ty — stroom — ebbe  en  vloet  vander  see 

water — tide— stream— ebb  and  flow  of  the  sea. 

And  under  the  word  current  is  quoted  a Dutch 
%hrase  which  is  almost  English; 

Dat  bock  word  tien  cronen 

that  book  woith  ten  crowns. — Ed.] 


travellers  generally  mean  to  tell  truth, 
though  Thicknesse  observes,  upon  Smol- 
lett’s account  of  his  alarming  a whole  town 
in  France  by  firing  a blunderbuss,  and 
frightening  a French  nobleman  till  he  made 
him  tie  on  his  portmanteau,  that  he  would 
be  loth  to  say  Smollett  had  told  two  lies  in 
one  page;  but  he  had  found  the  only  towr* 
in  France  where  these  things  could  have 
happened.  Travellers  must  often  be  mis- 
taken.  In  every  thing,  except  where  men 
suration  can  be  applied,  they  may  honestly 
differ.  There  has  been,  of  late,  a strange 
turn  in  travellers  to  be  displeased.” 

E.  “ From  the  experience  which  I have 
had, — and  I have  had  a great  deal, — I have 
learnt  to  think  better  of  mankind.”  John- 
son. “ From  my  experience  1 have  found 
them  worse  in  commercial  dealings,  more 
disposed  to  cheat  than  I had  any  notion  of; 
but  more  disposed  to  do  one  another  good 
than  I had  conceived.”  J.  “ Less  just  and 
more  beneficent.”  Johnson.  “ And  real- 
ly it  is  wonderful,  considering  how  much 
attention  is  necessary  for  men  to  take  care 
of  themselves,  and  ward  off  immediate  evils 
which  press  upon  them,  it  is  wonderful  how 
much  they  do  for  others.  As  it  is  said  of 
the  greatest  liar,  that  he  tells  more  truth 
than  falsehood;  so  it  may  be  said  of  the 
worst  man,  that  he  does  more  good  than 
evil.”  Boswell.  “ Perhaps  from  experi- 
ence men  may  be  found  happier  than  we 
suppose.”  Johnson.  “ No,  sir;  the  more 
we  inquire  we  shall  find  men  the  less  hap- 
py.” P.  “As  to  thinking  better  or  worse 
of  mankind  from  experience,  some  cunning 
people  will  not  be  satisfied  unless  they  have 
put  men  to  the  test,  as  they  think.  There 
is  a very  good  story  told  of  Sir  Godfrey 
Kneller,  in  his  character  of  a justice  of  the 
peace.  A gentleman  brought  his  servant 
before  him,  upon  an  accusation  of  having 
stolen  some  money  from  him;  but  it  hav- 
ing come  out  that  he  had  laid  it  purposely 
in  the  servant’s  way,  in  order  to  try  his 
honesty,  Sir  Godfrey  sent  the  master  to 
prison2.”  Johnson.  “ To  resist  tempta- 
tion once  is  not  a sufficient  proof  of  honesty. 
If  a servant,  indeed,  were  to  resist  the  con 
tinued  temptation  of  silver  lying  in  a win- 
dow, as  some  people  let  it  lie,  when  he  is 
sure  his  master  does  not  know  howT  much 
there  is  of  it,  he  would  give  a strong  proof 
of  honesty.  But  this  is  a proof  to  which 
you  have  no  right  to  put  a man.  You 
know,  humanly  speaking,  there  is  a certain 
degree  of  temptation  which  will  overcome 
any  virtue.  Now,  in  so  far  as  you  ap 


2 Pope  thus  introduces  this  story: 

“ Faith,  in  such  case  if  you  should  prosecute, 

I think  Sir  Godfrey  should  decide  the  suit, 

Who  sent  the  thief,  who  stole  the  cash , away, 

And  punish’d  him  that  put  it  in  his  way.  ” 
Imitations  of  Horace , Book  II.  Epist.  ii.— Boswel* 


148 


177S. — JET  AT.  69. 


proach  temptation  to  a man,  you  do  him  an 
injury;  and,  if  he  is  overcome,  you  share  his 
guilt.”  P.  “ And,  when  once  overcome,  it 
is  easier  for  him  to  be  got  the  better  of 
again.”  Bo’SWEil.  “Yes,  you  are  his 
seducer;  you  have  debauched  him.  I have 
known  a man  resolved  to  put  friendship  to 
the  test,  by  asking  a friend  to  lend  him 
money,  merely  with  that  view,  when  he  did 
uot  want  it.”  Johnson.  “ That  is  very 
wrong,  sir.  Your  friend  may  be  a narrow 
man,  and  yet  have  many  good  qualities  : 
narrowness  may  be  his  only  fault.  Now 
you  are  trying  his  general  character  as  a 
friend  by  one  particular  singly,  in  which  he 
happens  to  be  defective,  when,  in  truth,  his 
character  is  composed  of  many  particulars.” 

E.  “ I understand  the  hogshead  of  clar- 
et, which  this  society  was  favoured,  with  by 
our  friend  the  dean  *,  is  nearly  out;  I think 
he  should  be  written  to,  to  send  another  of 
the  same  kind.  Let  the  request  be  made 
with  a happy  ambiguity  of  expression,  so 
that  we  may  have  the  chance  of  his  send- 
ing it  also  as  a present.”  Johnson.  “ I 
am  willing  to  offer  my  services  as  secretary 
on  this  occasion.”  P.  “ As  many  as  are 
for  Dr.  Johnson  being  secretary,  hold  up 
your  hands  — Carried  unanimously.”  Bos- 
well. “ He  will  be  our  dictator.”  John- 
son. “ No,  the  company  is  to  dictate  to  me. 
I am  only  to  write  for  wine;  and  I am  quite 
disinterested,  as  I drink  none;  I shall  not 
be  suspected  of  having  forged  the  applica- 
tion. I am  no  more  than  humble  scribe .” 
E.  ££  Then  you  shall  prescribe.”  Boswell. 
“ Very  well.  The  first  play  of  words  to- 
day.” J.  “ No,  no;  the  bulls  in  Ireland.” 
Johnson.  “Were  I your  dictator,  you 
should  have  no  wine.  It  would  be  my  busi- 
ness cavere  ne  quid  detriinenti  Respublica 
caperety  and  wine  is  dangerous.  Rome  was 
ruined  by  luxury.”  (smiling).  E.  “ If  you 
allow’  no  wine  as  dictator,  you  shall  not 
have  me  for  your  master  of  horse.” 

On  Saturday,  April  4,  I drank  tea  with 
Johnson  at  Dr.  Taylor’s,  where  he  had 
dined.  He  entertained  us  with  an  account  of 
a tragedy  written  by  a Dr.  Kennedy  (not  the 
Lisbon  physician).  *******3 

He  was  very  silent  this  evening,  and  read 
in  a variety  of  books;  suddenly  throwing 
down  one,  and  taking  up  another. 

He  talked  of  going  to  Streatham  that 
night.  Taylor.  “ You  ’ll  be  robbed,  if 
you  do;  or  you  must  shoot  a highwayman. 
Nowt  I would  rather  be  robbed  than  do  that; 

I would  not  shoot  a highwayman.”  John- 

1  [Dr.  Barnard,  Dean  of  Derry,  afterwards 
Bishop  of  Killaloe  and  Limerick. — Ed.] 

2 [This  supports  the  conjecture  that  Dr.  John- 
son was  not  the  President. — Ed.] 

3 [Here  a few  lines,  relating  to  the  disgust- 

ing and  indelicate  subject  of  this  tragedy,  are 

omitted. — Ed.] 


son.  “ But  I would  rather  shoot  him  in 
the  instant  when  he  is  attempting  to  rot 
me,  than  afterwards  swear  against  him  at 
the  Old  Bailey,  to  take  away  his  life,  after 
he  has  robbed  me.  I am  surer  I am  right 
in  the  one  case,  than  in  the  other.  I may 
be  mistaken  as  to  the  man  when  1 swear;  1 
cannot  be  mistaken,  if  I shoot  him  in  the 
act.  Besides,  we  feel  less  reluctance  to  take 
away  a man’s  life,  when  we  are  heated  by 
the  injury,  than  to  do  it  at  a distance  ol 
time  by  an  oath,  after  we  have  cooled.” 
Boswell.  “ So,  sir,  you  would  rather  act 
from  the  motive  of  private  passion,  than 
that  of  publick  advantage.”  Johnson. 
“ Nay,  sir,  when  I shoot  the  highwayman, 
I act  from  both.”  Boswell.  “Very  well, 
very  well.  There  is  no  catching  him.” 
Johnson.  “ At  the  same  time,  one  does 
not  know  what  to  say.  For  perhaps  one 
may,  a year  after,  hang  himself  from  unea- 
siness for  having  shot  a highwayman1 2 3  4. 
Few  minds  are  fit.  to  be  trusted  with  so 
great  a thing.”  Boswell.  “ Then,  sir, 
i you  would  not  shoot  him  ? ” Johnson. 
“ But  I might  be  vexed  afterwards  for  that 
too.” 

Thrale’s  carriage  not  having  come  for 
him,  as  he  expected,  I accompanied  him 
some  part  of  the  way  home  to  his  own 
house.  I told  him,  that  I had  talked  of  him  5 
to  Mr.  Dunning  a few  days  before,  and  had 
said,  that  in  his  company  we  did  not  so 
much  interchange  conversation,  as  listen  to 
him;  and  that  Dunning  observed,  upon  this, 
“ One  is  always  willing  to  listen  to  Dr. 
Johnson;  ” to  which  I answered,  “ That  is 
a great  deal  from  you,  sir.”  “Yes,  sir,” 
said  Johnson,  “ a great  deal  indeed.  Here 
is  a man  willing  to  listen,  to  whom,  the  world 
is  listening  all  the  rest  of  the  year.”  Bos 
well.  “ I think,  sir,  it  is  right  to  tell  one 
man  of  such  a handsome  thing,  which  has 
been  said  of  him  by  another.  It  tends  to 

4 The  late  Duke  of  Montrose  was  generally 
said  to  have  been  uneasy  on  that  account;  but 
can  contradict  the  report  from  his  grace’s  own  au 
thority.  As  he  used  to  admit  me  to  very  easy 
conversation  with  him,  I took  the  liberty  to  intro- 
duce the  subject.  His  grace  told  me,  that  when 
riding  one  night  near  London,  he  was  attacked  oy 
two  highwaymen  on  horseback,  and  that  he  in- 
stantly shot  one  of  them,  upon  which  the  other 
galloped  off ; that  his  servant,  who  was  very  well 
mounted,  proposed  to  pursue  him  and  take  him, 
but  that  his  grace  said,  “No,  we  have  had  blood 
enough;  I hope  the  man  may  live  to  repent.” 
His  grace,  upon  my  presuming  to  put  the  queslion, 
assured  me,  that  his  mind  was  not  at  all  clouded 
by  what  he  had  thus  done  in  self-defence. — Bos- 
well. [This  is  another  striking  instance  of  Mr. 
Boswell’s  readiness  to  ask  questions.  Ilis  curios- 
ity has  benefited  us;  but  few  could  have  the  bold- 
ness to  have  made  such  inquiries. — Ed.] 

5 [Yet  Mr.  Boswell  sometimes  censures  Mrs. 
Thralefor  flattery  ! — Ed.] 


1778. — iETAT.  69. 


1.49 


ncrease  benevolence.”  Johnson.  “ Un- 
doubtedly it  is  right,  sir.” 

On  Tuesday,  April  7,  I breakfasted  with 
him  at  his  house.  He  said,  “ Nobody  was 
content.”  I mentioned  to  him  a respecta- 
ble person  1 in  Scotland  whom  he  knew; 
and  I asserted,  that  I really  believed  he  was 
always  content.  Johnson.  “ No,  sir,  he 
is  not  content  with  the  present;  he  has  al- 
ways some  new  scheme,  some  new  planta- 
tion, something  which  is  future.  You  know 
he  was  not  content  as  a widower,  for  he 
married  again.”  Boswell.  “ But  he  is 
not  restless.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  he  is  only 
locally  at  rest.  A chymist  is  locally  at  rest; 
but  his  mind  is  hard  at  work.  This  gen- 
tleman has  done  with  external  exertions. 
It  is  too  late  for  him  to  engage  in  distant 
projects.”  Boswell.  “ He  seems  to  amuse 
himself  quite  well;  to  have  his  attention 
fixed,  and  his  tranquillity  preserved  by  very 
small  matters.  I have  tried  this;  but  it 
would  not  do  with  me.”  Johnson  (laugh- 
ing). “ No,  sir;  it  must  be  born  with  a 
man  to  be  contented  to  take  up  with  little 
things.  Women  have  a great  advantage 
that  they  may  take  up  with  little  things 
without  disgracing  themselves  : a man  can- 
not, except  with  fiddling.  Had  I learnt  to 
fiddle,  I should  have  done  nothing  else.” 
Boswell.  “ Pray,  sir,  did  you  ever  play 
on  any  musical  instrument?”  Johnson. 
“ No,  sir.  I once  bought  me  a flagelet;  but 
I never  made  out  a tune.”  Boswell.  “ A 
flagelet,  sir! — so  small  an  instrument2  ? I 
should  have  liked  to  hear  you  play  on  the 
violoncello.  That  should  have  been  your 
instrument.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  I might 
as  well  have  played  on  the  violoncello  as 
another;  but  I should  have  done  nothing 
else.  No,  sir;  a man  would  never  undertake 
great  things,  could  he  be  amused  with  small. 
I once  tried  knotting.  Dempster’s3  sister 
undertook  to  teach  me;  but  I could  not 
learn  it.”  Boswell.  “ So,  sir;  it  will  be 
related  in  pompous  narrative,  ‘ Once  for  his 
amusement  he  tried  knotting;  nor  did  this 
Hercules  disdain  the  distaff.’”  Johnson. 
“ Knitting  of  stockings  is  a good  amuse- 
ment. As  a freeman  of  Aberdeen,  I should 

1 [Lord  Auchinleck,  Mr.  Boswell’s  father. — 
Ed.] 

2 When  I told  this  to  Miss  Seward,  she  smiled, 
and  repeated  with  admirable  readiness,  from  “ Acis 
and  Galatea,” 

“ Bring  me  a hundred  reeds  of  ample  growth, 

To  make  a pipe  for  my  capacious  mouth.  — Boswell. 

3 [This  is  probably  a mistake.  Johnson  does 
not  appear  to  have  had  any  acquaintance  with 
Mr.  Dempster’s  family.  His  early  friend,  Mr. 

Dyer,  had  a sister,  with  whom  there  is  reason  to 
suppose  that  Johnson  was  on  terms  of  intimacy; 
and  Mr.  Boswell,  in  copying  his  notes  (in  which 
perhaps  the  name  was  abbreviated),  may  have 
mistaken  Dyer  for  Dempster.— -Ed.] 


be  a knitter  of  stockings.”  He  asked  me 
to  go  down  with  him  and  dine  at  Mr. 
Thrale’s  at  Streatham,  to  which  I agreed. 

I had  lent  him  “ An  Account  of  Scotland,  in 
1702,”  written  by  a man  of  various  inquiry, 
an  English  chaplain  to  a regiment  stationed 
there.  Johnson.  “ It  is  sad  stuff,  sir, 
miserably  written,  as  books  in  general  then 
were.  There  is  now  an  elegance  of  style 
universally  diffused.  No  man  now  writes 
so  ill  as  ‘ Martin’s  Account  of  the  Hebrides’ 
is  written.  A man  could  not  write  so  ill,  if 
he  should  try.  Set  a merchant’s  clerk  now 
to  write,  and  he  ’ll  do  better.” 

He  talked  to  me  with  serious  concern  of 
a certain  female  friend’s4  “laxity  of  nar 
ration,  and  inattention  to  truth.”  “ I am 
as  much  vexed,”  said  he,  “ at  the  ease  with 
which  she  hears  it  mentioned  to  her,  as  at 
the  thing  itself.  I told  her,  ‘ Madam,  you 
are  contented  to  hear  every  day  said  to  you, 
what  the  highest  of  mankind  have  died  for, 
rather  than  bear.’  You  know,  sir,  the 
highest  of  mankind  have  died  rather  than 
bear  to  be  told  they  had  uttered  a falsehood. 
Do  talk  to  her  of  it:  I am  weary.” 

Boswell.  “Was  not  Dr.  John  Camp 
bell  a very  inaccurate  man  in  his  narrative, 
sir?  He  once  told  me,  that  he  drank  thir 
teen  bottles  of  port  at  a sitting  5.”  John- 

4 [Mrs.  Thrale.  Dr.  Johnson  is  here  made  to 
say,  that  he  was  “ weary  of  chiding  her  on  this 
subject.”  It  is,  however,  remarkable  that  in  all 
his  letters  to  her — written  certainly  with  equal 
freedom  and  affection — there  should  be  no  allusion 
of  this  kind.  Without  accusing  Mr.  Boswell  of 
stating  what  was  not  true,  we  may  suspect  that  on 
these  occasions  he  did  not  tell  the  whole  truth; 
and  that  Dr.  Johnson’s  expressions  were  answers 
to  suggestions  of  his  own;  and  to  enable  us  to 
judge  fairly  of  the  answer,  the  suggestion  itself 
should  have  been  stated.  This  seems  the  more 
probable  from  Johnson’s  saying,  “ Do  talk  to 
her  of  it ; ” which  would  have  been  a violation 
of  all  decency  and  friendship  (considering  the 
relative  situations  of  Mrs.  Thrale,  Dr.  Johnson, 
and  Mr.  Boswell),  if  it  did  not  allude  to  some 
particular  fact  of  which  Boswell  himself  had  com- 
plained.— Ed.] 

5 Lord  Macartney  observes  upon  this  passage,  • 
“ I have  heard  him  tell  many  things,  which, 
though  embellished  by  their  mode  of  narrative, 
had  their  foundation  in  truth;  but  I never  re- 
member any  thing  approaching  to  this.  If  he  had 
written  it,  I should  have  supposed  some  wag  had 
put  the  figure  of  one  before  the  three.”  I am, 
however,  absolutely  certain  that  Dr.  Campbell 
told  me  it,  and  I gave  particular  attention  to  it, 
being  myself  a lover  of  wine,  and  therefore  curious 
to  hear  whatever  is  remarkable  concerning  drink 
ing.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  some  men  can 
drink,  without  suffering  any  injury,  such  a quantity 
as  to  others  appears  incredible.  It  is  but  fair  to 
add,  that  Dr.  Campbell  told  me,  he  took  a very 
long  time  to  this  great  potation ; and  I have  heard 
Dr.  Johnson  say,  “ Sir,  if  a man  drinks  very 


150 


1778.— /ETAT.  69. 


son  “ Why,  sir,  I do  not  know  that 
Campbell  ever  lied  with  pen  and  ink;  but 
you  could  not  entirely  depend  on  any  thing 
he  told  you  in  conversation,  if  there  was 
fact  mixed  with  it.  However,  I loved 
Campbell:  he  was  asolid  orthodox  man:  he- 
ll ad  a reverence  for  religion.  Though  de- 
fective in  practice,  he  was  religious  in  prin- 
ciple; and  he  did  nothing  grossly  wrong 
that  I have  heard  h” 

I told  him  that  I had  been  present  the 
day  before,  when  Mrs.  Montagu,  the  lite- 
rary lady,  sat  to  Miss  Reynolds  for  her  pic- 
ture; and  that  she  said,  “ she  had  bound  up 
Mr.  Gibbon’s  History  without  the  last  two 
offensive  chapters;  for  that  she  thought  the 
book  so  far  good,  as  it  gave,  in  an  elegant 
manner,  the  substance  of  the  bad  writers 
medii  cevi,  which  the  late  Lord  Lyttelton 
advised  her  to  read.”  Johnson.  “ Sir, 
she  has  not  read  them : she  shows  none  of 
this  impetuosity  to  me:  she  does  not  know 
Greek,  and,  I fancy,  knows  little  Latin. 
She  is  willing  you  should  think  she  knows 
them;  but  she  does  not  say  she  does* 1 2.” 
Boswell.  “ Mr.  Harris,  who  was  present, 
agreed  with  her.”  Johnson.  “ Harris 
was  laughing  at  her,  sir.  Harris  is  a sound 
sullen  scholar;  he  does  not  like  interlopers. 
Harris,  however,  is  a prig,  and  a bad  prig  3. 

slowly,  and  lets  one  glass  evaporate  before  he 
takes  another,  I know  not  how  long  he  may 
drink.”  Dr.  Campbell  mentioned  a colonel  of 
militia  who  sat  with  him  all  the  time,  and  drank 
equally. — Boswell. 

1 Dr.  John  Campbell  died  about  two  years  be- 
fore this  conversation  took  place;  Dec.  10,  1776. 
— Malone.  [See  ante,  v.  i.  p.  270.  306. — 
Ed.] 

2 [All  this  must  be  truncated  and  distorted. 
Mrs.  Montagu  did  not  say  that  she  had  read  these 
authours,  but  had  been  advised  to  read  them;  and 
the  inference  from  what  she  did  say  might  be, 
that  she  had  read  Gibbon  instead : and  surely  the 
word  “ impetuosity  ” must  be  a mistake,  arising, 
perhaps,  from  Mr.  Boswell’s  not  being  able  to 
decipher  his  own  manuscript.  Then,  again,  Mr. 
Harris  is  said  to  agree  with  her — in  what  ? — in 
thinking  that  Gibbon’s  History  gave,  in  an  ele- 
gant manner,  the  substance  of  the  writers  of  the 
medii  cevi.  How  could  this  be  laughing  at  her  ? 
Mr.  Boswell  says  elsewhere  of  himself,  brevis 
esse  laboro,  obscurus  fio. — Ed.] 

3 What  my  friend  meant  by  these  words  con- 
cerning the  amiable  philosopher  of  Salisbury,  I 
am  at  a loss  to  understand.  A friend  suggests, 
that  Johnson  thought  his  manner  as  a writer 
affected,  while  at  the  same  time  the  matter  did 
not  compensate  for  that  fault.  In  short,  that  he 
meant  to  make  a remark  quite  different  from  that 
which  a celebrated  gentleman  made  on  a very 
eminent  physician:  He  is  a coxcomb,  but  a satis- 
factory coxcomb  — Boswell.  The  celebrated 
gentleman  here  alluded  to  was  the  late  Right 

Honourable  William  Gerard  Hamilton. — Ma- 


I looked  into  his  book,  and  thought  he  did 
not  understand  his  own  system.”  Bos- 
well. “ He  says  plain  things  in  a formal 
and  abstract  way,  to  be  sure;  but  his  meth- 
od is  good : for  to  have  clear  notions  upon 
any  subject,  we  must  have  recourse  to  ana 
lytick  arrangement.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  it 
is  what  every  body  does,  whether  they  will 
or  no.  But  sometimes  things  may  be  made 
darker  by  definition.  I see  a cow.  I define 
her,  Animal  quadrupes  ruminans  cornutum. 
But  a goat  ruminates,  and  a cow  may  have 
no  horns.  Covj  is  plainer.”  Boswell.  “ I 
think  Dr.  Franklin’s  definition  of  Man 
a good  one — ‘A  tool-making  animal.’” 
Johnson.  “ But  many  a man  never  made 
a tool:  and  suppose  a man  without  arms, 
he  could  not  make  a tool.” 

Talking  of  drinking  wine,  he  said,  “I 
did  not  leave  off  wine,  because  I could  not 
bear  it;  I have  drunk  three  bottles  of  port 
without  being  the  worse  for  it.  Universi- 
ty College  has  witnessed  this.”  Boswell. 
“ Why  then,  sir,  did  you  leave  it  off?  ” 
Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  because  it  is  so 
much  better  for  a man  to  be  sure  that  he  is 
never  to  be  intoxicated,  never  to  lose  the 
power  over  himself.  I shall  not  begin  to 
drink  wine  again  till  I grow  old4,  and  want 
it.”  Boswell.  “ I think,  sir,  you  once 
said  to  me,  that  not  to  drink  wine  was  a 
great  deduction  from  life.”  Johnson.  “It 
is  a diminution  of  pleasure,  to  be  sure;  but 
I do  not  say  a diminution  of  happiness. 
There  is  more  happiness  in  being  rational.” 
Boswell.  “ But  if  we  could  have  plea- 
sure always,  should  not  we  be  happy?  The 
greatest  part  of  men  would  compound  for 
pleasure.”  Johnson.  “ Supposing  we  could 
have  pleasure  always,  an  intellectual  man 
would  not  compound  for  it.  The  greatest 
part  of  men  would  compound,  because  the 
greatest  part  of  men  are  gross.”  Boswell. 
“ I allow  there  may  be  greater  pleasure  than 
from  wine.  I have  had  more  pleasure  from 
your  conversation.  I have  indeed;  I assure 
you  I have.”  Johnson.  “ When  we  talk 
of  pleasure,  we  mean  sensual  pleasure.  * *5 
Philgsophers  tell  you,  that  pleasure  is  con- 
trary to  happiness.  Gross  men  prefer  ani- 
mal pleasure.  So  there  are  men  who  have 
preferred  living  among  savages.  Now 
what  a wretch  must  he  be,  who  is  content 
with  such  conversation  as  can  be  had  among 
savages!  You  may  remember  an  officer  at 
Fort  Augustus,  who  had  served  in  America, 
told  us  of  a woman  whom  they  were  oblig- 
ed to  bind,  in  order  to  get  her  back  from 
savage  life.”  Boswell.  “ She  must  have 
been  an  animal,  a beast.”  Johnson.  “Sir, 
she  was  a speaking  cat.” 

I mentioned  to  him  that  I had  become 


4 [He  was  now  in  his  seventieth  year. — Ed.] 

5 [Two  lines  are  here  omitted. — Ed.] 


LONF. 


1778. — iETAT.  69. 


151 


very  weary  in.  company  where  I heard  not 
a single  intellectual  sentence,  except  that  a 
man  who  had  been  settled  ten  years  in  Mi- 
norca was  become  a much  inferiour  man  to 
what  he  was  in  London,  because  a man’s 
mind  grows  narrow  in  a narrow  place.” 
Johnson.  “ A man’s  mind  grows  narrow 
in  a narrow  place,  whose  mind  is  enlarged 
only  because  he  has  lived  in  a large  place: 
but  what  is  got  by  books  and  thinking  is 
preserved  in  a narrow  place  as  well  as  in 
a large  place.  A man  cannot  know  modes 
of  life  as  well  in  Minorca  as  in  London;  but 
he  may  study  mathematicks  as  well  in  Mi- 
norca.” Boswell.  “I  do  n’t  know,  sir: 
if  you  had  remained  ten  years  in  the  isle 
of  Col,  you  would  not  have  been  the  man 
that  you  now  are.”  Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir, 
if  I had  been  there  from  fifteen  to  twenty- 
five;  but  not  if  from  twenty-five  to  thirty- 
five.”  Boswell.  “ I own,  sir,  the  spirits 
which  I have  in  London  make  me  do  every 
thing  with  more  readiness  and  vigour.  I 
can  talk  twice  as  much  in  London  as  any 
where  else.” 

Of  Goldsmith,  he  said,  “ He  was  not  an 
agreeable  companion,  for  he  talked  always 
for  fame  b A man  who  does  so  never  can 
be  pleasing.  The  man  who  talks  to  unbur- 
den his  mind  is  the  man  to  delight  you. 
An  eminent  friend  of  ours 1  2 is  not  so  agreea- 
ble as  the  variety  of  his  knowledge  would 
otherwise  make  him,  because  he  talks  part- 
ly from  ostentation.” 

Soon  after  our  arrival  at  Thrale’s,  I heard 
one  of  the  maids  calling  eagerly  on  another 
to  go  to  Dr.  Johnson.  I wondered  what 
this  could  mean.  I afterwards  learnt,  that 
it  was  to  give  her  a Bible,  which  he  had 
brought  from  London  as  a present  to  her. 

He  was  for  a considerable  time  occupied 
in  reading  “ Memoires  de  Fontenelle,” 
leaning  and  swinging  upon  the  low  gate 
into  the  court,  without  his  hat. 

I looked  into  Lord  Kaimes’s  “ Sketches 
of  the  History  of  Man;  ” and  mentioned  to 
Dr.  Johnson  his  censure  of  Charles  the 
Fifth,  for  celebrating  his  funeral  obsequies 
in  his  life-time,  which,  I told  him,  I had 
been  used  to  think  a solemn  and  affecting 
act.  Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  a man  may 
dispose  his  mind  to  think  so  of  that  act  of 
Charles;  but  it  is  so  liable  to  ridicule,  that 
if  one  man  out  of  ten  thousand  laughs  at  it, 
he  ’ll  make  the  other  nine  thousand  nine 
hundred  and  ninety-nine  laugh  too.”  I 
could  not  agree  with  him  in  this. 

Hawk.  [Johnson  thought  very  well  of 
Apoph.  Lord  Kaimes’s  Elements  of  Criti- 
p' 209,  cism;  of  others  of  his  writings  he 
thought  very  indifferently,  and  laughed 


1 [See  ante,  vol  i.  p.  296.  300.  418,  and  vol. 
ii.  p 62. — Ed.] 

2 TMr.  Burke.— Ed.] 


much  at  his  opinion  that  war  was  a good 
thing  occasionally,  as  so  much  valour  and 
virtue  were  exhibited  in  it.  “ A fire,”  says 
Johnson,  “might  as  well  be  thought  a good 
thing;  there  is  the  bravery  and  address  of 
the  firemen  in  extinguishing  it;  there  is 
much  humanity  exerted  in  saving  the  lives 
and  properties  of  the  poor  sufferers;  yet,” 
says  he,  “ after  all  this,  who  can  say  a fire 
is  a good  thing?  ”] 

Sir  John  Pringle  had  expressed  a wish 
that  I would  ask  Dr.  Johnson’s  opinion 
what  were  the  best  English  sermons  for 
style.  I took  an  opportunity  to-day  of 
mentioning  several  to  him.  “ Atterbury?  ” 
Johnson.  “Yes,  sir,  one  of  the  best.”  Bos- 
well. “Tillotson?”  Johnson.  “Why, 
not  now.  I should  not  advise  a preacher  ai 
this  day  to  imitate  Tillotson’s  style;  though 
I do  n’t  know;  I should  be  cautious  of  ob- 
jecting to  what  has  been  applauded  by  so 
many  suffrages. — South  is  one  of  the  best, 
if  you  except  his  peculiarities,  and  his  vio- 
lence, and  sometimes  coarseness  of  lan- 
guage.— Seed  has  a very  fine  style;  but  he 
is  not  very  theological. — Jortin’s  sermons 
are  very  elegant. — Sherlock’s  style,  too,  is 
very  elegant,  though  he  has  not  made  it  his 
principal  study. — And  you  may  add  Smal- 
ridge.  All  the  latter  preachers  have  a good 
style.  Indeed,  nobody  now  talks  much  of 
style:  every  body  composes  pretty  well. 
There  are  no  such  inharmonious  periods  as 
there  were  a hundred  years  ago.  I should 
recommend  Dr.  Clarke’s  sermons,  were  he 
orthodox.  However,  it  is  very  well  known 
where  he  is  not  orthodox,  which  was  upon 
the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  as  to  which  he 
is  a condemned  heretick;  so  one  is  aware 
of  it.”  Boswell.  “ I like  Ogden’s  Ser- 
mons on  Prayer  very  much,  both  for  neat- 
ness of  style  and  subtil ty  of  reasoning.” 
Johnson.  “ I should  like  to  read  all  that 
Ogden  has  written.”  Boswell.  “ What 
I wish  to  know  is,  what  sermons  afford  the 
best  specimen  of  English  pulpit  eloquence.” 
Johnson.  “ We  have  no  sermons  address- 
ed to  the  passions,  that  are  good  for  any 
thing;  if  you  mean  that  kind  of  eloquence.” 
A Clergyman  (whose  name  I do  not  re- 
collect). “ Were  not  Dodd’s  sermons 
addressed  to  the  passions?”  Johnson. 
“ They  were  nothing,  sir,  be  they  address 
ed  to  what  they  may.” 

At  dinner,  Mrs.  Thrale  expressed  a wish 
to  go  and  see  Scotland.  Johnson.  “ See- 
ing Scotland,  madam,  is  only  seeing  a worse 
England.  It  is  seeing  the  flower  gradually 
fade  away  to  the  naked  stalk.  Seeing  the 
Hebrides,  indeed,  is  seeing  quite  a different 
scene.” 

Our  poor  friend,  Mr.  Thomas  Davies, 
was  soon  to  have  a benefit  at  Drury-lane 
Theatre,  as  some  relief  to  his  unfortunate 
circumstances.  We  were  all  warmly  ia 


152 


1778. — AST  AT.  69. 


terested  for  his  success,  and  had  contributed 
to  it.  However,  we  thought  there  was  no 
harm  in  having  our  joke,  when  he  could  not 
be  hurt  by  it.  I proposed  that  he  should  he 
brought  on  to  speak  a prologue  upon  the 
occasion;  and  I began  to  mutter  fragments 
of  what  it  might  be:  as,  that  when  now 
grown  old,  he  was  obliged  to  cry  “ Poor 
Tom  ’s  a-cold;  ” — that  he  owned  he  had 
been  driven  from  the  stage  by  a Churchill, 
but  that  this  was  no  disgrace,  for  a 
Churchill  had  beat  the  French; — that  he 
had  been  satirized  as  “mouthing  a sentence 
as  curs  mouth  a bone,”  but  he  was  now 
glad  of  a bone  to  pick.  “ Nay,”  said  John- 
son, “ I would  have  him  to  say, 

* Mad  Tom  is  come  to  see  the  world  again.  * ” 

0 He  and  I returned  to  town  in  the  even- 
ing. Upon  the  road,  I endeavoured  to 
maintain  in  argument,  that  a landed  gentle- 
man is  not  under  any  obligation  to  reside 
upon  his  estate;  and  that  by  living  in  Lon- 
don he  does  no  injury  to  his  country. 
Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  he  does  no  injury 
to  his  country  in  general,  because  the  mo- 
ney which  he  draws  from  it  gets  back  again 
in  circulation;  but  to  his  particular  district, 
his  particular  parish,  he  does  an  injury.  All 
that  he  has  to  give  away  is  not  given  to 
those  who  have  the  first  claim  to  it.  And 
though  I have  said  that  the  money  circu- 
lates back,  it  is  a long  time  before  that  hap- 
pens. Then,  sir,  a man  of  family  and  es- 
tate ought  to  consider  himself  as  having 
the  charge  of  a district,  over  which  he  is  to 
diffuse  civility  and  happiness  J.” 

Next  day  I found  him  at  home  in  the 
morning.  He  praised  Delany’s  “ Observa- 
tions on  Swift;  ” said  that  his  book  and 
Lord  Orrery’s  might  both  be  true,  though 
one  viewed  Swift  more,  and  the  other  less 
favourably;  and  that,  between  both,  we 
might  have  a complete  notion  of  Swift. 

Talking  of  a man’s  resolving  to  deny  him- 
self the  use  of  wine,  from  moral  and  reli- 
gious considerations,  he  said,  “ He  must 
not  doubt  about  it.  When  one  doubts  as 
to  pleasure,  we  know  what  will  be  the  con- 
clusion. I now  no  more  think  of  drinking 
wine,  than  a horse  does.  The  wine  upon 
the  table  is  no  more  for  me,  than  for  the 
dog  who  is  under  the  table.” 

On  Thursday,  April  9,  I dined  with  him 
at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s,  with  the  Bishop 
of  St.  Asaph  (Dr.  Shipley),  Mr.  Allan 
Ramsay1 2,  Mr.  Gibbon,  Mr.  Cambridge, 
and  Mr.  Langton.  Mr.  Ramsay  had  late- 
ly returned  from  Italy,  and  entertained  us 

1 See,  however,  ante,  p.  123,  where  his  decision 
on  this  subject  is  more  favourable  to  the  absentee. 
— Malone. 

2 [An  eminent  painter;  son  of  the  Scottish 

poet;  born  in  1709;  died,  in  1784,  at  Dover,  on 

his  return  from  his  fourth  visit  to  Italy. — Ed.] 


with  his  observations  upon  Horace’s  villa, 
which  he  had  examined  with  great  care.  I 
relished  this  much,  as  it  brought  fresh  into 
my  mind  what  I had  viewed  with  great 
pleasure  thirteen  years  before.  The  bish- 
op, Dr.  Johnson,  and  Mr.  Cambridge,  join- 
ed with  Mr.  Ramsay,  in  recollecting  the 
various  lines  in  Horace  relating  to  the  sub- 
ject. 

Horace’s  journey  to  Brundusium  being 
mentioned,  Johnson  observed  that  the  brook 
which  he  describes  is  to  be  seen  now,  exact- 
ly as  at  that  time;  and  that  he  had  often  won 
dered  how  it  happened,  that  small  brooks, 
such  as  this,  kept  the  same  situation  for 
ages,  notwithstanding  earthquakes,  by 
which  even  mountains  have  been  changed, 
and  agriculture,  which  produces  such  a va- 
riation upon  the  surface  of  the  earth. 
Cambridge.  “ A Spanish  writer  has  this 
thought  in  a poetical  conceit.  After  ob- 
serving that  most  of  the  solid  structures  of 
Rome  are  totally  perished,  while  the  Tiber 
remains  the  same,  he  adds, 

‘ Lo  que  era  firme  huio,  solamente 

Lo  Fugitivo  permanece  y dura.’  ” 

Johnson.  “ Sir,  that  is  taken  from  Janus 
Yitalis: 

‘ immota  labescunt; 

Et  quse  perpetuo  sunt  agitata  manent.’  ” 

The  bishop  said,  it  appeared  from  Ho- 
race’s writings  that  he  was  a cheerful  con- 
tented man.  Johnson.  “ We  have  no 
reason  to  believe  that,  my  lord.  Are  we  to 
think  Pope  was  happy,  because  he  says  so 
in  his  writings?  We  see  in  his  writings 
what  he  wished  the  state  of  his  mind  to  ap- 
pear. Dr.  Young,  who  pined  for  prefer- 
ment, talks  with  contempt  of  it  in  his  wri- 
tings, and  affects  to  despise  every  thing 
that  he  did  not  despise.”  Bishop  of  St. 
Asaph.  “ He  was  like  other  chaplains, 
looking  for  vacancies : but  that  is  not  pecu- 
liar to  the  clergy.  I remember,  when  I 
was  with  the  army,  after  the  battle  of  La- 
feldt,  the  officers  seriously  grumbled  that  no 
general  was  killed.”  Cambridge.  “ We 
may  believe  Horace  more,  when  he  says, 

* Romae  Tibur  amem  ventosus,  Tibure  Romam ; ’ 
1 Ep.  viii.  12. 

than  when  he  boasts  of  his  consistency : 

‘ Me  constare  mihi  scis,  et  discedere  tristem, 
Quandocunque  trahunt  invisa  negotia  Romani.’  ” 
1 Ep.  xiv.  16 

Boswell.  “ How  hard  is  it  that  man  can 
never  be  at  rest!”  Ramsay.  “It  is  not 
in  his  nature  to  be  at  rest.  When  he  is  at 
rest,  he  is  in  the  w7orst  state  that  lie  can  bt 
in;  for  he  has  nothing  to  agitate  him.  Ht 
is  then  like  the  man  in  the  Irish  song  3 *, 

3  [Called  “ Alley  Croker.”  This  lady,  a celo- 


1778.— ^ETAT.  69. 


‘There  lived  a young  man  in  Ballinaerazy, 

Who  wanted  a wife  for  to  make  him  unaisy.’  ” 

Goldsmith  being* 1 2  mentioned,  Johnson  ob- 
served, that  it  was  long  before  his  merit 
came  to  be  acknowledged:  that  he  once 
complained  to  him,  in  ludicrous  terms  of 
distress,  “Whenever  I write  any  thing, 
the  publick  make  a point  to  know  nothing 
about  it:  ” but  that  his  “Traveller1” 
brought  him  into  high  reputation.  Lang- 
ton.  “ There  is  not  one  bad  line  in  that 
poem;  not  one  ofDryden’s  careless  verses.” 
Sir  Joshua.  “ I was  glad  to  hear  Charles 
Fox  say,  it  was  one  of  the  finest  poems  in 
the  English  language.”  Langton.  “Why 
were  you  glad?  You  surely  had  no  doubt 
of  this  before.”  Johnson.  “ No;  the 
merit  of c The  Traveller  ’ is  so  well  estab- 
lished, that  Mr.  Fox’s  praise  cannot  aug- 
ment it,  nor  his  censure  diminish  it.”  Sir 
Joshua.  “ But  his  friends  may  suspect 
they  had  too  great*  a partiality  for  him.” 
Johnson.  “ Nay,  sir,  the  partiality  of  his 
friends  was  always  against  him.  It  was 
with  difficulty  we  could  give  him  a hearing. 
Goldsmith  had  no  settled  notions  upon  any 
subject;  so  he  talked  always  at  random.  It 
seemed  to  be  his  intention  to  blurt  out  what- 
ever was  in  his  mind,  and  see  what  would 
become  of  it.  He  was  angry,  too,  when 
catched  in  an  absurdity;  but  it  did  not  pre- 
vent him  from  falling  into  another  the  next 
minute.  I remember  Chamier,  after  talking 
with  him  some  time,  said,  ‘ Well,  I do  be- 
lieve he  wrote  this  poem  himself ; and,  let 
me  ted  you,  that  is  believing  a great  deal.’ 
Chamier  once  asked  him,  what  he  meant  by 
slow,  the  last  word  in  the  first  line  of c The 
Traveller,’ 

‘ Remote,  unfriended,  melancholy,  slow.  ’ 

Did  he  mean  tardiness  of  locomotion? 
Goldsmith,  who  would  say  something  with- 
out consideration,  answered, 1 Aes.’  I was 
sitting  by,  and  said,  c No,  sir,  you  do  not 
mean  tardiness  of  locomotion;  you  mean 
that  sluggishness  of  mind  which  comes  upon 
a man  in  solitude.’  Chamier  believed  then 
that  I had  written  the  line,  as  much  as  if 
he  had  seen  me  write  it-.  Goldsmith,  how- 
ever, was  a man,  who,  whatever  he  wrote, 
did  it  better  than  any  other  man  could  do. 
He  deserved  a place  in  Westminster  Abbdy ; 
and  every  year  he  lived  would  have  deserv- 

brated  beauty  in  her  day,  was  the  youngest 
daughter  of  Colonel  Croker,  of  Ballinagard,  in  the 
county  of  Limerick.  The  lover  whose  rejection 
has  imrnort ilised  her  name  Is  not  known;  but  she 
married  Charles  Langley,  Esq.,  of  Lisnarnock. 
She  died  without  issue,  about  the  middle  of  the 
last  century. — Ed.] 

1 First  published  in  1765. — Malone. 

2 [See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  226,  as  to  the  lines  of  this 
poem  which  Johnson  wrote. — Ed.] 

vol.  ii.  20 


1 53 

ed  it  better.  He  had,  indeed,  been  at  no 
pains  to  fill  his  mind  with  knowledge.  He 
transplanted  it  from  one  place  to  another, 
and  it  did  not  settle  in  his  mind;  so  he 
could  not  tell  what  was  in  his  own  books.” 
We  talked  of  living  in  the  country. 
Johnson.  “No  wise  man  will  go  to  live 
in  the  country,  unless  he  has  something  to 
do  which  can  be  better  done  in  the  country. 
For  instance;  if  he  is  to  shut  himself  up  for 
a year  to  study  a science,  it  is  better  to  look 
out  to  the  fields  than  to  an  opposite  wall3. 
Then  if  a man  walks  out  in  the  the  country, 
there  is  nobody  to  keep  him  from  walking 
in  again;  but  if  a man  walks  out  in  Lon- 
don, he  is  not  sure  when  he  shall  walk  in 
again.  A great  city  is,  to  be  sure,  the 
school  for  studying  life;  and1  The  proper 
study  of  mankind  is  man,’  as  Pope  ob-‘ 
serves.”  Boswell.  “ I fancy  London  is 
the  best  place  for  society;  though  I have 
heard  that  the  very  first  society  of  Paris  is 
still  beyond  any  thing  that  we  have  here.” 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  I question  if  in  Paris  such 
a company  as  is  sitting  round  this  table 
could  be  got  together  in  less  than  half  a 
year.  They  talk  in  France  of  the  felicity 
of  men  and  women  living  together:  the 
truth  is,  that  there  the  men  are  not 
higher  than  the  Women,  they  know  no 
more  than  the  women  do,  and  they  are  not 
held  down  in  their  conversation  by  the  pre- 
sence of  women.  ” Ramsay.  “Literature 
is  upon  the  growth,  it  is  in  its  spring  in 
France:  here  it  is  rather  passbe.”  John- 
son. “ Literature  was  in  France  long  be- 
fore we  had  it.  Paris  was  the  second  city 
for  the  revival  of  letters:  Italy  had  it  first, 
to  be  sure.  What  have  we  done  for  litera- 
ture, equal  to  what  was  done  by  the  Ste- 
phani  and  others  in  France?  Our  literature 
came  to  us  through  France.  Caxton  print- 
ed only  two  books,  Chaucer  and  Gower, 
that  were  not  translations  from  the  French; 
and  Chaucer,  we  know,  took  much  from  the 
Italians.  No,  sir,  if  literature  be  in  its 


3 [Mr.  Cumberland  was  of  a contrary  opinion. 
“ In  the  ensuing  year  I again  paid  a visit  to  my 
father  at  Clonfert;  and  therein  a little  closet,  at 
the  back  of  the  palace , as  it  was  called,  unfur- 
nished, and  out  of  use,  with  no  other  prospect 
from  its  single  window  but  that  of  a turf-stack, 
with  which  it  was  almost  in  contact,  I seated  my- 
self by  choice,  and  began  to  plan  and  compose 
The  West  Indian.  In  all  my  hours  of  study,  it 
has  been  through  life  my  object  so  to  locate  my- 
self as  to  have  little  or  nothing  to  distract  my 
attention,  and,  therefore,  brilliant  rooms  or 
pleasant  prospects  I have  ever  avoided.  A deud 
wall,  or,  as  in  the  present  case,  an  Irish  turf-stack, 
are  not  attractions  that  can  call  off  the  fancy  from 
its  pursuits;  and  whilst  in  those  pursuits  it  can 
find  interest  and  occupation,  it  wants  no  outward 
aids  to  cheer  it.” — Mem.  vol.  i.  p.  271.  277.— 
Ed.] 


154 


1778.— AETAT.  69. 


spring-  m France,  it  is  a second  spring;  it  is 
after  a winter.  We  are  now  before  the 
French  in  literature:  hut  we  had  it  long 
after  them.  In  England,  any  man  who 
wears  a sword  and  a powdeied  wig  is 
ashamed  to  be  illiterate.  I believe  it  is  not 
so  in  France.  Yet  there  is,  probably,  a 
great  deal  of  learning  in  France,  because 
tney  have  such  a number  of  religious  estab- 
lishments; so  many  men  who  have  nothing 
else  to  do  but  to  study.  I do  not  know 
this;  but  I take  it  upon  the  common  princi 
pies  of  chance.  Where  there  are  many 
shooters,  some  will  hit.” 

We  talked  of  old  age.  Johnson  (now 
in  his  seventieth  year)  said,  “ It  is  a man’s 
own  fault,  it  is  from  want  of  use,  if  his 
mind  grows  torpid  in  old  age  b”  The  bish- 
op asked,  if  an  old  man  does  not  lose  faster 
than  he  gets.  Johnson.  “ I think  not, 
my  lord,  if  he  exerts  himself.”  One  of  the 
company  rashly  observed,  that  he  thought 
it  was  happy  for  an  old  man  that  insensibil- 
ity comes  upon  him.  Johnson  (with  a no- 
ble elevation  and  disdain).  “No,  sir,  I 
should  never  be  happy  by  being  less  ration- 

1 Hobbes  was  of  the  same  opinion  with  John- 
son on  this  subject;  and,  in  his  answer  to  D’Ave- 
nant’s  Preface  to  Gondibert,  with  great  spirit,  ex- 
plodes the  current  opinion,  that  the  mind  in  old 
age  is  subject  to  a necessary  and  irresistible  debil- 
ity. “ And  now,  while  I think  on ’t,”  says  the 
philosopher,  “ give  me  leave,  with  a short  discord, 
to  sweeten  the  harmony  of  the  approaching  close. 
I have  nothing  to  object  to  your  poem,  but  dissent 
only  from  something  in  your  preface,  sounding  to 
the  prejudice  of  age.  It  is  commonly  said,  that 
old  age  is  a return  to  childhood:  which  methinks 
you  insist  on  so  long,  as  if  you  desired  it  should 
be  believed.  That ’s  the  note  I mean  to  shake  a 
little.  That  saying,  meant  only  of  the  weakness 
of  body,  was  wrested  to  the  weakness  of  mind, 
by  froward  children,  weary  of  the  controlment  of 
their  parents,  masters,  and  other  admonitors. 
Secondly,  the  dotage  and  childislmess  they  ascribe 
to  age  is  never  the  effect  of  time,  but  sometimes 
of  the  excesses  of  youth,  and  not  a returning  to, 
but  a continual  stay  with  childhood.  For  they 
that  want  the  curiosity  of  furnishing  their  memories 
with  the  rarities  of  nature  in  their  youth,  and  pass 
their  time  in  making  provision  only  for  their  ease 
and  sensual  delight,  are  children  still,  at  what  years 
soever;  as  they  that  coming  into  a populous  city, 
never  going  out  of  their  inn,  are  strangers  still, 
how  long  soever  they  have  been  there.  Thirdly, 
there  is  no  reason  for  any  man  to  think  himself 
wiser  to-day  than  yesterday,  which  does  not 
equally  convince  he  shall  be  wiser  to-morrew  than 
to-day.  Fourthly,  you  will  be  forced  to  change 
your  opinion  hereafter,  when  you  are  old;  and, 
in  the  mean  time,  you  discredit  all  I have  said  be- 
fore in  your  commendation,  because  I am  old 
already. — But  no  more  of  this.”  Hobbes,  when 
he  wrote  these  pleasing  and  sensible  remarks,  was 
■Lxty-two  years  old,  and  D’Avenant  forty-five. — 
Mai.  one. 


al.”  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph.  “Your  wish 
then,  sir,  is  y»p*<nuiv  J'i<f'acrK0/u6vas.,i  Johnson. 
“ Yes,  my  lord.”  His  lordship  mentioned 
a charitable  establishment  in  Wales,  where 
people  were  maintained,  and  supplied  with 
every  thing,  upon  the  condition  of  their  con- 
tributing the  weekly  produce  of  their  la- 
bour; and,  he  said,  they  grew  quite  torpid 
for  want  of  property.  Johnson.  “ They 
have  no  object  for  hope.  Their  condition  can- 
not be  better.  It  is  rowing  without  a port.” 
One  of  the  company  asked  him  the  mean- 
ing of  the  expression  in  Juvenal,  unius  la- 
certce.  Johnson.  “ I think  it  clear  enough; 
as  much  ground  as  one  may  have  a chance 
to  find  a lizard  upon.” 

Commentators  have  differed  as  to  the  ex- 
act meaning  of  the  expression  by  which  the 
poet  intended  to  enforce  the  sentiment  con- 
tained in  the  passage  where  these  words  oc- 
cur. It  is  enough  that  they  mean  to  de- 
note even  a very  small  possession,  provided 
it  be  a man’s  own : 

“ Est  aliquid,  quocunque  loco,  quocunque  recessu, 
Unius  sese  dominum  fecisse  lacertae.” 

3 Sat.  231. 

This  season  there  was  a whimsical  fash- 
ion in  the  newspapers  of  applying  Shaks- 
peare’s  words  to  describe  living  persons  well 
known  in  the  world;  which  was  done  inder 
the  title  of  “Modern  Characters  from  Shaks- 
peare  ; ” many  of  which  were'  admirably 
adapted.  The  fancy  took  so  much,  that 
they  were  afterwards  collected  into  a 
pamphlet.  Somebody  said  to  Johnson, 
across  the  table,  that  he  had  not  been  in 
those  characters.  “ Yes,”  said  he,  “ I have. 
I should  have  been  sorry  to  have  been  left 
out.”  He  then  repeated  what  had  been 
applied  to  him  : 

“ You  must  borrow  me  Garagantua’s  mouth.” 

Miss  Reynolds  not  perceiving  at  once  the 
meaning  of  this,  he  was  obliged  to  explain 
it  to  her,  which  had  something  of  an  awk- 
ward and  ludicrous  effect.  “ Why,  madam, 
it  has  a reference  to  me,  as  using  big  words, 
which  require  the  mouth  of  a giant  to  pro- 
nounce them.  Garagantua  is  the  name  of  a 
giant  in  Rabelais.”  Boswell.  “But,  sir, 
there  is  another  amongst  them  for  you : 

‘ He  would  not  flatter  Neptune  for  his  trident, 
*Or  Jove  for  his  power  to  thunder.’  ” 

Johnson.  “ There  is  nothing  marked  in 
that.  No.  Sir,  Garagantua  is  the  best.” 
Notwithstanding  this  ease  and  good  humour, 
when  I,  a little  while  afterwards,  repeated 
his  sarcasm  on  Kenrick  2 which  was  receiv- 
ed with  applause,  he  asked  “ Who  said 
that  ? ” and  on  my  suddenly  answering, — 
Garagantua , he  looked  serious,  which  was 


2 See  vol.  i.  p.  223.— Boswell. 


1778. — JET  AT.  69. 


155 


a sufficient  indication  that  he  did  not  wish 
it  to  he  kept  up.  [Previous  however 
to  this  some  newspaper  had  described 
p*  Johnson  and  Goldsmith  as  the  pe- 
dant and  his  flatterer  in  Love’s  Labour  Lost. 
Goldsmith  came  to  his  friend,  fretting  and 
foaming,  and  vowing  vengeance  against  the 
rinter,  &c.  till  Dr.  Johnson,  tired  of  the 
ustle,  and  desirous  to  think  of  something 
else,  cried  out  at  last,  “ Why,  what  would- 
est  thou  have,  dear  doctor  ? who  the  plague 
is  hurt  with  all  this  nonsense  ? and  how  is 
a man  the  worse  I wonder  in  his  health, 
purse,  or  character,  for  being  called  Holo- 
f ernes  ? ” “I  do  not  know,”  replies  the 
other,  <e  how  you  may  relish  being  called 
Holofernes,  but  I do  not  like  at  least-to  play 
Goodman  Dull.” 

When  we  went  to  the  drawing-room 
there  was  a rich  assemblage.  Besides  the 
company  who  had  been  at  dinner,  there 
were  Mr.  Garrick,  Mr.  Harris  of  Salisbury, 
Dr.  Percy,  Dr.  Burney,  the  Honorable 
Mrs.  Cholmondeley,  Miss  Hannah  More, 
&c.  &c. 

After  wandering  about  in  a kind  of  pleas- 
ing distraction  for  some  time,  I got  into  a 
corner,  with  Johnson,  Garrick,  and  Harris. 
Garrick  (to  Harris).  “ Pray,  sir,  have 
you  read  Potter’s  iEschylus?”  Harris. 
‘“Yes;  and  think  it  pretty.”  Garrick  (to 
Johnson).  “ And  what  think  you,  sir,  of 
it  ? ” Johnson.  “ I thought  what  I read 
of  it  verbiage  : but  upon  Mr.  Harris’s 
recommendation,  I will  read  a play.  (To 
Mr.  Harris.)  Do  n’t  prescribe  two.”  Mr. 
Harris  suggested  one,  I do  not  remember 
which.  Johnson.  “ We  must  try  its 
effect  as  an  English  poem;  that  is  the  way 
to  judge  of  the  merit  of  a translation.  Trans- 
lations are,  in  general,  for  people  who  can- 
not read  the  original.”  I mentioned  the 
vulgar  saying,  that  Pope’s  Homer  was  not 
a good  representation  of  the  original. 
■Johnson.  “ Sir,  it  is  the  greatest  work  of 
the  kind  that  has  ever  been  produced.” 
Boswell.  “ The  truth  is,  it  is  impossible 
perfectly  to  translate  poetry.  In  a different 
language  it  may  be  the  same  tune,  but  it  has 
not  the  same  tone.  Homer  plays  it  on  a 
bassoon;  Pope  on  a flagelet.”  Harris. 
“ I think,  heroick  poetry  is  best  in  blank 
verse;  yet  it  appears  that  rhyme  is  essen- 
tial to  English  poetry,  from  our  deficiency 
in  metrical  quantities.  In  my  opinion,  the 
chief  excellence  of  our  language  is  numer- 
ous prose.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  William  Tem- 
ple was  the  first  writer  who  gave  cadence  to 
English  prose  l.  Before  his  time  they  were 
careless  of  arrangement,  and  did  not  mind 

1 The  authour,  in  vol.  i.  p.  89,  90,  says,  that  John- 
son once  told  him,  “ that  he  had  formed  his  style 
upon  that  of  Sir  William  Temple,  and  upon 
Chambers’s  Proposal  fcr  his  Dictionary.  He 
certainly  was  mistaken;  or,  if  he  imagined  at  first 


whether  a sentence  ended  with  an  impor- 
tant word  or  an  insignificant  word,  or  with 
what  part  of  speech  it  was  concluded.” 
Mr.  Langton,  who  now  had  joined  us,  com- 
mended Clarendon.  Johnson.  “ He  is 
objected  to  for  his  parentheses,  his  involved 
clauses,  and  his  want  of  harmony.  But  he 
is  supported  by  his  matter.  It  is,  indeed, 
owing  to  a plethory  of  matter  that  his  style  is 
so  faulty:  every  substance  (smiling  to  Mr. 
Harris)  has  so  many  accidents. — To  be 
distinct,  we  must  talk  analytically . If 
we  analyse  language,  we  must  speak  of 
it  grammatically;  if  we  analyse  argument, 
we  must  speak  of  it  logically.”  Garrick 
“ Of  all  the  translations  that  ever  were  at- 
tempted, I think  Elphinston’s  Martial  the 
most  extraordinary  ~.  He  consulted  me 
upon  it,  who  am  a little  of  an  epigramma- 
tist myself,  you  know.  I told  him  freely, 
1 You  do  n’t  seem  to  have  that  turn.’  I 
asked  him  if  he  was  serious;  and  finding  he 
was,  I advised  him  against  publishing. 
Why,  his  translation  is  more  difficult  to  un- 
derstand than  the  original.  I thought  him 
a man  of  some  talents;  but  he  seems  crazy 
in  this.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  you  have  done 
what  I had  not  courage  to  do.  But  he  did 
not  ask  my  advice,  and  1 did  not  force  it 
upon  him,  to  make  him  angry  with  me.” 
Garrick.  ct  But  as  a friend,  sir — ” John- 
son. “ Why,  such  a friend  as  I am  with 
him — no.”  Garrick.  “ But  if  you  see  a 
friend  going  to  tumble  over  a precipice  ? ” 
Johnson.  “That  is  an  extravagant  case, 


that  he  was  imitating  Temple,  he  was  very  un- 
successful, for  nothing  can  be  more  unlike  than 
the  simplicity  of  Temple  and  the  richness  of 
Johnson.”  This  observation  of  our  authour,  on 
the  first  view,  seems  perfectly  just;  but,  on  a 
closer  examination,  it  will,  I think,  appear  to 
have  been  founded  on  a misapprehension.  Mr. 
Boswell  understood  Johnson  too  literally.  He 
did  not,  I conceive,  mean,  that  he  endeavoured  to 
imitate  Temple’s  style  in  all  its  parts;  but  that  he 
formed  his  style  on  him  and  Chambers  (perhaps 
the  paper  published  in  1737,  relative  to  his  second 
edition,  entitled  “ Considerations,”  &c.),  taking 
from  each  what  was  most  worthy  of  imitation. 
The  passage  before  us,  I think,  shows  that  he 
learned  from  Temple  to  modulate  his  periods, 
and,  in  that  respect  only,  made  him. his  pattern. 
In  this  view  of  the  subject  there  is  no  difficulty. 
He  might  learn  from  Chambers,  compactness, 
strength,  and  precision  (in  opposition  to  the  laxity 
of  style  which  had  long  prevailed) ; from  Sir 
Thomas  Browne  (who  was  certainly  one  of  his 
archetypes),  pondera  verborum,  vigour  and  en 
ergy  of  expression;  and  from  Temple,  harmonious 
arrangement,  the  due  collocation  of  words,  and 
the  other  arts  and  graces  of  composition  here 
enumerated:  and  yet,  after  all,  his  style  might 
bear  no  striking  resemblance  to  that  of  any  of 
these  writers,  though  it  had  profited  by  each - 
Malone. 

2 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  85. — Ed.J 


156 


1778. — AST  AT.  69 


sir.  You  are  sure  a friend  will  thank  you 
for  hindering-  him  from  tumbling-  over  a 
precipice : but,  in  the  other  case,  I should 
hurt  his  vanity,  and  do  him  no  good.  He 
would  not  take  my  advice.  His  brother-in- 
law,  Strahan,  sent  him  a subscription  of 
fifty  pounds,  and  said  he  would  send  him 
fifty  more,  if  he  would  not  publish.”  Gar- 
rick. “ What  ! eh  ! is  Strahan  a good 
judge  of  an  epigram  ? Is  not  he  rather  an 
obtuse  man,  eh?”  Johnson.  “Why, sir, 
he  may  not  be  a judge  of  an  epigram : but 
you  see  he  is  a judge  of  what  is  not  an  ep- 
igram.” Boswell.  “ It  is  easy  for  you, 
Mr.  Garrick,  to  talk  to  an  authour  as  you 
talked  to  Elphinston;  you,  who  have  been 
so  long  the  manager  of  a theatre,  rejecting 
the  plays  of  poor  authours.  You  are  an  old 
judge,  who  have  often  pronounced  sentence 
of  death.  You  are  a practised  surgeon, 
who  have  often  amputated  limbs;  and 
though  this  may  have  been  for  the  good  of 
your  patients,  they  cannot  like  you.  Those 
who  have  undergone  a dreadful  operation 
are  not  very  fond  of  seeing  the  operator 
again.”  Garrick.  “ Yes,  I know  enough 
of  that.  There  was  a reverend  gentleman 
(Mr.  Hawkins),  who  wrote  a tragedy,  the 
siege  of  something1,  which  I refused.” 
Harris.  “ So,  the  siege  was  raised.” 
Johnson.  “ Ay,  he  came  to  me  and  com- 
plained; and  told  me,  that  Garrick  said  his 
play  was  wrong  in  the  concoction.  Now, 
what  is  the  concoction  of  a play  ? ” (Here 
Garrick  started,  and  twisted  himself,  and 
seemed  sorely  vexed;  for  Johnson  told  me, 
he  believed  the  story  was  true).  Gar- 
rick. “ I — I — I — said,  first  concoction  2.” 
Johnson  (smiling).  “Well,  he  left  out 
first.  And  Rich,  he  said,  refused  him  in 
false  English  : he  could  show  it  under  his 
hand.”  Garrick.  “ He  wrote  to  me  in 
violent  wrath,  for  having  refused  his  play: 
£ Sir,  this  is  growing  a very  serious  and  ter- 
rible affair.  I am  resolved  to  publish  my 
play.  I will  appeal  to  the  world;  and  how 
will  your  judgment  appear  ? ’ I answered, 
c Sir,  notwithstanding  all  the  seriousness, 
and  all  the  terrours,  I have  no  objection  to 
your  publishing  your  play:  and  as  you  live 
at  a great  distance  (Devonshire,  I believe), 
if  you  will  send  it  to  me,  I will  convey  it  to 
the  press.’  I never  heard  more  of  it,  ha  ! 
ha  ! ha ! ” 

On  Friday,  April  10,  I found  Johnson  at 
home  in  the  morning.  We  resumed  the 

It  was  called  “ The  Siege  of  Aleppo.”  Mr. 
Haw  kins,  the  authour  of  it,  was  formerly  profes- 
sor of  poetry  at  Oxford.  It  is  printed  in  his 
“Miscellanies,”  3 vols.  8vo. — Boswell. 

2  Garrick  had  high  authority  for  this  expression. 
Dryden  uses  it  in  his  preface  to  “QEdipus.” — 
Malone.  [And  surely  “ concoction ” alone 
was  as  good  as  “ first  coneoclion,”  which  latter 
phrase  Johnson  was  willing  to  admit. — Ed.] 


conversation  of  yesterday.  He  put  me  m 
mind  of  some  of  it  which  had  escaped  my 
memory,  and  enabled  me  to  record  it  more 
perfectly  than  I otherwise  cc  u’id  have  done. 
He  was  much  pleased  with  my  paying  so 
great  attention  to  his  recommendation  in 
1763,  the  period  when  our  acquaintance  be- 
gan, that  I should  keep  a journal  ; and  I 
could  3erceive  he  was  secretly  pleased  to 
find  so  much  of  the  fruit  of  his  mind  pre- 
served; and  as  he  had  been  used  to  imagine 
and  say  that  he  always  laboured  when  he 
said  a good  thing, — it  delighted  him,  on  a 
review,  to  find  that  his  conversation  teemed 
with  point  and  imagery. 

I said  to  him,  “ You  were  yesterday,  sir, 
in  remarkably  good  humour;  but  there  was 
nothing  to  offend  you,  nothing  to  produce 
irritation  or  violence.  There  was  no  bold 
offender.  There  was  not  one  capital  con- 
viction. It  was  a maiden  assize.  You  had 
on  your  white  gloves  3 4.” 

He  found  fault  with  our  friend  Langton 
for  having  been  too  silent.  “ Sir,”  said  I, 
“ you  will  recollect  that  he  very  properly 
took  up  Sir  Joshua  for  being  glad  that 
Charles  Fox  had  praised  Goldsmith’s 
‘ Traveller,5  and  you  joined  him.”  John- 
son. “Yes,  sir,  I knocked  Fox  on  the 
head,  without  ceremony.  Reynolds  is  too 
much  under  Fox  and  Burke  at  present  b 
He  is  under  the  Fox  Star , and  the  Irish 
constellation.  He  is  always  under  some 
planet.”  Boswell.  “ There  is  no  Fox 
star5.”  Johnson.  “But  there  is  a dog 
star.”  Boswell.  “ They  say,  indeed,  a 
fox  and  a dog  are  the  same  animal.” 

I reminded  him  of  a gentleman  who, 
Mrs.  Cholmondeley  said,  was  first  talkative 
from  affectation,  and  then  silent  from  the 
same  cause;  that  he  first  thought  “ I shall 
be  celebrated  as  the  liveliest  man  in  every 
company;”  and  then,  all  at  once,  “O!  it 
is  much  more  respectable  to  be  grave  and 
look  wise.”  “ He  has  reversed  the  Py-' 
thagorean  discipline,  by  being  first  talkative, 
and  then  silent.  He  reverses  the  course 
of  nature  too;  he  was  first  the  gay  butter- 
fly, and  then  the  creeping  worm.”  John- 
son laughed  loud  and  long  at  this  expansion 
and  illustration  of  what  he  himself  had  told 
me. 

We  dined  together  with  Mr.  Scott  (now 
Sir  William  Scott,  his  majesty’s  advocate 
general),  at  his  chambers  in  the  Temple, 
nobody  else  there.  The  company  being 
small,  Johnson  was  not  in  such  spirits  as 
he  had  been  the  preceding  day,  and  for  a 

3 [At  an  assize,  where  there  has  been  no 
capital  conviction,  the  judge  receives  a pair  of 
white  gloves. — Ed.] 

4 [This  seems  to  support  the  Editor’s  conjec- 
ture, as  to  Mr.  Fox,  ante,  v.  i.  p.  309. — Ed.] 

5 [There  is  a constellation  called  the  Fox  — 
Ed.] 


1778.—  JET  AT.  69. 


157 


considerable  tiue  little  was  said.  At  last 
he  burst  forth:  “Subordination  is  sadly 
broken  down  in  this  age.  No  man,  now, 
has  the  same  authority  which  his  father 
had — except  a gaoler.  No  master  has  it 
over  his  servants;  it  is  diminished  in  our 
colleges;  nay,  in  our  grammar-schools.” 
Boswell.  “ What  is  the  cause  of  this, 
sir?”  Johnson.  “Why,  the  coming  in 
of  the  Scotch,”  laughing  sarcastically. 
Boswell.  “ That  is  to  say,  things  have 
been  turned  topsy-turvy. — But  your  serious 
cause.”  Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  there  are 
many  causes,  the  chief  of  which  is,  I think, 
the  great  increase  of  money.  No  man 
now  depends  upon  the  lord  of  a manor, 
when  he  can  send  to  another  country  and 
fetch  provisions.  The  shoe-black  at  the 
entry  of  my  court  does  not  depend  on  me. 
I can  deprive  him  but  of  a penny  a day, 
which  he  hopes  somebody  else  will  bring 
him;  and  that  penny  I must  carry  to  another 
shoe-black,  so  the  trade  suffers  nothing.  I 
have  exp.nined  in  my  ‘ Journey  to  the 
Hebrides.1 * * * 5  how  gold  and  silver  destroy 
feudal  subordination.  But,  besides,  there  is 
a general  relaxation  of  reverence.  No  son 
now  depends  upon  his  father,  as  in  former 
times.  Paternity  used  to  be  considered  as 
of  itself  a great  thing,  which  had  a right  to 
many  claims.  That  is,  in  general,  reduced 
to  very  small  bounds.  My  hope  is,  that  as 
anarchy  produces  tyranny,  this  extreme 
relaxation  will  produce  fr eni  strictio .” 
Talking  of  fame,  for  which  there  is  so 
great  a desire,  I observed,  how  little  there 
is  of  it  in  reality,  compared  with  the  other 
objects  of  human  attention.  “ Let  every 
man  recollect,  and  he  will  be  sensible  how 
small  a part  of  his  time  is  employed  in  talk- 
_ng  or  thinking  of  Shakspeare,  Voltaire,  or 
any  of  the  most  celebrated  men  that  have 
ever  lived,  or  are  now  supposed  to  occupy 
the  attention  ami  admiration  of  the  world. 
Let  this  be  extracted  and  compressed  ; into 
what  a narrow  space  will  it  go  ! ” I then 
slily  introduced  Mr.  Garrick’s  fame,  and 
his  assuming  the  airs  of  a great  man. 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  it  is  wonderful  how  little 
Garrick  assumes.  No,  sir,  Garrick  fortu- 
nam  r ever  enter  habet.  Consider,  sir;  cele- 
brated men  such  as  you  have  mentioned, 
have  had  their  applause  at  a distance  ; but 
Garrick  had  it  dashed  in  his  face,  sounded 
in  his  ears,  and  went  home  every  night  with 
the  plaudits  of  a thousand  in  his  cranium. 
Then,  sir,  Garrick  did  not  find,  but  made 
his  way  to  the  tables,  the  levees,  and  almost 
the  bed-chambers  of  the  great.  Then,  sir, 
Garrick  had  under  him  a numerous  body 
of  people;  who,  from  fear  of  his  power, 
and  hopes  of  his  favour,  and  admiration  of 
bis  talents,  were  constantly  submissive  to 
him.  And  here  is  a man  who  has  advanced 
the  dignity  of  his  profession.  Garrick  has 


made  a player  a higher  character.”  Scott 
“ And  he  is  a very  sprightly  writer  too.” 
Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir;  and  all  this  suppoi  ted 
by  great  wealth  of  his  own  acquisition.  If 
all  this  had  happened  to  me,  I should  have 
had  a couple  of  fellows  with  long  poles 
walking  before  me,  to  knock  down  every 
body  that  stood  in  the  way.  Consider,  if 
all  this  had  happened  to  Cibber  or  Quin, 
they’d  have  jumped  over  the  moon.  Yet 
Garrick  speaks  to  us  ” (smiling).  Bos- 
well. “ And  Garrick  is  a very  good  man 
a charitable  man.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  a 
liberal  man.  He  has  given  away  more 
money  than  any  man  in  England.  There 
may  be  a little  vanity  mixed:  but  he  has 
shown,  that  money  is  not  his  first  object  h” 
Boswell.  “Yet  Foote  used  to  say  of 
him,  that  he  walked  out  with  an  intention 
to  do  a generous  action;  but,  turning  the 
corner  of  a street,  he  met  with  the  ghost 
of  a half-penny,  which  frightened  him.” 
Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  that  is  very  true, 
too;  for  I never  knew  a man  of  whom  it 
could  be  said  with  less  certainly  to-day, 
what  he  will  do  to-morrow,  than  Garrick; 
it  depends  so  much  on  his  humour  at  the 
time.”  Scott.  “I  am  glad  to  hear  of 
his  liberality.  He  has  been  represented  as 
very  saving.”  Johnson.  “ With  his  do- 
mestic saving  we  have  nothing  to  do.  T 
remember  drinking  tea  with  him  long  ago, 

1 [Miss  Hawkins  says,  “ At  Hampton,  and  in 
its  neighbourhood,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Garrick  took  the 
rank  of  the  noblesse — every  thing  was  in  good 
taste,  and  his  establishment  distinguished — he 
drove  four  horses  when  going  to  town.”  She 
adds  the  following  description  of  his  personal  ap- 
pearance: “ I see  him  now  in  a dark  blue  coat, 
the  button-holes  bound  with  gold,  a small  cocked 
hat  laced  with  gold,  his  waistcoat  very  open,  and 
his  countenance  never  at  rest,  and,  indeed,  seldom 
his  person;  for,  in  the  relaxation  of  the  country, 
he  gave  way  to  all  his  natural  volatility,  and  with 
my  father  was  perfectly  at  ease,  sometimes  sitting 
on  a table,  and  then,  if  he  saw  my  brothers  at  a 
distance  on  the  lawn,  shooting  off  like  an  arrow 
out  of  a bow  in  a spirited  chase  of  them  round 
the  garden.  I remember — when  my  father, 
having  me  in  his  hand,  met  him  on  the  common, 
riding  his  pretty  pony — his  moving  my  compas- 
sion by  lamenting  the  misery  of  being  summoned 
to  town  in  hot  weather  (I  think  August,  to  play 
before  the  King  of  Denmark.  I thought  him 
sincere,  and  his  case  pitiable,  till  my  father  assured 

me  that  he  was  in  reality  very  well  pleased,  and 
that  what  he  groaned  at  as  labour,  was  an  honour 
paid  to  his  talents.  The  natural  expression  of  his 

countenance  was  far  from  placidity.  I confess  I 

was  afraid  of  him;  more  so  than  I was  of  John- 
son, whom  I knew  not  to  be,  nor  could  suppose 

he  ever  would  be  thought  to  be,  an  extraordinary 
man.  Garrick  had  a frown  and  spoke  impetuous 
ly.  Johnson  was  slow  and  kind  in  his  way  tc 
children.” — Miss  Hawkins's  Memoirs  vol.  i o 
21. — Ed.] 


168 


1778.-  ;ETAT.  69. 


when  Peg  Woffington  made  it,  and  he 
grumbled  at  her  for  making  it  too  strong  b 
He  had  then  begun  to  feel  money  in  his 
purse,  and  did  not  know  when  he  should 
have  enough  of  it.”  [The  generosity 
Ty®^»  of  David  Garrick  to  the  late  Mr.  Be- 
p‘  ' renger1 2,  who  had  fallen  into  distress 
by  wit  or  by  negligence,  was  as  memorable 
and  as  meritorious.  He  sent  him  back  his 
securities  for  500/.  with  a donation  of  a 
bank  note  of  300/.] 

On  the  subject  of  wealth,  the  proper  use 
of  it,  and  the  effect  of  that  art  which  is  call- 
ed economy^  he  observed, cc  It  is  wonderful 
to  think  how  men  of  very  large  estates  not 
only  spend  their  yearly  incomes,  but  are 
often  actually  in  want  of  money.  It  is 
clear  they  have  not  value  for  what  they 
spend.  Lord  Shelburne 3 told  me,  that  a 
man  of  high  rank,  who  looks  into  his  own 
affairs,  may  have  all  that  he  ought  to  have, 
ail  that  can  be  of  any  use,  or  appear  with 
any  advantage,  for  five  thousand  pounds  a 
year.  Therefore,  a great  proportion  must 
go  in  waste;  and  indeed,  this  is  the  case 
with  most  people,  whatever  their  fortune 
is.”  Boswell.  “ I have  no  doubt,  sir,  of 
this.  But  how  is  it?  What  is  waste?” 
Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  breaking  bottles, 
and  a thousand  other  things.  Waste  can- 
not be  accurately  told,  though  we  are  sensi- 
ble how  destructive  it  is.  Economy  on  the 
one  hand,  by  which  a certain  income  is 
made  to  maintain  a man  genteelly,  and 
waste  on  the  other,  by  which,  on  the  same 
income,  another  man  lives  shabbily,  cannot 
be  defined.  It  is  a very  nice  thing;  as  one 
man  wears  his  coat  out  much  sooner  than 
another,  we  cannot  tell  how.” 

We  talked  of  war.  Johnson.  “ Every 
man  thinks  meanly  of  himself  for  not  having 
been  a soldier,  or  not  having  been  at  sea.” 
Boswell.  “ Lord  Mansfield  does  not.” 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  if  Lord  Mansfield  were  in 
a company  of  general  officers  and  admirals 
who  have  been  in  service,  he  would  shrink; 
he 5d  wish  to  creep  under  the  table.”  Bos- 
well. “ No;  he 5d  think  he  could  try  them 
all.”  Johnson.  “ Yes,  if  he  could  catch 
them : but  they 5d  try  him  much  sooner. 
No,  sir;  were  Socrates  and  Charles  the 
Twelfth  of  Sweden  both  present  in  any 
company,  and  Socrates  to  say,  ‘ Follow  me, 
and  hear  a lecture  in  philosophy;  ’ and 
Charles,  laying  his  hand  on  his  sword,  to 
say,  ‘ Follow  me,  and  dethrone  the  Czar,5 

1 When  Johnson  told  this  little  anecdote  to  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  he  mentioned  a circumstance 
which  he  omitted  to-day — “ Why,”  said  Garrick, 
“ it  is  as  red  as  blood.” — Boswell. 

2 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  258. — Ed.] 

3 [It  does  not  appear  when  or  how  he  was  ac- 

quainted with  Lord  Shelburne.  Probably  he  may 

have  met  him  at  his  brother’s,  Mr.  Fitzmaurice’s. 
See  post,  May  7th,  1780. — Ed.] 


a man  would  be  ashamed  to  follow  Socrates 
Sir,  the  impression  is  universal;  yet  it  is 
strange.  As  to  the  sailor,  when  you  look 
down  from  the  quarter-deck  to  the  space 
below,  you  see  the  utmost  extremity  of  hu- 
man misery;  such  crowding,  such  filth,  such 
stench!55  Boswell.  “ Yet  sailors  are 
happy.”  Johnson.  “ They  are  happy  as 
brutes  are  happy,  with  apiece  of  fresh  meat 
— with  the  grossest  sensuality.  But,  sir, 
the  profession  of  soldiers  and  sailors  has  the* 
dignity  of  danger.  Mankind  reverence 
those  who  have  got  over  fear,  which  is  so 
general  a weakness.”  Scott  “ But  is 
not  courage  mechanical,  and  to  be  acquired ' 
Johnson.  “ Why  yes,  sir,  in  a collective 
sense.  Soldiers  consider  themselves  only 
as  partof  a great  machine.”  Scott.  “We 
find  people  fond  of  being  sailors.”  John- 
son. “ I cannot  account  for  that,  any  more 
than  I can  account  for  other  strange  per- 
versions of  imagination.”  His  abhorrence 
of  the  profession  of  a sailor  was  uniformly 
violent;  but  in  conversation  he  always  ex 
alted  the  profession  of  a soldier.  And  yet 
I have,  in  my  large  and  various  collection 
of  his  writings,  a letter  to  an  eminent  friend, 
in  which  he  expresses  himself  thus:  “ My 
god-son  called  on  me  lately.  He  is  weary, 
and  rationally  weary,  of  a military  life.  If 
you  can  place  him  in  some  other  state,  I 
think  you  may  increase  his  happiness,  and 
secure  his  virtue.  A soldier’s  time  is  pass 
ed  in  distress  and  danger,  or  in  idleness  and 
corruption.”  Such  was  his  cool  reflection 
in  his  study;  but  whenever  he  was  warmed 
and  animated  by  the  presence  of  company, 
he,  like  other  philosophers  whose  minds  are 
impregnated  with  poetical  fancy,  caught 
the  common  enthusiasm  for  splendid  re 
nown. 

He  talked  of  Mr.  Charles  Fox,  of  whose 
abilities  he  thought  highly,  but  observed, 
that  he  did  not  talk  much  at  our  Club.  I 
have  heard  Mr.  Gibbon  remark,  “ that  Mr. 
Fox  could  not  be  afraid  of  Dr.  Johnson; 
yet  he  certainly  was  very  shy  of  saying  any 
thing  in  Dr.  Johnson’s  presence.”  Mr 
Scott  now  quoted  what  was  said  of  Alcibi- 
ades  by  a Greek  poet,  to  which  Johnson  as- 
sented 4. 


4  Wishing  to  discover  the  ancient  observation 
here  referred  to,  I applied  to  Sir  William  Scott 
on  the  subject,  but  he  had  no  recollection  of  it. 
My  old  and  very  learned  friend,  Dr.  Michael 
Kearney,  formerly  senior  fellow  of  Trinity  Col- 
lege, Dublin,  and  now  Archdeacon  of  Raphoe  in 
Ireland,  has,  however,  most  happily  elucidated 
this  passage.  He  remarks  to  me  that  “ Mr.  Bos- 
well’s memory  must  here  have  deceived  him;  and 
that  Mr.  Scott’s  observation  must  have  been,  that 
‘ Mr.  Fox,  in  the  instance  mentioned,  might  be 
cmsidcred  as  the  reverse  of  Phccax ; ’ of  whom, 
as  Plutarch  relates  in  the  Life  of  Alcibiades,  Eu> 
polis,  the  tragedian,  said,  It  is  true  he  can  talk, 


1778. — iETAT.  69. 


159 


He  told  us,  that  he  had  given  Mrs.  Mon- 
tagu a catalogue  of  all  Daniel  Defoe’s 
works  of  imagination* 1;  most,  if  not  all  of 
which,  as  well  as  of  his  other  works,  he  now 
enumerated,  allowing  a considerable  share 
of  merit  to  a man,  who,  bred  a tradesman, 
had  written  so  variously  and  so  well.  In- 
deed, his  “ Robinson  Crusoe  ” is  enough  of 
itself  to  establish  his  reputation. 

He  expressed  great  indignation  at  the 
imposture  of  the  Cock-lane  ghost,  and  rela- 
ted, with  much  satisfaction,  how  he  had 
assisted  in  detecting  the  cheat,  and  had 
published  an  account  of  it  in  the  newspa- 
pers. Upon  this  subject  I incautiously 
offended  him,  by  pressing  him  with  too 
many  questions,  and  he  showed  his  dis- 
pleasure 2.  I apologised,  saying,  that  “ I 
asked  questions  in  order  to  be  instructed 
and  entertained;  I repaired*  eagerly  to  the 
fountain;  but  that  the  moment  he  gave  me 
a hint,  the  moment  he  put  a lock  upon  the 
well,  I desisted.”  “ But,  sir,”  said  he, 
“ that  is  forcing  one  to  do  a disagreeable 
thing:  ” and  he  continued  to  rate  me. 
“ Nay,  sir,”  said  I,  “ when  you  have  put  a 
lock  upon  the  well,  so  that  I can  no  longer 
drink,  do  not  make  the  fountain  of  your  wit 
play  upon  me  and  wet  me.” 

He  sometimes  could  not  bear  being 
teased  with  questions.  I was  once  present 
when  a gentleman  asked  so  many,  as, 
“What  did  you  do,  sir?”  “What  did 
you  say,  sir?  ” that  he  at  last  grew  enra- 
ged, and  said,  “ I will  not  be  put  to  the 
question.  Do  n’t  you  consider,  sir,  that 
these  are  not  the  manners  of  a gentleman ? 
l will  not  be  baited  with  what  and  why; 
what  is  this?  what  is  that?  why  is  a cow’s 
tail  long?  why  is  a fox’s  tail  bushy?  ” The 
gentleman,  who  was  a good  deal  out  of 
countenance,  said,  “ Why,  sir,  you  are  so 
good,  that  I venture  to  trouble  you.” 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  my  being  so  good  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  be  so  ill.” 

Talking  of  the  Justitia  hulk  at  Wool- 
wich, in  which  criminals  were  punished,  by 
being  confined  to  labour,  he  said,  “ I do  not 
see  that  they  are  punished  by  this:  they 
must  have  worked  equally,  had  they  never 


and  yet  he  is  no  speaker.  ” If  this  discovery  had 
been  made  by  a scholiast  on  an  ancient  authour, 
with  what  ardour  and  exuberant  praise  would 
Bentley  or  Taylor  have  spoken  of  it!  Sir  William 
Scott,  to  whom  I communicated  Dr.  Kearney’s 
remark,  is  perfectly  satisfied  that  it  is  correct.  A 
few  other  observations  have  been  communicated 
by  the  same  gentleman.  Every  classical  reader 
will  lament  that  they  are  not  more  numerous. — 
Malone. 

1 [Probably  the  list  which  is  to  be  found  in 
Cibber's  Lives  — En  ] 

2 [He  had  little  to  be  proud  of  in  this  affair, 

and,  therefore,  was  angry  when  Boswell  pressed 

him  See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  183. — Ed.] 


been  guilty  of  stealing.  They  now  only 
work;  so,  after  all,  they  have  gained;  what 
they  stole  is  clear  gain  to  them;  the  con- 
finement is  nothing.  Every  man  who 
works  is  confined:  the  smith  to  his  shop, 
the  tailor  to  his  garret.”  Boswell.  “ And 
Lord  Mansfield  to  his  court.”  Johnson. 
“ Yes,  sir.  You  know  the  notion  of  con- 
finement may  be  extended,  as  in  the  song, 
c Every  island  is  a prison.’  There  is  in 
Dodsley’s  collection  a copy  of  verses  to  the 
authour  of  that  song3.” 

Smith’s  Latin  verses  on  Pococke,  the 
great  traveller 4,  were  mentioned.  He  re- 
peated some  of  them,  and  said  they  were 
Smith’s  best  verses. 

He  talked  with  an  uncommon  animation 
of  travelling  into  distant  countries;  that 
the  mind  was  enlarged  by  it,  and  that  an 
acquisition  of  dignity  of  character  was  de- 
rived from  it.  He  expressed  a particular 
enthusiasm  with  respect  to  visiting  the  wall 
of  China.  I catched  it  for  the  moment,  and 
said  I really  believed  I should  go  and  see 
the  wall  of  China  had  I not  children,  of 
whom  it  was  my  duty  to  take  care.  “ Sir,” 
said  he,  “ by  doing  so,  you  would  do  what 
would  be  of  importance  in  raising  your  chil- 
dren to  eminence  There  would  be  a lus- 
tre reflected  upon  them  from  your  spirit 
and  curiosity.  They  would  be  at  all  times 
regarded  as  the  children  of  a man  who  had 
gone  to  view  the  wall  of  China.  I am  se- 
rious, sir.” 

When  we  had  left  Mr.  Scott’s,  he  said, 
“Will  you  go  home  with  me?”  “Sir,” 
said  I,  “it  is  late;  but  I ’ll  ge  with  you  for 
three  minutes.”  Johnson.  “ Or  four.” 
We  went  to  Mrs.  Williams’s  room,  where 
we  found  Mr.  Allen  the  printer,  who  was 
the  landlord  of  his  house  in  Bolt-court,  a’ 
worthy,  obliging  man,  and  his  very  old 
acquaintance;  and  what  -was  exceedingly 
amusing,  though  he  was  of  a very  dirtiinu 
five  size,  he  used,  even  in  Johnson’s  pre 


3 I have  in  vain  examined  Dodsley’s  Collection 
for  the  verses  here  referred  to;  nor  has  the  name 
of  the  authour  been  ascertained.  The  song 
alluded  to  begins  with  the  words, 

“ Welcome,  welcome,  brother  debtor; ” 

it  consists  of  several  stanzas,  in  one  of  which  it  is 
said,  that  (see  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  410.) 

“ Every  island  is  a prison.” — Malone. 

4 Smith’s  Verses  are  on  Edward  Pococke,  the 
great  oriental  linguist:  he  travelled,  it  is  true;  but 
Dr.  Richard  Pococke,  late  Bishop  of  Ossory,  who 
published  Travels  through  the  East,  is  usually 
called  the  great  traveller. — Kearney.  [Id- 
ward  Pococke  was  Canon  of  Christ  Church  ui;d 
Hebrew  Professor  in  Oxford.  The  two  Pococues 
nourished  just  a century  apart;  the  one,  Edward, 
being  born  in  1604;  Richard,  in  the  year  1704 
—Hall.] 


160 


1778. — vETAT.  69. 


sence,  to  imitate  the  stately  periods  and 
slow  and  solemn  utterance  of  the  great 
man.  I this  evening  boasted,  that  although 
I did  not  write  what  is  called  stenography, 
or  short-hand,  in  appropriated  characters 
devised  for  the  purpose,  I had  a method  of 
my  own  of  writing  half  words,  and  leaving 
out  some  altogether,  so  as  yet  to  keep  the 
substance  and  language  of  any  discourse 
which  I had  heard  so  much  in  view,  that  I 
could  give  it  very  completely  soon  after  I 
had  taken  it  down.  He  defied  me,  as  he 
had  once  defied  an  actual  short-hand  wri- 
ter; and  he  made  the  experiment  by  reading 
slowly  and  distinctly  a part  of  Robertson’s 
“ History  of  America,”  while  I endeavoured 
to  write  it  in  my  way  of  taking  notes.  It 
was  found  that  I had  it  very  imperfectly; 
the  conclusion  1 from  which  was,  that  its 
excellence  was  principally  owing  to  a stud- 
ied arrangement  of  words,  which  could  not 
be  varied  or  abridged  without  an  essential 
injury. 

On  Sunday,  April  12, 1 found  him  at  home 
before  dinner;  Dr.  Dodd’s  poem,  entitled 
tc  Thoughts  in  Prison,”  was  lying  upon  his 
table.  This  appearing  to  me  an  extraordi- 
nary effort  by  a man  who  was  in  Newgate 
for  a capital  crime,  I was  desirous  to  hear 
Johnson’s  opinion  of  it  : to  my  surprise,  he 
told  me  he  had  not  read  a line  of  it.  I took 
up  the  book  and  re«ad  a passage  to  him. 
Johnson.  “ Pretty  well,  if  you  are  previ- 
ously disposed  to  like  them.”  5 read  anoth- 
er passage,  with  which  he  was  better  pleas- 
ed. He  then  took  the  book  into  his  own 
hands,  and  having  looked  at  the  prayer  at 
the  end  of  it,  he  said, ce  What  evidence  is 
there  that  this  was  composed  the  night  be- 
fore he  suffered?  I do  not  believe  it.”  He 
•then  read  aloud  where  he  prays  for  the  king, 
&c.  and  observed,  “ Sir,  do  you  think  that 
a man,  the  night  .before  he  is  to  be  hanged, 
cares  for  the  succession  of  a royal  family? 
Though,  he  may  have  composed  this  pray- 
er then.  A man  who  has  been  canting  all 
his  life,  may  cant  to  the  last.  And  yet  a 
man  who  has  been  refused  a pardon  after  so 
much  petitioning,  would  hardly  be  praying 
thus  fervently  for  the  king2 3.” 


1 [This  is  odd  reasoning.  Most  readers  would 
have  come  to  the  more  obvious  conclusion,  that 
Boswell  had  failed  in  his  experiment  at  short-hand. 
^Tliis  passage  may  account  for  some  verbal  errors 
and  obscurities  in  this  work:  when  copying  his 
notes,  after  a considerable  lapse  of  time,  Mr.  Bos- 
well probably  misunderstood  his  own  abbrevia- 
tions.— Ed.] 

2 [It  does  not  seem  consistent  that  Johnson 
should  have  thus  spoken  of  one,  in  the  sincerity 
of  whose  repentance  he  had  so  much  confidence 
as  to  desire  to  have  the  benefit  of  his  prayers, 
(ante,  p.  108).  The  observation,  too,  on  the 
prayer  “ for  the  king”  seems  inconsiderate;  be- 
cause, if  Dodd  was  a sincere  penitent,  he  would  be 


He,  and  I,  and  Mrs.  Williams,  went,  to 
dine  with  the  Reverend  Dr.  Percy.  Talk- 
ing of  Goldsmith,  Johnson  said,  he  was 
very  envious.  I defended  him,  by  observ- 
ing, that  he  owned  it  frankly  upon  all  occa- 
sions. Johnson.  “ Sir,  you  are  enforcing 
the  charge.  He  had  so  much  envy,  that 
he  could  not  conceal  it.  He  was  so  full  of 
it,  that  he  overflowed.  He  talked  of  it,  to 
be  sure,  often  enough.  Now,  sir,  what  a 
man  avows,  he  is  not  ashamed  to  think  ; 
though  many  a man  thinks  what  he  is 
ashamed  to  avow.  We  ^are  all  envious 
naturally;  but  by  checking  envy,  we  get 
the  better  of  it.  So  we  are  all  thieves  nat 
u rally;  a child  always  tries  to  get  at  what 
it  wants  the  nearest  way : by  good  instruc- 
tion and  good  habits  this  is  cured,  till  a man 
has  not  even  an  inclination  to  seize  what  is~ 
another’s ; has  no  struggle  with  himself 
about  it.” 

And  here  I shall  record  a scene  of  too 
much  heat  between  Dr.  Johnson  and  Dr 
Percy,  which  I should  have  suppressed, 
were  it  not  that  it  gave  occasion  to  display 
the  truly  tender  and  benevolent  heart  of 
Johnson,  who,  as  soon  as  he  found  a friend 
was  at  all  hurt  by  any  thing  which  he  had 
iC  said  in  his  wrath,”  was  not  only  prompt 
and  desirous  to  be  reconciled,  but  exerted 
himself  to  make  ample  reparation. 

Books  of  travels  having  been  mentioned 
Johnson  praised  Pennant  very  highly,  as  he 
did  at  Dunvegan,  in  the  Isle  of  Sky  Dr 
Percy  knowing  himself  to  be  the  heir  male 
of  the  ancient  Percies4,  and  having  the 


anxious  to  reconcile  himself  with  all  mankind, 
and,  as  the  king  might  have  saved  his  life,  and 

would  not,  Dodd’s  prayer  for  him  was  probably 
neither  form  nor  flattery,  (for  what  could  they 
avail  him  at  that  hour  ? ) but  the  proof  of  contri- 
tion, and  of  the  absence  of  all  personal  resent 
ment. — Ed.] 

3 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  395. — Ed.] 

4 See  this  accurately  stated,  and  the  descent  of 
his  family  from  the  Earls  of  Northumberland 
clearly  deduced  in  the  Rev.  Dr.  Nash’s  excellent 
“ History  of  Worcestershire,”  vol.  ii.  p.  318. 
The  Doctor  has  subjoined  a note,  in  which  he 
says,  “ The  editor  hath  seen,  and  carefully  ex- 
amined the  proofs  of  all  the  particulars  above 
mentioned,  now  in  the  possession  of  the  Rev 
Thomas  Percy.”  The  same  proofs  I have  also 
myself  carefully  examined,  and  have  seen  some 
additional  proofs  which  have  occurred  since  the 
Doctor's  book  was  published;  and  both  as  a 
lawyer  accustomed  to  the  consideration  of  evi- 
dence, and  as  a genealogist  versed  in  the  study  of 
pedigrees,  I am  fully  satisfied.  I cannot  help  ob- 
serving, as  a circumstance  of  no  small  moment, 
that  in  tracing  the  Bishop  of  Dromore’s  genealo- 
gy, essential  aid  was  given  by  the  late  Elizabeth 
Duchess  of  Northumberland,  heiress  of  that  illus- 
trious house;  a lady  not  only  of  high  dignity  of 
spirit,  such  as  became  her  noble  blood,  but  of 
excellent  understanding  and  lively  talents.  With 


1778  — /ETAT  6S> 


161 


warmest  and  most  dutiful  attachment  to 
the  noble  house  of  Northumberland,  could 
not  sit  quietly  and  hear  a man  praised,  who 
had  spoken  disrespectfully  of  Alnwick  Cas- 
tle and  the  duke’s  pleasure-grounds,  espe- 
cially as  he  thought  meanly  of  his  travels. 
He  therefore  opposed  Johnson  eagerly. 
Johnson.  “ Pennant,  in  what  he  has  said 
of  Alnwick,  has  done  what  he  intended;  he 
has  made  you  very  angry.”  Percy.  “He 
has  said  the  garden  is  trim,  which  is  repre- 
senting it  like  a citizen’s  parterre,  when  the 
truth  is,  there  is  a very  large  extent  of  fine 
turf  and  gravel  walks.”  Johnson.  “Ac- 
cording to  your  own  account,  sir,  Pennant 
is  right.  It  is  trim.  Here  is  grass  cut 
close,  and  gravel  rolled  smooth.  Is  not 
that  trim?  The  extent  is  nothing  against 
that;  a mile  may  be  as  trim  as  a square 
yard.  Your  extent  puts  me  in  mind  of  the 
citizen’s  enlarged  dinner,  two  pieces  of 
roast-beef,  and  two  puddings  K There  is 
no  variety,  no  mind  exerted  in  laying  out 
the  ground,  no  trees.”  Percy.  “ He  pre- 
tends to  give  the  natural  history  of  North- 
umberland, and  yet  takes  no  notice  of  the 
immense  number  of  trees  planted  there  of 
late.”  Johnson.  “ That,  sir,  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  natural  history;  that  is  civil 
history.  A man  who  gives  the  natural  his- 
tory of  the  oak,  is  not  to  tell  how  many 
oaks  have  been  planted  in  this  place  or  that. 
A man  who  gives  the  natural  history  of  the 
cow,  is  not  to  tell  how  many  cows  are  milked 
at  Islington.  The  animal  is  the  same, 
whether  milked  in  the  Park  or  at  Islington.” 
Percy.  “ Pennant  does  not  describe  well; 
a carrier  who  goes  along  the  side  of  Loch- 
lomond  would  describe  it  better.”  John- 
son. “ I think  he  describes  very  well.” 
Percy.  “ I travelled  after  him.”  John- 
son. “ And  I travelled  after  him.”  Percy. 
“ But,  my  good  friend,  you  are  short-sight- 
ed, and  do  not  see  so  well  as  I do.”  I won- 
dered at  Dr.  Percy’s  venturing  thus  Dr. 
Johnson  said  nothing  at  the  time;  but  in- 
flammable particles  were  collecting  for  a 
cloud  to  burst.  In  a little  while  Dr.  Percy 
said  something  more  in  disparagement  of 
Pennant.  Johnson  (pointedly).  “ This 

a fair  pride  I can  boast  of  the  honour  of  her 
grace’s  correspondence,  specimens  of  which  adorn 
my  archives. — Boswell. 

1  [Tt  is  observable  that  the  same  illustration 
of  the  same  subject  i3  to  be  found  in  the  Heroick 
Epistle  to  Sir  William  Chambers  : 

‘ For  what  is  nature  ? — ring  her  changes  round, 

Her  three  fleet  notes  are  water,  plants,  and  ground ; 
Prolong  the  peal,  yet  spite  of  all  your  clatter. 

The  tedious  chime  is  still  ground,  plants,  and  water. 
So  when  some  John  his  dull  invention  racks 
To  rival  Boodle’s  dinners  or  Almack’s, 

Three  uncouth  legs  of  mutton  shock  our  eyes, 

Three  roasted  geese,  three  butter’d  apple  pies.” 

The  Heroick  Epistle  had  appeared  in  1773;  so 
that  Johnson  no  doubt  borrowed  the  idea  from 
that  spirited  and  pungent  satire. — Ed.] 
vol.  ii.  21 


is  the  resentment  of  a narrow  mind,  because 
he  did  not  find  every  thing  in  Northumber- 
land.” Percy  (feeling  the  stroke).  “Sir, 
you  may  be  as  rude  as  you  please.”  John- 
son. “*Hold,  sir!  Don’t  .alk  of  rudeness: 
remember,  sir,  you  told  m-e,”  puffing  hard 
with  passion  struggling  for  a vent,  “ I was 
short-sighted.  We  have  done  with  civility. 
We  are  to  be  as  rude  as  we  please.”  Per 
cy.  “ Upon  my  honour,  sir,  I did  not  mean 
to  be  uncivil.”  Johnson.  “ I cannot  say  so, 
sir;  for  I did  mean  to  be  uncivil,  thinking 
you  had  been  uncivil.”  Dr.  Percy  rose, 
ran  up  to  him,  and  taking  him  by  the  hand, 
assured  him  affectionately  that  his  meaning 
had  been  misunderstood;  upon  which  a re- 
conciliation instantly  took  place.  Johnson. 
“ My  dear  sir,  1 am  willing  you  shall  hang 
Pennant.”  Percy  (resuming  the  former 
subject).  “ Pennant  complains  that  the 
helmet  is  not  hung  out  to  invite  to  the  hall 
of  hospitality.  Now  I never  heard  that  it 
was  a custom  to  hang  out  a helmet 2.” 
Johnson.  “ Hang  him  up,  hang  him  up.” 
Boswell  (humouring  the  joke).  “ Hang 
out  his  skull  instead  of  a helmet,  and  you 
may  drink  ale  out  of  it  in  your  hall  of  Odin, 
as  he  is  your  enemy;  that  will  be  truly  an 
cient.  There  will  be  ‘Northern  Antiqui- 
ties3.’ ” Johnson.  “ He’s  a whig,  sir  ; a 
sad  dog,”  smiling  at  his  own  violent  ex- 
pressions, merely  for  political  difference  of 
opinion:  “ but  he’s  the  best  traveller  I ever 
read;  he  observes  more  things  than  anyone 
else  does.” 

I could  not  help  thinking  that  this  was  too 
high  praise  of  a writer  who  traversed  a wide 
extent  of  country  in  such  haste,  that  he 
could  put  together  only  curt  frittered  frag 
ments  of  his  own,  and  afterwards  procured 
supplemental  intelligence  from  parochial 
ministers,  and  others  not  the  best  qualified 
or  most  partial  narrators,  whose  ungenerous 
prejudice  against  the  house  of  Stuart  glares 
in  misrepresentation;  a writer,  who  at  best 
treats  merely  of  superficial  objects,  and 
shows  no  philosophical  investigation  of 
character  and  manners,  such  as  Johnson 
has  exhibited  in  his  masterly  “Journey” 
over  part  of  the  same  ground;  and  who,  it 
should  seem  from  a desire  of  ingratiating 
himself  with  the  Scotch,  has  flattered  the 
people  of  North  Britain  so  inordinately  and 


2 It  certainly  was  a custom,  as  appears  from 
the  following  passage  in  “ Perceforest,  vol.  iii 
p.  108: — “ Pasoient  mettre  au  plus  hault  de  leur 
hostel  un  heaulme,  en  signe  que  tous  les  gentils 
hommes  et  gentilles  femmes  entrassent  hardiment 
en  leur  hostel  comme  en  leur  propre,”  &c.- 
Kearney.  The  authour’s  second  son,  Mr 
James  Boswell,  had  noticed  this  passage  in  “ Per- 
ceforest,” and  suggested  to  me  the  same  remark. 
— Malone. 

3 The  title  of  a book  translated  by  Dr,  Percy 
— Boswell. 


162 


1778  — ^ETAT.  69. 


with  so  little  discrimination,  that  the  judi- 
cious and  candid  amongst  them  must  be  dis- 
gusted, while  they  value  more  the  plain, 
just,  yet  kindly  report  of  Johnson. 

Having  impartially  censured  Mr.  Pen- 
nant, as  a Traveller  in  Scotland,  let  me  al- 
iow  him,  from  authorities  much  better  than 
mine,  his  deserved  praise  as  an  able  zoolo- 
gist; and  let  me  also,  from  my  own  under- 
standing and  feelings,  acknowledge  the  merit 
of  his  “ London,”  which,  though  said  to  be 
no-t  quite  accurate  in  some  particulars,  is 
one  of  the  most  pleasing  topographical  per- 
formances that  ever  appeared  in  any  lan- 
guage. Mr.  Pennant,  like  his  countrymen 
in  general,  has  the  true  spirit  of  a gentleman. 
As  a proof  of  it,  I shall  quote  from  his 
“ London  ” the  passage  in  which  he  speaks 
of  my  illustrious  friend. 

“ I must  by  no  means  omit  Bolt-court , 
the  long  residence  of  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson, 
a man  of  the  strongest  natural  abilities, 
great  learning,  a most  retentive  memory, 
of  the  deepest  and  most  unaffected  piety 
and  morality,  mingled  with  those  numerous 
weaknesses  and  prejudices  which  his  friends 
have  kindly  taken  care  to  draw  from  their 
dread  abode1.  I brought  on  myself  his 
transient  anger,  by  observing  that  in  his 
tour  in  Scotland,  he  once  had  long  and  wo- 
ful  experience  of  oats  being  the  food  of  men 
in  Scotland  as  they  were  of  horses  in  Eng- 
land. It  was  a national  reflection  unwor- 
thy of  him,  and  I shot  my  bolt.  In  turn 
he  gave  me  a tender  hug  2.  Con  amove  he 
also  said  of  me,  £ The  dog  is  a whig  3.’  I 
admired  the  virtues  of  Lord  Russel,  and 
pitied  his  fall.  I should  have  been  a whig 
at  the  Revolution.  There  have  been  peri- 
ods since  in  which  I should  have  been,  what 
I now  am,  a moderate  tory,  a supporter,  as 
far  as  my  little  influence  extends,  of  a well- 
poised  balance  between  the  crown  and  the 
people;  but  should  the  scale  preponderate 
against  the  salus  populi,  that  moment  may 
it  be  said,  £ The  dog  5s  a whig! ’ ” 

We  had  a calm  after  the  storm,  staid  the 
evening  and  supped,  and  were  pleasant  and 
gay.  But  Dr.  Percy  told  me  he  was  very 
uneasy  at  what  had  passed;  for  there  was  a 
gentleman  there  who  was  acquainted  with 
the  Northumberland  family,  to  whom  he 
hoped  to  have  appeared  more  respectable, 


1 This  is  the  common  cant  against  faithful  biog- 
raphy. Does  the  worthy  gentleman  mean  that  I, 
who  was  taught  discrimination  of  character  by 
Johnson,  should  have  omitted  his  frailties,  and,  in 
short,  have  bedawbed  him  as  the  worthy  gentle- 
man has  bedawbed  Scotland  ? — Boswell. 

2 See  Dr.  Johnson’s  “ Journey  to  the  Western 
Islands,”  p.  296;  see  his  Dictionary  article,  oats ; 
and  my  “ Voyage  to  the  Hebrides,”  first  edition. 
—Pennant. 

3 Mr.  Boswell’s  Journal  ante , vol.  i.  p.  375. 

Pennant. 


b}'-  showing  how  intimate  he  was  with  E ' 
Johnson,  and  who  might  now,  on  the  con- 
trary, go  away  with  an  opinion  to  his  dis- 
advantage. He  begged  I would  mention 
this  to  Dr.  Johnson,  which  I afterwards 
did.  His  observation  upon  it  was,  ££  This 
comes  of  stratagem ; had  he  told  me  that 
he  wished  to  appear  to  advantage  before 
that  gentleman,  he  should  have  been  at  the 
top  of  the  house  all  the  time.”  He  spoke 
of  Dr.  Percy  in  the  handsomest  manner. 
££  Then,  sir,”  said  I,  ££  may  I be  allowed  to 
suggest  a mode  by  which  you  may  effectu- 
ally counteract  any  unfavourable  report  of 
what  passed?  I will  write  a letter  to  you 
upon  the  subject  of  the  unlucky  contest  of 
that  day,  and  you  will  be  kind  enough  to 
put  in  writing,  as  an  answer  to  that  letter, 
what  you  have  now  said,  and  as  Lord  Per- 
cy is  to  dine  with  us  at  General  Paoli’s 
soon,  I will  take  an  opportunity  to  read  the 
correspondence  in  his  lordship’s  presence.” 
This  friendly  scheme  was  accordingly  car- 
ried into  execution  without  Dr.  Percy’s 
kndttledge.  Johnson’s  letter  placed  Dr. 
Percy’s  unquestionable  merit  in  the  fairest 
point  of  view;  and  I contrived  that  Lord 
Percy  should  hear  the  correspondence,  by 
introducing  it  at  General  Paoli’s  as  an  in- 
stance of  Dr.  Johnson’s  kind  disposition  to- 
wards one  in  whom  his  lordship  was  inte 
rested.  Thus  every  unfavourable  impres 
sion  was  obviated  that  could  possibly  have 
been  made  on  these  by  whom  he  wished  most 
to  be  regarded.  I breakfasted  the  day  after 
with  him,  and  informed  him  of  my  scheme, 
and  its  happy  completion,  for  which  he  thank- 
ed me  in  the  warmest  terms,  and  was  highly 
delighted  wdth  D&.  Johnson’s  letter  in  his 
praase,  of  which  I gave  him  a copy.  He 
said,  ££  I would  rather  have  this  than  de- 
grees from  all  the  universities  in  Europe 
It  will  be  for  me,  and  my  children  and 
grandchildren.”  Dr.  Johnson  having  af- 
terwards asked  me  if  I had  given  him  a co- 
py of  it,  and  being  told  I had,  w^as  offended, 
and  insisted  that  I should  get  it  back,  tvhich 
I did.  As,  however,  he  did  not  desire  me 
to  destroy  either  the  original  or  the  copy, 
or  forbid  me  to  let  it  be  seen,  I think  myself 
at  liberty  to  apply  to  it  his  general  declara- 
tion to  me  concerning  his  owrn  letters, 
££  That  he  did  not  choose  they  should  be 
published  in  his  life-time;  but  had  no  objec- 
tion to  their  appearing  after  his  death.”  1 
shall  therefore  insert  this  kindly  correspond- 
ence, having  faithfully  narrated  the  circum- 
stances accompanying  it. 

££TO  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“ My  dear  sir, — I beg  leave  to  address 
you  in  behalf  of  our  friend  Dr.  Percy,  who 
w7as  much  hurt  by  what  you  said  to  him 
that  day  vre  dined  at  his  house4  ; when,  in 

4 Sunday,  April  12,  1778. — Boswej  l. 


1778. — /ETAT.  69. 


163 


the  course  of  the  dispute  as  to  Pennant’s 
merit  as  a traveller,  you  told  Percy  that  ‘ he 
had  the  resentment  of  a narrow  mind  against 
Pennant,  because  he  did  not  find  every  thing 
in  Northumberland.’  Percy  is  sensible  that 
you  did  not  mean  to  injure  him;  but  he  is 
vexed  to  think  that  your  behaviour  to  him 
on  that  occasion  may  be  interpreted  as  a 
proof  that  he  is  despised  by  you,  which  I 
know  is  not  the  case.  I have  told  him,  that 
the  charge  of  being  narrow-minded  was  on- 
ly as  to  the  particular  point  in  question; 
and  that  he  had  the  merit  of  being  a mar- 
tyr to  his  noble  family. 

“ Earl  Percy  is  to  dine  with  General 
Paoli  next  Friday;  and  I should  be  sincere- 
ly glad  to  have  it  in  my  power  to  satisfy  his 
lordship  how  well  you  think  of  Dr.  Percy, 
who,  I find,  apprehends  that  your  good 
opinion  of  him  may  be  of  very  essential 
consequence;  and  who  assures  me  that  he 
has  the  highest  respect  and  the  warmest 
affection  for  you. 

cc  1 have  only  to  add,  that  ray  suggesting 
this  occasion  for  the  exercise  of  your  can 
dour  and  generosity  is  altogether  unknown 
to  Dr.  Percy,  and  proceeds  from  my  good- 
will towards  him,  and  my  persuasion  that 
you  will  be  happy  to  do  him  an  essential 
kindness.  I am,  more  and  more,  my  dear 
sir,  your  most  faithful  and  affectionate  hum- 
ble servant  £t  James  Boswell.” 

“to  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“23d  April,  1778. 

“ §jr, — The  debate  between  Dr.  Percy 
and  me  is  one  of  those  foolish  controversies 
which  begin  upon  a question  of  which  nei- 
ther party  cares  how  it  is  decided,  and 
which  is,  nevertheless,  continued  to  acri- 
mony, by  the  vanity  with  which  every  man 
resists  confutation.  Dr.  Percy’s  warmth 
proceeded  from  a cause  which,  perhaps, 
does  him  more  honour  than  he  could  have 
derived  from  juster  criticism.  His  abhor- 
rence of  Pennant  proceeded  from  his  opin- 
ion that  Pennant  had  wantonly  and  inde- 
cently censured  his  patron.  His  anger 
made  him  resolve,  that,  for  having  been 
once  wrong,  he  never  should  be  right. 
Pennant  has  much  in  his  notions  that  1 do 
not  like;  but  still  I think  him  a very  intel- 
ligent traveller.  If  Percy  is  really  offended, 
I am  sorry;  for  he  is  a man  whom  I never 
knew  to  offend  any  one.  He  is  a man  very 
willing  to  learn,  and  very  able  to  teach;  a 
man,  out  of  whose  company  I never  go 
without  having  learned  something.  It  is 
sure  that  he  vexes  me  sometimes,  but  I am 
afraid  it  is  by  making  me  feel  my  own  igno- 
rance. So  much  extension  of  mind,  and  so 
much  minute  accuracy  of  inquiry,  if  you 
survey  your  whole  circle  of  acquaintance, 
you  will  find  so  scarce,  if  you  find  it  at  all, 
that  you  will  value  Percy  by  comparison. 


Lord  Hailes  is  somewhat  like  him:  but 
Lord  Hailes  does  not,  perhaps,  go  beyond 
him  in  research;  and  1 do  not  know  that 
he  equals  him  in  elegance.  Percy’s  atten- 
tion to  poetry  has  given  grace  and  splen 
dour  to  his  studies  of  antiquity.  A mere 
antiquarian  is  a rugged  being. 

'c  Upon  the  whole,  you  see  that  what  1 
might  say  in  sport  or  petulance  to  him,  is 
very  consistent  Avith  full  conviction  of  his 
merit.  I am,  dear  sir,  your  most,  &c. 

( Sam.  Johnson.” 

“to  THE  REV.  DR.  PERCY,  NORTHUM- 
BERLAND-HOUSE. 

“ South  Audley-street,  25th  April 

“ Dear  sir, — I wrote  to  Dr.  Johnson  on 
the  subject  of  the  Pennantian  controversy; 
and  have  received  from  him  an  answer 
which  will  delight  you.  I read  it  yester- 
day to  Dr.  Robertson,  at  the  Exhibition; 
and  at  dinner  to  Lord  Percy,  General  Og- 
lethoipe,  &c.  who  dined  with  us  at  General 
Paoli’s;  who  was  also  a witness  to  the  high 
testimony  to  your  honour. 

cc  General  Paoli  desires  the  favour  of 
your  company  next  Tuesday  to  dinner,  to 
meet  Dr.  Johnson.  If  I can,  I will  call  on 
you  to-day.  I am,  Avith  sincere  regard 
your  most  obedient  humble  servant, 

“ James  Boswell1” 

[It  has  been  already  stated2,  that  En 
there  seems  reason  to  doubt  whether  n 
Johnson  had  any  great  regard  or  respect 
for  Dr.  Percy.  The  following  anecdotes 
Avill  throAV  some  light  on  that  subject.  Mr. 
Cradock  happened  to  be  in  London  crad. 
once  when  Dr.  Percy  returned  from  Mem. 
Northumberland,  and  found  that  he  p‘  241 
Avas  expected  to  preach  a charity  sermon 
almost  immediately;  this  had  escaped  his 
memory,  and  he  said,  that £C  though  much 
fatigued,  he  had  been  obliged  to  sit  up  very 
late  to  furnish  out  something  from  former 
discourses;  but  suddenly  recollecting  that 
Johnson’s  fourth  Idler  was  exactly  to  his 
purpose,  he  had  freely  engrafted  the  great- 
est part  of  it.”  He  preached,  and  his  dis- 
course was  much  admired;  but  being  re- 
quested to  print  it,  he  most  strenuously  op- 
posed the  honour  intended  him,  till  he  was 
assured  by  the  governors,  that  it  was  abso- 
lutely necessary,  as  the  annual  contribu- 
tions greatly  depended  on  the  account  that 

1 Though  the  Bishop  of  Droinore  kindly  an- 
swered the  letters  which  I wrote  to  him,  relative 
to  Dr.  Johnson’s  early  history;  yet,  in  justice  to 
him,  I think  it  proper  to  add,  that  the  account  of 
the  foregoing  conversation,  and  the  subsequent 
transaction,  as  well  as  of  some  other  conversations 
in  which  he  is  mentioned,  has  been  given  to  the 
publick  without  previous  communication  wit!  u* 
lordnhip. — Bosave  bl. 

* See  ante,  p 40. — Ed 


164 


1778.— /ETAT.  69. 


was  given  in  the  appendix.  In  this  dilem- 
ma, he  earnestly  requested  that  Mr;  Cra- 
dock would  call  upon  Dr.  Johnson,  and 
state  particulars.  Mr.  Cradock  assented, 
and  endeavoured  to  introduce  the  subject 
with  all  due  solemnity;  but  Johnson  was 
highly  diverted  with  his  recital,  and,  laugh- 
ing, said,  “ Pray,  sir,  give  my  kind  respe&ts 
to  Dr.  Percy,  and  tell  him,  I desire  he  will 
do  whatever  he  pleases  in  regard  to  my 
Idler;  it  is  entirely  at  his  service.” 

But  these  days  of  friendly  communica- 
tion were,  from  various  causes,  speedily  to 
pass  away,  and  worse  than  indifference  to 
succeed;  for  one  morning  Dr.  Percy  said 
to  Mr.  Cradock,  “ I have  not  seen  Dr. 
Johnson  for  a long  time.  I believe  I must 
iust  call  upon  him,  and  greatly  wish  that 
ou  would  accompany  me.  I intend,”  said 
e,  “ to  tease  him  a little  about  Gibbon’s 
pamphlet1.”  “I  hope  not,  Dr.  Percy,” 
was  Cradock’s  reply.  “ Indeed  I shall,  for 
I have  a great  pleasure  in  combating  his 
narrow  prejudices.”  They  went  together; 
and  Dr.  Percy  opened  with  some  anecdotes 
from  Northumberland-house  ; mentioned 
some  rare  books  that  were  in  the  library; 
and  then  threw  out  that  the  town  rang  with 
applause  of  Gibbon’s  “ Reply  to  Davis',  ” 
that  the  latter  “ had  written  before  he  had 
read,”  and  that  the  two  “ confederate  doc- 
tors,” as  Mr.  Gibbon  termed  them,  “ had 
fallen  into  some  strange  errors.” 

Johnson  said,  he  knew  nothing  of  Da- 
vis’s pamphlet,  nor  would  he  give  him  any 
answer  as  to  Gibbon;  but,  if  the  “ confede- 
rate doctors,”  as  they  were  termed,  had 
really  made  such  mistakes,  as  he  alluded  to, 
they  were  blockheads. 

Dr.  Percy  talked  on  in  the  most  care- 
less style  possible,  but  in  a very  lofty  tone; 
and  Johnson  appeared  to  be  excessive- 
ly angry.  Mr.  Cradock  only  wished  to  get 
released;  for,  if  Dr.  Percy  had  proceed- 
ed to  inform  him,  that  he  had  lately  intro- 
duced Mr.  Hume  to  dine  at  the  king’s 
chaplains’  table,  there  must  have  been  an 
“ explosion.” 

Mr.  Cradock  possessed  several  letters 
which  threw  a full  light  on  these  unhappy 
differences;  and  with  all  his  partiality  for 
Dr.  Johnson,  Mr.  Cradock  freely  declared, 
that  he  thought  Dr.  Percy  had  received  ve- 
ry great  cause  to  take  real  offence  at  Dr. 
Johnson,  who,  by  a ludicrous  parody  on  a 
stanza  in  the  “ Hermit  of  Warkworth,” 
had  rendered  him  contemptible.  It  was 
urged,  that  Johnson  only  meant  to  attack 
die  metre;  hut  he  certainly  turned  the 
whole  poem  into  ridicule. 

“ I put  my  hat  upon  my  head, 

And  walk’d  into  the  Strand, 

And  there  I met  another  man 
With  his  hat  in  his  hand.” 


Mr.  Garrick,  in  the  postscript  of  a .ettei 
to  Mr.  Cradock,  soon  afterwards  asked  him, 
“ Whether  he  had  seen  Johnson’s  criticism 
on  the  Hermit  ? it  is  already,”  said  he, 
“ over  half  the  town.’?  Almost  the  last 
time  that  Mr.  Cradock  ever  saw  John- 
son, he  said  to  him,  “ Notwithstanding  dll 
the  pains  that  Dr.  Farmer  and  I took  to 
serve  Dr.  Percy,  in  regard  to  his  { Ancient 
Ballads,’  he  has  left  town  for  Ireland2, 
without  taking  leave  of  either  of  us  ”] 

On  Monday,  April  13, 1 dined  with  John- 
son at  Mr.  Langton’s,  where  were  Dr. 
Porteus,  then  Bishop  of  Chester,  afterwards 
of  London,  and  Dr.  Stinton.  He  was  at 
first  in  a very  silent  mood.  Before  dinner 
he  said  nothing  but w Pretty  baby,v  to  one 
of  the  children.  Langton  said  very  well  to 
me  afterwards,  that  he  could  repeat  Dr. 
Johnson’s  conversation  before  dinner,  as 
Johnson  had  said  that  he  could  repeat  a 
complete  chapter  of  “ The  Natural  History 
of  Ictland,”  from  the  Danish  of  Horrebotc , 
the  whole  of  which  was  exactly  thus: 

‘•  CHAP.  LXXII. — Concerning  Snakes. 

“ There  are  no  snakes  to  be  met  with 
thoughout  the  whole  island.” 

At  dinner  we  talked  of  another  mode  in 
the  news-papers  of  giving  modern  charac- 
ters in  sentences  from  the  classicks,  and  of 
the  passage 

“ Parcus  deorum  cultor,  et  infrequens, 
Insanientis  dum  sapientiae 

Consultus  erro,  nunc  retrorsum 
Vela  dare,  atque  iterare  cursus 
Cogtr  relictos,”  Hor.  Od.  i.  39. 

being  well  applied  to  Soame  Jenyns;  who. 
after  having  wandered  in  the  wilds  of  infi- 
delity, had  returned  to  the  Christian  faith. 
Mr.  Langton  asked  Johnson  as  to  the  pro- 
priety of  sapientiae  consultus.  Johnson. 
“ Though  consultus  was  primarily  an  ad 
jective,  like  amicus  it  came  to  be  used  as  a 
substantive.  So  we  have  Juris  consultus 
a consult  in  law.” 

We  talked  of  the  styles  of  different  paint- 
ers, and  how  certainly  a connoisseur  could 
distinguish  them.  I asked,  if^there  was  as 
clear  a difference  of  styles  in  language  as  in 
painting,  or  even  as  in  hand-writing,  so 
that  the  composition  of  eve’y  individual 
may  be  distinguished?  Johnson.  “Yes. 
Those  who  have  a style  of  eminent  excel- 
lence, such  as  Dryden  and  Milton,  can 
always  be  distinguished.”  I had  no  doubt 
of  this;  but  what  I wanted  to  know  was, 
whether  there  was  really  a peculiar  style  to 
every  man  whatever,  as  there  is  certainly  a 
peculiar  hand-writing,  a peculiar  counte- 
nance, not  widely  different  in  many,  yet 
always  enough  to  be  distinctive: 

2 [Dr.  Percy  was  made  Bishop  of  Dromore  a 
1782.— Ed-I 


[Published  in  1779. — Ed.] 


1778. — yETAT.  69. 


165 


s facies  non  omnibus  una, 

Nec  diversa  tamen.” 

Ov.  Met.  1.  2.  v.  13. 

The  bishop  thought  not;  and  said,  he  sup- 
posed that  many  pieces  in  Dodsley’s  collec- 
tion of  poems,  though  all  very  pretty,  had 
nothing  appropriate  in  their  style,  and  in 
that  particular  could  not  be  at  all  distin- 
guished. Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  I think 
every  man  whatever  has  a peculiar  style 
which  may  be  discovered  by  nice  examina- 
tion and  comparison  with  others : but  a man 
must  write  a great  deal  to  make  his  style 
obviously  discernible.  As  logicians  say, 
this  appropriation  of  style  is  infinite  in  po- 
testate,  limited  in  actu .” 

Mr.  Topham  Beauclerk  came  in  the 
evening,  and  he  and  Dr.  Johnson  and  I 
staid  to  supper.  It  was  mentioned  that 
Dr.  Dodd  1 had  once  wished  to  be  a mem- 
ber of  the  Literary  Club.  Johnson.  tc  I 
should  be  sorry  if  any  of  our  Club  were 
hanged.  I will  not  say  but  some  of  them 
deserve  it2 3.5 *’  Beauclerk  (supposing  this 
to  be  aimed  at  persons 13  for  whom  he  had 
at  that  time  a wonderful  fancy,  which,  how- 
ever, did  not  last  long)  was  irritated,  and 
eagerly  said,  “You,  sir,  have  a friend4 


1 [Miss  Reynolds  and  Sir  J.  Hawkins  doubted 
whether  Johnson  had  ever  been  in  Dodd’s  com- 
pany; but  Johnson  told  Boswell  (see  ante,  page 
105),  that  “he  had  once  been.”  The  editor 
has  now  before  him  a letter,  dated  in  1750,  from 
Dr.  Dodd  to  his  friend  the  Rev.  Mr.  Parkhurst, 
the  lexicographer,  mentioning  this  meeting;  and 
his  account,  at  that  day,  of  the  man  with  whom 
he  was  afterward  to  have  so  painful  a correspond- 
ence, is  interesting  and  curious.  “ I spent  yes- 
terday afternoon  with  Johnson,  the  celebrated 
authour  of  The  Rambler,  who  is  of  all  others  the 
oddest  and  most  peculiar  fellow  I ever  saw.  He 
is  six  feet  high,  has  a violent  convulsion  in  his 
head,  and  his  eyes  are  distorted.  He  speaks 
roughly  and  loud,  listens  to  no  man’s  opinions, 
thoroughly  pentinacious  of  his  own.  Good  sense 
flows  from  him  in  all  he  utters,  and  he  seems  pos- 
sessed of  a prodigious  fund  of  knowledge,  which 
he  is  not  at  all  reserved  in  communicating;  but  in 
a manner  so  obstinate,  ungenteel,  and  boorish,  as 
renders  it  disagreeable  and  dissatisfactory.  In 
short,  it  is  impossible  for  words  to  describe  him. 
He  seems  often  inattentive  to  what  passes  in  com- 
pany, and  then  looks  like  a person  possessed  by 
some  superior  spirit.  I.  have  been  reflecting  on 
him  ever  since  I saw  him.  He  is  a man  of  most 
universal  and  surprising  genius,  but  in  himself  par- 
ticular beyond  expression.” — Ed.] 

2 See  ante,  p.  90,  n. — Boswell. 

3 [Probably  Mr.  Fox,  Lord  Spencer,  Mr.  Burke, 
and  some  other  whigs,  the  violence  of  whose 
opposition  at  this  time  seemed  to  Johnson  little 
short  of  abetting  rebellion,  for  which  they  “ de- 
served to  be  hanged.” — Ed.] 

4 [No  doubt  George  Steevens  (now  Johnson’s 

colleague  in  editing  Shakspeare),  to  whom  such 

practices  were  imputed,  and  particularly  as  against 


(naming  him)  who  deserves  to  be  hanged; 
for  he  speaks  behind  their  backs  against 
those  with  whom  he  lives  on  the  best  terms, 
and  attacks  them  in  the  newspapers.  He 
certainly  ought  to  be  kicked .”  Johnson. 
“ Sir,  we  all  do  this  in  some  degree : £ Veni- 
arn  petimus  damusque  vicissim .’ 

To  be  sure  it  may  be  done  so  much,  **or.  Art. 
that  a man  may  deserve  to  be  kick-  °e  ' 
ed.”  Beauclerk.  “ He  is  very  malig- 
nant.55 Johnson.  “ No,  sir;  he  is  not 
malignant.  He  is  mischievous,  if  you  will. 
He  would  do  no  man  an  essential  injury;  he 
may,  indeed,  love  to  make  sport  of  people 
by  vexing  their  vanity.  I,  however,  once 
knew  an  old  gentleman  who  was  absolutely 
malignant.  He  really  wished  evil  to  others, 
and  rejoiced  at  it.55  Boswell.  “ Th^ 
gentleman,  Mr.  Beauclerk,  against  whom 
you  are  so  violent,  is,  I know,  a man  of 
good  principles.”  Beauclerk.  “ Then 
he  does  not  wear  them  out  in  practice.” 

Dr.  Johnson,  who,  as  I have  observed 
before,  delighted  in  discrimination  of  char- 
acter, and  having  a masterly  knowledge  of 
human  nature,  was  willing  to  take  men  as 
they  are,  imperfect,  and  with  a mixture  of 
good  and  bad  qualities,  I suppose  thought 
he  had  said  enough  in  defence  of  his  friend, 
of  whose  merits,  notwithstanding  his  ex- 
ceptionable points,  he  had  a just  vahie:  and 
added  no  more  on  the  subject. 

On  Tuesday,  14th  April,  I dined  with 
him  at  General  Oglethorpe’s,  with  General 
Paoli  and  Mr.  Langton.  General  Ogle- 
thorpe declaimed  against  luxury.  John- 
son. “ Depend  upon  it,  sir,  every  state  of 
society  is  -as  luxurious  as  it  can  be.  Men 
always  take  the  best  they  can  get.”  Og- 
lethorpe. “ But  the  best  depends  much 
upon  ourselves;  and  if  we  can  be  as  well 
satisfied  with  plain  things,  we  are  in  the 
wrong  to  accustom  our  palates  to  what  is 
high -seasoned  and  expensive.  What  says 
Addison  in  his  c Cato,5  speaking  of  the  Nu- 
midian? 

£ Coarse  are  his  meals,  the  fortune  of  the  chase; 
Amid  the  running  stream  he  slakes  his  thirst, 
Toils  all  the  day,  and  at  the  approach  of  night, 
On  the  first  friendly  bank  he  throw-s  him  down, 
Or  rests  his  head  upon  a rock  till  morn; 

And  if  the  following  day  he  chance  to  find 
A new  repast,  or  an  untasted  spring, 

Blesses  his  stars,  and  thinks  it  luxury.’ 

Let  us  have  that  kind  of  luxury,  sir,  if  you 
will.”  Johnson.  “ But  hold,  sir;  to  be 
merely  satisfied  is  not  enough.  It  is  in  re- 
finement and  elegance  that  the  civilized 
man  differs  from  the  savage..  A great  pari 
of  our  industry,  and  all  our  ingenuity,  is 
exercised  in  procuring  pleasure;  and,  sir,  a 
hungry  man  has  not.  the  same  pleasure  in 
eating  a plain  dinner,  that  a hungry  man 

Garrick  and  Mr.  Arthur  Murphy. — Miss  Hawk 
Mem  i.  39. — Ed.] 


166 


1778. — /ETAT.  69. 


has  in  eating  a luxurious  dinner. . You  see 
I put  the  case  fairly.  A hungry  man  may 
have  as  much,  nay,  more  pleasure  in  eating 
a plain  dinner,  than  a man  grown  fastidious 
has  in  eating  a luxurious  dinner.  But  I 
suppose  the  man  who  decides  between  the 
two  dinners  to  be  equally  a hungry  man.” 

Talking  of  the  different  governments, — 
Johnson.  “ The  more  contracted  power 
is,  the  more  easily  it  is  destroyed.  A coun- 
try governed  by  a despot  is  an  inverted  cone. 
Government  there  cannot  be  so  firm  as 
when  it  rests  upon  a broad  basis  gradually 
contracted,  as  the  government  of  Great  Bri- 
tain, which  is  founded  on  the  parliament, 
then  is  in  the  privy  council,  then  in  the 
king.”  Boswell.  u Power,  when  con- 
tracted into  the  person  of  a despot,  may  be 
•easily  destroyed,  as  the  prince  may  be  cut 
off.  So  Caligula  wished  that  the  people  of 
Rome  had  but  one  neck,  that  he  might  cut 
them  off  at  a blow.”  Oglethorpe.  It 
was  of  the  senate  he  wished  that ].  The 
senate  by  its  usurpation  controlled  both  the 
emperour  and  the  people.  And  do  n’t  you 
think  that  we  see  too  much  of  that  in  our 
own  parliament?  ” 

Dr.  Johnson  endeavoured  to  trace  the 
etymology  of  Maccaronick  verses,  which  he 
thought  were  of  Italian  invention,  from 
Maccasoni;  but  on  being  informed  that  this 
would  infer  that  they  were  the  most  com 
mon  and  easy  verses,  maccaroni  being  the 
most  ordinary  and  simple  food,  he  was  at  a 
loss;  for  he  said,.cc  He  rather  should  have 
supposed  it  to  import,  in  its  primitive  signi- 
fication, a composition  of  several  things1 2; 
for  Maccaronick  verses  are  verses  made  cut 
of  a mixture  of  different  languages,  that  is, 
of  one  language  with  the  termination  of  an- 
other.” I suppose  we  scarcely  know  of  a 
language  in  any  country,  where  there  is  any 
learning,  in  which  that  motley  ludicrous 
species  of  composition  may  not  be  found. 
It  is  particularly  droll  in  Low  Dutch.  The 
“ Polemo-middinia”  of  Drummond,  of 
Hawthornden,  in  which  there  is  a jumble 
of  many  languages  moulded,  as  if  it  were 

1 [Boswell  was  right,  and  Oglethorpe  wrong; 
the  exclamation  in  Suetonius  is  “ Utinam  populus 
Romanus  unam  cervicem  haberet.”  Calig.  xxx. 
—Ed.] 

2 Dr.  Johnson  was  right  in  supposing  that  this 
kind  of  poetry  derived  its  name  from  maccherone. 
“ Ars  ista  poetica  (says  Merlin  Coccaie,  whose 
hue  name  was  Theophilo  Folengo)  nuncupatur 
ars  macaronica,  a macaronibus  derivata;  qui 
macaroncs  sunt  quoddam  pulmentum,  farina, 
caseo,  butyro  compaginatum,  grossum,  rude,  et 
rusticanum.  Ideo  macaronica  nil  nisi  grossedinem, 
'uditatem,  et  vocabulazzos debet  in  se  continere.” 
tVarton’s  Ilist.  of  Eng.  Poet.  ii.  357.  Folengo ’s 

ssumed  name  was  taken  up  in  consequence  of 

is  having  been  instructed  in  his  youth  by  Virago 
'occaio.  lie  died  in  1544. — Malone. 


all  in  Latin,  is  well  known  Mr.  Langton 
made  us  laugh  heartily  at  one  in  the  Gre- 
cian mould,  by  Joshua  Barnes,  in  which 
are  to  be  found  such  comical  Jlnglo-hellen- 
isins  as  K\u€€<n<riv  they  were  banged 

with  clubs. 

On  Wednesday,  15th  April,  I dined  with 
Dr.  Johnson  at  Mr.  Dilly’s,  and  was  in  high 
spirits,  for  I had  been  a good  part  of  the 
morning  with  Mr.  Orme,  the  able  and  elo- 
quent historian  of  Hindostan,  who  express- 
ed a great  admiration  of  Johnson.  “ I do 
not  care,”  said  he,  “ on  what  subject  John- 
son talks;  but  I love  better  to  hear  him  talk 
than  any  body.  He  either  gives  yop  new 
thoughts,  or  a new  colouring.  It  is  a shame 
to  the  nation  that  he  has  not  been  more 
liberally  rewarded.  Had  I been  George  the 
Third,  and  thought  as  he  did  about  Ameri- 
ca, I would  have  given  Johnson  three  hun- 
dred a year  for  his  c Taxation  no  Tyranny,’ 
alone.”  I repeated  this,  and  Johnson  was 
much  pleased  with  such  praise  from  such 
a man  as  Orme. 

At  Mr.  Dilly’s  to-day  were  Mrs. 
Knowles3,  the  ingenious  quaker  lady, Miss 
Seward,  the  poetess  of  Lichfield,  the  Rev- 
erend Dr.  Mayo,  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Beres- 
ford,  tutor  to  the  Duke  of  Bedford.  Before 
dinner  Dr.  Johnson  seized  upon  Mr.  Charles 
Sheridan’s4  “ Account  of  the  late  Revolution 
in  Sweden,”  and  seemed  to  read  it  ravenous- 
ly, as  if  he  devoured  it,  which  was  to  all  ap- 
earance  his  method  of  studying.  “ He 
nows  how  to  read  better  than  any  one,” 
says  Mrs.  Knowles;  “ he  gets  at  the  sub- 
stance of  a book  directly;  he  tears  out  the 
heart  of  it.”  He  kept  it  wrapt  up  in  the 
tablecloth  in  his  lap  during  the  time  of  din- 
ner, from  an  avidity  to  have  one  entertain- 
ment in  readiness,  when  he  should  have 
finished  another;  resembling  (if  I may  use 
so  coarse  a simile)  a dog  who  holds  a bone 
in  his  paws  in  reserve,  while  he  eats  some- 
thing else  which  has  been  thrown  to  him. 

The  subject  of  cookery  having  been  very 
naturally  introduced  at  a table  where  John- 
son, who  boasted  of  the  niceness  of  his  pal- 
ate, owned  that,  he  always  found  a good 
dinner, ” he  said  “ I could  write  a better 
book  of  cookery  than  has  ever  yet  been 
written;  it  should  be  a book  upon  philo- 
sophical principles.  Pha  rmacy  is  now  made 
much  more  simple.  Cookery  may  be  made 
so  too.  A prescription  which  is  now  com- 
pounded of  five  ingredients,  had  formerly  fif- 
ty in  it.  So  in  cookery,  if  the  nature  of  the  in- 
gredients be  well  known,  much  fewer  will  do. 
Then,  as  you  cannot  make  bad  meat  good, 
I would  tell  what  is  the  best  butcher’s  meat, 
the  best  beef,  the  best  pieces;  how  to  choose 


3 [See  ante , p.  77. — Ed.] 

1 The  elder  brother  of  Mr.  Richard  Brinsley 
Sheridan.  He  died  in  1806. — Malone. 


1778.— tETAT.  69 


167 


young  fovi  is,*  the  proper  seasons  of  different 
vegetables;  and  then  how  to  roast  and  boil 
and  compound.”  Dilly.  “ Mrs.  Glasse’s 
f Cookery,’  which  is  the  best,  was  written 
by  Dr.  Hill.  Half  the  trade  1 know  this.” 
Johnson.  “ Well,  sir.  This  shows  how 
much  better  the  subject  of  cookery  may  be 
treated  by  a philosopher.  I doubt  if  the 
book  be  written  by  Dr.  Hill;  for,  in  Mrs. 
Glasse’s  ‘ Cookery,’  which  I have  looked 
into,  salt-petre  and  sal-prunella  are  spoken 
of  as  different  substances,  whereas  sal-pru- 
nella is  only  salt-petre  burnt  on  charcoal; 
and  Hill  could  not  be  ignorant  of  this. 
However,  as  the  greatest  part  of  such  a 
book  is  made  by  transcription,  this  mistake 
may  have  been  carelessly  adopted.  But 
you  shall  see  what  a book  of  cookery  I shall 
make:  I shall  agree  with  Mr.  Dilly  for  the 
copy-right.”  Miss  Seward.  “That would 
be  Hercules  with  the  distaff  indeed.” 
Johnson.  “ No,  madam.  Women  can 
spin  very  well;  but  they  cannot  make  a 
good  book  of  cookery.” 

Johnson.  “ O ! Mr.  Dilly — you  must 
know  that  an  English  Benedictine  monk1 2 
at  Paris  has  translated  ‘ The  Duke  of  Ber- 
wick’s Memoirs,’  from  the  original  French, 
and  has  sent  them  to  me  to  sell.  I offered 
them  to  Strahan,  who  sent  them  back  with 
this  answer; — ‘ That  th«  first  book  he  had 
ublished  was  the  Duke  of  Berwick’s  Life, 
y which  he  had  lost: 'and  he  hated  the 
name.”  Now  I honestly  tell  you  that  Stra- 
han has  refused  them;  but  I also  honestly 
tell  you  that  he  did  it  upon  no  principle,  for 
he  never  looked  into  them.”  Dilly.  “Are 
they  well  translated,  sir?”  Johnson. 
“ Why,  sir,  very  well;  in  a style  very  cur- 
rent and  clear.  I have  written  to  the  Be- 
nedictine to  give  me  an  answer  upon  two 
points.  What  evidence  is  there  that  the 
letters  are  authentick  ? (for  if  they  are  not 
authentick,  they  are  nothing).  And  how 
long  will  it  be  before  the  original  French  is 
published  ? For  if  the  French  edition  is 
not  to  appear  for  a considerable  time,  the 
translation  will  be  almost  as  valuable  as  an 
original  book.  They  will  make  two  volumes 
in  octavo;  and  I have  undertaken  to  cor- 
rect every  sheet  as  it  comes  from  the  press.” 
Mr.  Dilly  desired  to  see  them,  and  said  he 
would  send  for  them.  He  asked  Dr.  John- 
son if  he  would  write  a preface  to  them. 
Johnson.  “ No,  sir.  The  Benedictines 
were  very  kind  to  me,  and  I ’ll  do  what  I 
undertook  to  do;  but  I will  not  mingle  my 
name  with  them.  I am  to  gain  nothing  by 

1 As  physicians  are  called  the  faculty,  and 
counsellors  at  law  the  profession,  the  booksellers 
of  London  are  denominated  the  trade.  Johnson 
disapproved  of  these  denominations. — Boswell. 

2 [The  Abbe  Hook.  They  were  published,  in 
1779,  by  Cadell. — Mackintosh.] 


them.  I ’ll  turn  them  loose  upon  the  world, 
and  let  them  take  their  chance.”  Dr.  Ma- 
yo. “ Pray,  sir,  are  Ganganelli’s  letters 
authentick  ? ” Johnson.  “ No,  sir.  Vol- 
taire put  the  same  question  to  the  editor  of 
them  that  I did  to  Macpherson — Where 
are  the  originals  ? ” 

Mrs.  Knowles  affected  to  complain  that 
men  had  much  more  liberty  allowed  them 
than  women.  Johnson.  “ Why,  madam, 
women  have  all  the  liberty  they  should  wish 
to  have.  We  have  all  the  labour  and  the 
danger,  and  the  wromen  all  the  advantage. 
We  go  to  sea,  we  build  houses,  we  do  every 
thing,  in  short,  to  pay  our  court  to  the 
women.”  Mrs.  Knowles.  “ The  Doctor 
reasons  very  wittily,  but  not  convincingly. 
Now,  take  the  instance  of  building;  the  ma- 
son’s wife,  if  she  is  ever  seen  in  liquor,  is 
ruined:  the  mason  may  get  himself  drunk 
as  often  as  he  pleases,  with  little  loss  of 
character;  nay,  may  let  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren starve.”  Johnson.  “ Madam,  you 
must  consider,  if  the  mason  does  get  him- 
self drunk,  and  let  his  wife  and  children 
starve,  the  parish  will  oblige  him  to  find 
security  for  their  maintenance.  We  have 
different  modes  of  restraining  evil.  Stocks 
for  the  men,  a ducking-stool  for  women,  and 
a pound  for  beasts.  If  we  require  more 
perfection  from  women  than  from  ourselves, 
it  is  doing  them  honour.  And  women 
have  not  the  same  temptations  that  we 
have ; they  may  always  live  in  virtuous 
company;  men  must  mix  in  the  world  indis- 
criminately. If  a woman  has  no  inclina- 
tion to  do  what  is  wrong,  being  secured  from 
it  is  no  restraint  to  her.  I am  at  liberty 
to  walk  into  the  Thames;  but  if  I were  to 
try  it,  my  friends  would  restrain  me  in  Bed- 
lam, and  I should  be  obliged  to  them.” 
Mrs.  Knowles.  “Still,  Doctor,  I cannot 
help  thinking  it  a hardship  that  more  in 
dulgence  is  allowed  to  men  than  to  women. 
It  gives  a superiority  to  men,  to  which  I do 
not  see  how  they  are  entitled.”  Johnson. 
“ It  is  plain,  madam,  one  or  other  must 
have  the  superiority.  As  Shakspeare  says, 
c If  two  men  ride  on  a horse,  one  must  ride 
behind.’”  Dilly.  “ I suppose,  sir,  Mrs. 
Knowles  would  have  them  ride  in  panniers, 
one  on  each  side.”  Johnson.  “ Then, 
sir,  the  horse  would  throw  them  both.” 
Mrs.  Knowles.  “ Well,  I hope  that  in 
another  world  the  sexes  will  be  equal.” 
Boswell.  “ That  is  being  too  ambitious, 
madam.  We  might  as  well  desire  to  be 
equal  with  the  angels.  We  shall  all,  I hope, 
be  haDpy  in  a fixture  state,  but  we  must  not 
expect  to  be  all  happy  in  the  same  degree. 
It  is  enough,  if  we  be  happy  according  to 
our  several  capacities.  A worthy  carman 
will  get  to  heaven  as  well  as  Sir  Isaac  New 
ton.  Yet,  though  equally  good,  they  will 


163 


1778. — zETAT.  69. 


not  have  the  same  degrees  of  happiness.” 
Johnson.  “ Probably  not  b” 

Upon  this  subject  I had  once  before 
sounded  him  by  mentioning  the  late  Rever- 
end Mr.  Brown  of  Utrecht’s  image;  that  a 
great  and  small  glass,  though  equally  full, 
did  not  hold  an  equal  quantity;  which  he 
threw  out  to  refute  David  Hume’s  saying, 
that  a little  miss,  going  to  dance  at  a ball, 
in  a fine  new  dress,  was  as  happy  as  a great 
orator,  after  having  made  an  eloquent  and 
applauded  speech.  After  some  thought, 
Johnson  said,  “ I come  over  to  the  par- 
son.” As  an  instance  of  coincidence  of 
thinking,  Mr.  Dilly  told  me,  that  Dr.  King, 
a late  dissenting  minister  in  London,  said 
to  him,  upon  the  happiness  in  a future  state 
of  good  men  of  different  capacities,  “ A pail 
does  not  hold  so  much  as  a tub;  but,  if  it 
be  equally  full,  it  has  no  reason  to  complain. 
Every  saint  in  heaven  will  have  as  much 
happiness  as  he  can  hold.”  Mr.  Dilly 
thought  this  a clear,  though  a familiar,  illus- 
tration of  the  phrase,  “ One  star  differeth 
from  another  in  brightness.”  [1  Cor.  xv. 
4L] 

Dr.  Mayo  having  asked  Johnson’s  opin- 
ion of  Soame  Jenyns’s  “ View  of  the  Inter- 
nal Evidence  of  the  Christian  Religion  ” — 
Johnson.  “ I think  it  a pretty  book;  not 
very  theological  indeed;  and  there  seems  to 
be  an  affectation  of  ease  and  carelessness, 
as  if  it  were  not  suitable  to  his  character  to 
be  very  serious  about  the  matter.5  Bos- 
well. “ He  may  have  intended  this  to  in- 
troduce his  book  the  better  among  genteel 
people,  who  might  be  unwilling  to  read  too 
grave  a treatise.  There  is  a general  levity 
in  the  age.  We  have  physicians  now  with 
bag-wigs;  may  we  not  have  airy  divines, 
at  least  somewhat  less  solemn  in  their  ap- 
pearance than  they  used  to  be  ?”  John- 
son. “ Jenyns  might  mean  as  you  say.” 
Boswell.  “ You  should  like  his  book, 
Mrs.  Knowles,  as  it  maintains,  as  you 
friends  do,  that  courage  is  not  a Christian 
virtue.”  Mrs.  Knowles.  “ Yes,  indeed, 
I like  him  there;  but  I cannot  agree  with 
him  that  friendship  is  not  a Christian 
virtue.”  Johnson.  ;c  Why,  madam,  strict- 
ly speaking,  he.  is  right.  All  friendship  is 
preferring  the  interest  of  a friend,  to  the  neg- 
lect, or,  perhaps,  against  the  interest,  of 
others;  so  that  an  old  Greek  said,  ‘ He  that 
has  friends  has  no  friend'1 2.3  Now  Chris- 
tianity recommends  universal  benevolence; 
to  consider  all  men  as  our  brethren;  which 
is  contrary  to  the  virtue  of  friendship,  as  de- 

1 See  on  this  question  Bishop  Hall’s  Epistles, 
dec.  iii.  epist.  6.  “Of  the  different  degrees  of 
heavenly  glory,  and  of  our  mutual  knowledge  of 
each  other  above,  ” and  vol.  ii.  p.  7,  where  also 
this  subject  is  discussed. — Malone. 

2 [Of  <pi\oi,  on  <pi\os,  a phrase  frequently  quoted 

by  Dr  Johnson. — Ed.] 


scribed  by  the  ancient  philosophers.  Sure 
ly,  madam,  your  sect  must  approve  of  this; 
for  you  call  all  men  friends .”  Mrs. 

Knowles.  “We  are  commanded  to  do 
good  to  all  men,  ‘ but  especially  to  them 
who  are  of  the  household  of  faith.’”  John 
son.  “Well,  madam;  the  household  of 
faith  is  wide  enough.”  Mrs.  Knowles. 
“But,  Doctor,  our  Saviour  had  twelve  apos- 
tles, yet  there  was  one  whom  he  loved. 
John  was  called  ‘ the  disciple  whom  Jesus 
loved.’  ” Johnson  (with  eyes  sparkling 
benignantly).  “ Very  well,  indeed,  madam. 
You  have  said  very  well.”  Boswell.  “A 
fine  application.  Pra3’-,  sir,  had  you  ever 
thought  of  it  ?”  Johnson.  “ I had  not, 
sir.” 

From  this  pleasing  subject,  he,  I know 
not  how  or  why,  made  a sudden  transition 
to  one  upon  which  he  was  a violent  aggres- 
sor; for  he  said,  “ I am  willing  to  love  all 
mankind,  except  an  American  ;”  and  his 
inflammable  corruption  bursting  into  horrid 
fire,  he  “ breathed  out  threatenings  and 
slaughter3;”  calling  them  “rascals,  rob- 
bers, pirates;  ” and  exclaiming,  he ’d  “ burn 
and  destroy  them.”  Miss  Seward,  looking 
to  him  with  mild  but  steady  astonishment, 
said,  “ Sir,  this  is  an  instance  that  we  are 
always  most  violent  against  those  whom  we 
have  injured.”  He  was  irritated  still  more 
by  this  delicate  and  keen  reproach;  and 
roared  out  another  tremendous  volley, 
which  one  might  fancy  could  be  heard 
across  the  Atlantick.  During  this  tempest 
I sat  in  great  uneasiness,  lamenting  his  heat 
of  temper,  till,  by  degrees,  I diverted  his 
attention  to  other  topicks 

Dr.  Mayo  (to  Dr.  Johnson).  “ Pray, 
sir,  have  you  read  Edwards,  of  New  Eng- 
land, on  Grace?  ” Johnson.  “No,  sir.” 
Boswell.  “It  puzzled  me  so  much  as  to 
the  freedom  of  the  human  will,  by  stating,  • 
with  wonderful  acute  ingenuity,  our  being 
actuated  by  a series  of  motives  which  we 
cannot  resist,  that  the  only  relief  I had  was 
to  forget  it.”  Mayo.  “ But  he  makes 
the  proper  distinction  between  moral  and 
physical  necessity.”  Boswell.  “Alas! 
sir,  they  come  both  to  the  same  thing. 
You  may  be  bound  as  hard  by  chains  when 
covered  by  leather,  as  when  the  iron  ap 
pears.  The  argument  for  the  moral  neces- 
sity of  human  actions  is  always,  I observe, 
fortified  by  supposing  universal  prescience 
to  be  one  of  the  attributes  of  the  Deity.” 
Johnson.  “You  are  surer  that  you  are 
free,  than  you  are  of  prescience;  you  are 
surer  that  you  can  lift  up  your  finger  or  not 

3 [What  have  Sir  J.  Hawkins  and  Mrs.  Piozzi 
ever  related  or  characterized  in  such  violent  terms 
as  Mr.  Boswell  here  uses?  violent,  indeed,  to  the 
extent  of  being  almost  unintelligible.  What  means 
“ his  inflammable  corruption  bursting  into 
horrid  firet  ” — Ed.] 


1778. — AETAT  69 


as  you  please,  than  you  are  of  any  conclu-  I 
sion  from  a deduction  of  reasoning.  But 
let  us  consider  a little  the  objection  from 
prescience.  It  is  certain  I am  either  to  go 
home  to-night  or  not;  that  does  not  prevent 
my  freedom.53  Boswell.  “ That  it  is 
certain  you  are  either  to  go  home  or  not, 
does  not  prevent  your  freedom:  because 
the  liberty  of  choice  between  the  two  is 
compatible  with  that  certainty.  But  if  one 
of  these  events  be  certain  now , you  have 
no  future  power  of  volition.  If  it  be  cer- 
tain you  are  to  go  home  to-night,  you  must 
go  home.33  Johnson.  “ If  I am  well  ac- 
quainted with  a man,  I can  judge  with 
great  probability  how  he  will  act  in  any  case, 
without  his  being  restrained  by  my  judging. 
God  may  have  this  probability  increased 
to  certainty ]. 33  Boswell.  “ When  it  is 
increased  to  certainty,  freedom  ceases,  be- 
cause that  cannot  be  certainly  foreknown 
which  is  not  certain  at  the  time;  but  if  it 
be  certain  at  the  time,  it  is  a contradiction 
in  terms  to  maintain  that  there  can  be 
afterwards  any  contingency  dependent  upon 
the  exercise  of  will  or  any  thing  else.33 
Johnson.  “ All  theory  is  against  the  free- 
dom of  the  will;  all  experience  for  it.”  I 
did  not  push  the  subject  any  farther.  I 
was  glad  to  find  him  so  mild  in  discussing  a 
question  of  the  most  abstract  nature,  in- 
volved with  theological  tenets  which  he 
generally  would  not  suffer  to  be  in  any 
degree  opposed  2. 

He,  as  usual,  defended  luxury:  “You 
cannot  spend  money  in  luxury  without 
doing  good  to  the  poor.  Nay,  you  do 
more  good  to  them  by  spending  it  in  luxury; 
you  make,  them  exert  industry % whereas 
by  giving  it  you  keep  them  idle  I own, 
indeed,  there  may  be  more  virtue  in  giving 
it  immediately  in  charity,  thari  in  spending 
it  in  luxury;  though  there  may  be  pride  in 
that  too.*3  Miss  Seward  asked,  if  this 


1 [This  seems  a very  loose  report.  Dr.  John- 
son never  could  have  talked  of  “ God’s  having 
probability  increased  to  certainty To  the 
Eternal  and  Infinite  Creator  there  can  be  neither 
probability  nor  futurity.  The  action  which  is 
future  to  mortals  is  only  a point  of  eternity  in 
the  eye  of  the  Almighty,  and  it  and  all  the 
motives  that  led  to  it  are  and  were  from  all  eter- 
nity present  to  him.  Our  bounded  intellects 
cannot  comprehend  the  prescience  of  the  Deity  ; 
but  if  that  attribute  be  conceded,  there  seems  no 
difficulty  in  reconciling  it  with  our  own  free  agen- 
cy ; for  God  has  already  seen  what  man  will 
choose  to  do. — Ed.] 

2 If  any  of  my  readers  are  disturbed  by  this 
thorny  question,  I beg  leave  to  recommend  to 
them  Letter  69  of  Montesquieu’s  Lettres  Per- 
sannes,  and  the  late  Mr.  John  Palmer  of  Isling- 
ton’s Answer  to  Dr.  Priestley’s  mechanical  argu- 
ments for  what  he  absurdly  calls  “ philosophical 
necessity.” — Boswell. 

vol.  ii.  22 


was  not  Mandevilless  doctrine  of  “private 
vices  publick  benefits.”  Johnson.  “The 
fallacy  of  that  book  is,  that  Mandeville 
defines  neither  vices  nor  benefits.  He 
reckons  among  vices  every  thing  that  gives 
pleasure.  He  takes  the  narrowest  system 
of  morality,  monastick  morality,  which 
holds  pleasure  itself  to  be  a vice,  such  as 
eating  salt  with  our  fish,  because  it  makes 
it  eat  better,  and  he  reckons  wealth  as  a 
publick  benefit,  which  is  by  no  means 
always  true.  Pleasure  of  itself  is  not  a 
vice.  Having  a garden,  which  we  all 
know  to  be  perfectly  innocent,  is  a great 
pleasure.  At  the  same  time,  in  this  state 
of  being  there  are  many  pleasures  vices, 
which  however  are  so  immediately  agreea- 
ble that  we  can  Jiardly  abstain  from  them. 
The  happiness  of  heaven  will  be,  that 
pleasure  and  virtue  will  be  perfectly  consist- 
ent. Mandeville  puts  the  case  of  a man 
who  gets  drunk  at  an  alehouse,  and  says 
it  is  a public  benefit,  because  so  much 
money  is  got  by  it  to  the  publick.  But  it 
must  be  considered,  that  all  the  good  gained 
by  this,  through  the  gradation  of  alehouse- 
keeper,  brewer,  maltster,  and  farmer,  is 
overbalanced  by  the  evil  caused  to  the  man 
and  his  family  by  his  getting  drunk.  This 
is  the  way  to  try  what  is  vicious,  by  ascer- 
taining whether  more  evil  than  good  is  pro- 
duced by  it  upon  the  whole,  which  is  the 
case  in  all  vice.  It  may  happen  that  good 
is  produced  by  vice,  but  not  as  vice;  for 
instance,  a robber  may  take  money  from  its 
owner,  and  give  it  to  one  who  will  make  a 
better  use  of  it.  Here  is  good  produced; 
but  not  by  the  robbery  as  robbery,  but  as 
translation  of  property.  I read  Mandeville 
forty  or,  I believe,  fifty  years  ago 3.  He 
did  not  puzzle  me;  he  opened  my  views 
into  real  life  very  much.  No,  it  is  clear 
that  the  happiness  of  society  depends  on 
virtue.  In  Sparta,  theft  was  allowed  by 
general  consent;  theft,  therefore,  was  there 
not  a crime,  but  then  there  was  no  security; 
and  what  a life  must  they  have  had,  when 
there  was  no  security!  Without  truth 
there  must  be  a dissolution  of  society.  As 
it  is,  there  is  so  little  truth,  that  we  are 
almost  afraid  to  trust  to  our  ears;  but  how 
should  we  be,  if  falsehood  were  multiplied 
ten  times!  Society  is  held  together  by 
communication  and  information;  and  I 
remember  this  remark  of  Sir  Thomas 
Brown’s,  c Do  the  devils  lie ? No:  for  then 
hell  could  not  subsist.3  33 

Talking  of  Miss 4,  a literary  lady,  he 

said,  “ I was  obliged  to  speak  to  Miss 
Reynolds,  to  let  her  know  that  I desired 
she  would  not  flatter  me  so  much.33  Some- 
body now  observed.  “ She  flatters  Garrick.” 


3 [See  ante  v.  l.  p.  263. — Ed.] 

4 [Hannah  More. — Malone  MS. — Ed.] 


no 


1778. — /ETAT.  69. 


Johnson.  “ S/  e is  in  the  right  to  flatter 
Garrick.  She  is  in  the  right  for  two  rea- 
sons; first,  because  she  has  the  world  with 
her,  who  have  been  praising  Garrick  these 
thirty  years;  and  secondly,  because  she  is 
rewarded  for  it  by  Garrick.  Why  should 
she  flatter  me?  I can  do  nothing  for  her. 
Let  her  carry  her  praise  to  a better  market.” 
Then  turning  to  Mrs.  Knowles,  “ You, 
madam,  have  been  flattering  me  all  the 
evening;  I wish  you  would  give  Boswell  a 
little  now.  If  you  knew  his  merit  as  well 
as  I do,  you  would  say  a great  deal;  he  is 
the  best  travelling  companion  in  the  world.” 

Somebody  mentioned  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Mason’s  prosecution  of  Mr.  Murray,  the 
bookseller  for  having  inserted  in  a collec- 
tion of  “ Gray’s  Poems”  only  fifty  lines,  of 
which  Mr.  Mason  had  still  the  exclusive 
property,  under  the  statute  of  Queen  Anne; 
and  that  Mr.  Mason  had  persevered,  not- 
withstanding his  being  requested  to  name 
his  own  terms  of  compensation  2.  Johnson 
signified  his  displeasure  at  Mr.  Mason’s 
onduct  very  strongly;  but  added,  by  way 
jf  showing  that  he  was  not  surprised  at  it, 
“Mason’s  a whig.”  Mrs.  Knowles  (not 
hearing  distinctly).  “What!  a prig,  sir?” 
Johnson.  “Worse,  madam;  a whig! 
But  he  is  both!” 

I expressed  a horrour  at  the  thought  of 
death.  Mrs.  Knowles.  “ Nay,  thou 
shouldst  not  have  a horrour  for  what  is  the 
gate  of  life.”  Johnson  (standing  upon  the 
hearth,  rolling  about,  with  a serious,  sol- 
emn, and  somewhat  gloomy  air).  “No 
rational  man  can  die  without  uneasy  appre- 
hension.” Mrs.  Knowles.  “ The  Scrip- 
tures tell  us,  c The  righteous  shall  have 
hope  in  his  death.’  ” Johnson.  “ Yes, 
madam,  that  is,  he  shall  not  have  despair. 
But,  consider,  his  hope  of  salvation  must 
be  founded  on  the  terms  on  which  it  is 
promised  that  the  mediation  of  our  Saviour 
shall  be  applied  to  us, — namely,  obedience  ; 
and  where  obedience  has  failed,  then,  as 
suppletory  to  it,  repentance.  But  what 
man  can  say  that  his  obedience  has  been 
such,  as  he  would  approve  of  in  another, 
or  even  in  himself  upon  close  examination, 
or  that  his  repentance  has  not  been  such  as 
to  require  being  repented  of?  No  man  can 
be  sure  that  his  obedience  and  repentance 
will  obtain  salvation.”  Mrs.  Knowles. 
“ But  divine  intimation  of  acceptance  may 
be  made  to  the  soul.”  Johnson.  “ Mad- 
am, it  may;  but  I should  not  think  the  bet- 
ter of  a man  who  should  tell  me  on  his 
death-bed,  he  was  sure  of  salvation.  A 


man  cannot  be  sure  himself  that  he  has  ui 
vine  intimation  of  acceptance:  much  less 
can  he  make  others  sure  that  he  has  it.” 
Boswell.  “ Then,  sir,  we  must  be  con- 
tented to  acknowledge  that  death  is  a terri- 
ble thing.”  Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir.  I have 
made  no  approaches  to  a state  which  can 
look  on  it  as  not  terrible.”  Mrs.  Knowles 
(seeming  to  enjoy  a pleasing  serenity  in  the 
persuasion  of  benignant  divine  light). 
“ Does  not  St.  Paul  say,  c I have  fought 
the  good  fight  of  faith,  I have  finished  my 
course;  henceforth  is  laid  up  for  me  a crown 
of  life?’”  Johnson.  “Yes,  madam;  but 
here  was  a man  inspired,  a man  who  had 
been  converted  by  supernatural  interposi- 
tion.” Boswell.  “ In  prospect  death  is 
dreadful ; but  in  fact  we  find  that  people 
die  easy.”  Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  most 
people  have  not  thought  much  of  the  mat- 
ter, so  cannot  say  much,  and  it  is  supposed 
they  die  easy.  Few  believe  it  certain  they 
are  then  to  die ; and  those  who  do  set 
themselves  to  behave  with  resolution  3,  as  a 
man  does  who  is  going  to  be  hanged  ; — he 
is  not  the  less  unwilling  to  be  hanged.” 
Miss  Seward.  “There  is  one  mode  of 
the  fear  of  death,  which  is  certainly  absurd; 
and  that  is  the  dread  of  annihilation,  which 
is  only  a pleasing  sleep  without  a dream.” 
Johnson.  “ It  is  neither  pleasing  nor 
sleep;  it  is  nothing.  Now  mere  existence 
is  so  much  better  than  nothing,  that  one 
would  rather  exist  even  in  pain,  than  not 
exist.”  Boswell.  “ If  annihilation  be 
nothing,  then  existing  in  pain  is  not  a com- 
parative state,  but  is  a positive  evil,  which 
I cannot  think  we  should  choose.  I must 
be  allowed  to  differ  here,  and  it  would  les- 
sen the  hope  of  a future  state  founded  on 
the  argument,  that  the  Supreme  Being, 
who  is  good  as  he  is  great,  will  hereafter 
compensate  for  our  present  sufferings  in 
this  life.  For  if  existence,  such  as  we  have 
it  here,  be  comparatively  a good,  we  have 
no  reason  to  complain,  though  no  more  of 
it  should  be  given  to  us.  But  if  our  only 
state  of  existence  were  in  this  world,  then 
we  might  with  some  reason  complain  that 
we  are  so  dissatisfied  with  our  enjoyments 
compared  with  our  desires.”  Johnson. 
“ The  lady  confounds  annihilation,  which  is 
nothing,  with  the  apprehension  of  it,  which 
is  dreadful.  It  is  in  the  apprehension  of  it 
that  the  horrour  of  annihilation  consists.” 

Of  John  Wesley,  he  said,  “He  can  talk 
well  on  any  subject.”  Boswell.  “ Pray, 
sir,  what  has  he  made  of  his  story  of  a 
ghost?”  Johnson.  “Why,  sir,  he  be 
lieves  it ; but  not  on  sufficient  authority 
He  cfid  not  take  time  enough  to  examine  the 
girl.  It  was  at  Newcastle  where  the  ghosl 
was  said  to  have  appeared  to  a young  wo* 

5 [See  ante , v.  i.  p.  384,  where  Paoli  assume* 
that  they  are  thinking  of  something  else. — F ] 


1 [Mr.  Murray  was  a spirited  and  intelligent 
bookseller,  the  father  of  the  publisher  of  this  work. 
-Ed.] 

7 See  “ A letter  to  W.  Mason,  A.  M.  from  J. 
Murray,  bookseller  in  London,”  second  edition,  p 
20  — Boswell. 


1778.— .ET  AT.  69. 


171 


man  several  times,  mentioning  something 
*bout  the  right  to  an  old  house,  advising 
application  to  be  made  to  an  attorney,  which 
was  done;  and  at  the  same  time,  saying  the 
attorney  would  do  nothing,  which  proved 
to  be  the  fact.  c This,’  says  John,  c is  a 
proof  that  a ghost  knows  our  thoughts.’ 
Now,”  laughing,  “ it  is  not  necessary  to 
know  our  thoughts,  to  tell  that  an  attorney 
will  sometimes  do  nothing.  Charles  Wes- 
ley, who  is  a more  stationary  man,  does  not 
believe  the  story.  I am  sorry  that  John  did 
not  take  more  pains  to  inquire  into  the  evi- 
dence for  it.”  Miss  Seward  (with  an  in- 
credulous smile).  “What,  sir!  about  a 
ghost!”  Johnson  (with  solemn  vehe- 
mence)-. “Yes,  madam;  this  is  a question 
which,  after  five  thousand  years,  is  yet  un- 
decided; a question,  whether  in  theology  or 
philosophy,  one  of  the  most  important  that 
can  come  before  the  human  understanding.” 
Mrs.  Knowles  mentioned,  as  a proselyte 

to  Quakerism,  Miss l,  a young 

lady  well  known  to  Dr.  Johnson,  for  whom 
he  had  shown  much  affection;  while  she 
ever  had,  and  still  retained,  a great  respect 
for  him.  Mrs.  Knowles  at  the  same  time 
took  an  opportunity  of  letting  him  know 
“ that  the  amiable  young  creature  was  sor- 
ry at  finding  that  he  was  offended  at  her 
leaving  the  church  of  England,  and  embra- 
cing a simpler  faith;”  and,  in  the  gentlest 
and  most  persuasive  manner,  solicited  his 
-kind  indulgence  for  what  was  sincerely  a 
matter  of  conscience.  Johnson  (frowning 
very  angrily).  “ Madam,  she  is  an  odious 
wench.  She  could  not  have  any  proper 
conviction  that  it  was  her  duty  to  change 
her  religion,  which  is  the  most  important  of 
all  subjects,  and  should  be  studied  with  all 
care,  and  with  all  the  helps  we  can  get. 
She  knew  no  more  of  the  church  which  she 
left,  and  that  which  she  embraced,  than  she 
did  of  the  difference  between  the  Coper- 


1 [Jane  Harry  She  was  the  illegitimate  daugh- 
ter, by  a mulatto  woman,  of  what  Miss  Seward 
calls  (Lett.  1.  97)  a planter  in  the  East  Indies, 
but  in  truth  of  a West  Indian,  who  sent  her  over 
o England  for  her  education.  At  the  friend’s 
nouse  where  she  resided,  Mrs.  Knowlfes  was  a 
frequent  visiter;  and  by  degrees  she  converted 
this  inexperienced  and  probably  not  very  wise 
young  creature  to  Quakerism.  Miss  Seward, 
with  more  than  her  usual  inaccuracy,  has  made  a 
romantic  history  of  this  lady;  and,  amongst  other 
fables,  states  that  she  sacrificed  a fortune  of 
100,000/.  by  her  conscientious  conversion.  Mr. 
Markland  has  been  so  kind  as  to  put  into  the  edi- 
tor’s hands  evidence  from  a highly  respectable 
member  of  the  father’s  family,  which  proves  that 
Jane  Harry’s  fortune  was  but  1000/.;  and  so  little 
was  her  father  displeased  at  her  conversion,  that 
he  rather  approved  of  it,  and  gave  her  1000/. 
more.  So  vanishes  another  of  Miss  Seward’s  ro- 
mances.— Ed.] 


nican  and  Ptolemaick  systems.”  Mrs. 
Knowles.  “ She  had  the  New  Testament 
before  her.”  Johnson.  “ Madam,  she 
could  not  understand  the  New  Testament, 
the  most  difficult  book  in  the  world,  for 
which  the  study  of  a life  is  required.”  Mrs. 
Konwles.  “ It  is  clear  as  to  essentials  ” 
Johnson.  “ But  not  as  to  controversial 
points.  The  heathens  were  easily  convert- 
ed, because  they  had  nothing  to  give  up; 
but  we  ought  not,  without  very  strong  con 
viction  indeed,  to  desert  the  religion  in 
which  we  have  been  educated.  That  is 
the  religion  given  you,  the  religion  in  whicia 
it  may  be  said  Providence  has  placed  you. 
If  you  live  conscientiously  in  that  religion, 
you  may  be  safe.  But  errour  is  dangerous 
indeed,  if  you  err  when  you  choose  a reli- 
gion for  yourself.”  Mrs.  Knowles.  “Must 
we  then  go  by  implicit  faith?”  Johnson. 
“ Why,  madam,  the  greatest  part  of  our 
knowledge  is  implicit  faith;  and  as  to  relig- 
ion, have  we  heard  all  that  a disciple  of 
Confucius,  all  that  a Mahometan,  can  say 
for  himself?”  He  then  rose  again  into 
passion,  and  attacked  the  young  proselyte 
in  the  severest  terms  of  reproach,  so  that 
both  the  ladies  seemed  to  be  much  shocked  .2 


2 Mrs.  Knowles,  not  satisfied  with  the  fame  of 
her  needle-work,  the  “ sutile  pictures  ” mention- 
ed by  Johnson,  in  which  she  has  indeed  displayed 
much  dexterity,  nay,  with  the  fame  of  reasoning 
better  than  women  generally  do,  as  I have  fairly 
shown  her  to  have  done,  communicated  to  me  a 
dialogue  of  considerable  length,  which,  after  many 
years  had  elapsed,  she  wrote  down  as  having  pass- 
ed between  Dr.  Johnson  and  her  at  this  interview. 
As  I had  not  the  least  recollection  of  it,  and  did 
not  find  the  smallest  trace  of  it  in  my  “ record  ” 
taken  at  the  time,  I could  not,  in  consistency  with 
my  firm  regard  to  authenticity,  insert  it  in  my 
work.  It  has,  however,  been  published  in  “ The 
Gentleman’s  Magazine  ” for  June,  1791  [v.  lxi. 
p.  500].  It  chiefly  relates  to  the  principles  of 
the  sect  called  Quakers  ; and  no  doubt  the  lady 
appears  to  have  greatly  the  advantage  of  Dr. 
Johnson  in  argument,  as  well  as  expression. 
From  what  I have  now  stated,  and  from  the  in- 
ternal evidence  of  the  paper  itself,  any  one  who 
may  have  the  curiosity  to  peruse  it  will  judge 
whether  it  was  wrong  in  me  to  reject  it,  however 
willing  to  gratify  Mrs.  Knowles. — Boswell. 
[Mrs.  Knowles,  to  her  own  account  of  this  con- 
versation was  desirous  of  adding  Miss  Seward’s 
testimony;  and  Miss  Seward,  who  had  by  this 
time  become  exceedingly  hostile  to  Johnson’s 
memory,  and  was  a great  a-dmirer  of  Mrs. 
Knowles,  was  not  unwilling  to  gratify  her.  She 
accordingly  communicated  to  Mrs.  Knowles  her 
notes  of  the  conversation  (Lett.  6.  97),  which,  it 
may  be  fairly  presumed,  were  not  too  partial  to 
Johnson.  But  they  nevertheless  did  not  satisfy 
the  fair  disputant,  who,  as  Miss  Seward  complains 
(Lett.  2.  179),  was  ‘‘curiously  dissatisfied  with 
them,  because  they  did  not  contain  all  that  had 
passed,  and  as  exhibiting  her  in  a jtoor  eclipsed 


172 


177S. — ASTAT.  69. 


We  remained  together  till  it  was  pretty- 
lace.  Notwithstanding  occasional  explo- 
sions of  violence,  we  were  all  delighted  up- 
on the  whole  with  Johnson.  I compared 
him  at  this  time  to  a warm  West  Indian 
climate,  where  you  have  a bright  sun,  quick 
vegetation,  luxuriant  foliage,  luscious  fruits; 
but  where  the  same  heat  sometimes  pro- 
duces thunder,  lightning,  and  earthquakes 
in  a terrible  degree. 

April  17,  being  Good-Friday,  I waited  on 
Johnson,  as  usual.  I observed  at  breakfast 
that  although  it  was  a part  of  his  abstemi- 
ous discipline,  on  this  most  solemn  fast,  to 
take  no  milk  in  his  tea,  yet  when  Mrs.  Des- 
moulins inadvertently  poured  it  in,  he  did 
not  reject  it.  I talked  of  the  strange 
indecision  of  mind,  and  imbecility  in  the 
common  occurrences  of  life,  which  we  may 
observe  in  some  people.  Johnson.  “Why, 
sir,  I am  in  the  habit  of  getting  others  to  do 
things  for  me.”  Boswell.  “What,  sir! 
have  you  that  weakness?  ” Johnson. 
“Yes,  sir.  But  I always  think  afterwards 
I should  have  done  better  for  myself.” 


light;”  and  it  is  amusing  to  observe,  that — ex- 
cept on  the  words  “ odious  wench  ” at  the  out- 
set, in  which  all  three  accounts  agree,  and  the 
words  “ I never  desire  to  meet  fools  anywhere,” 
with  which  the  ladies  agree  that  the  conversation 
ended — there  is  little  accordance  between  them. 
Had  they  been  content  to  say  that  the  violence 
of  Johnson  was  a disagreeable  contrast  to  the  quiet 
reasoning  of  the  fair  Quaker,  they  would  proba- 
bly have  said  no  more  than  the  truth  ; but  when 
they  alfect  to  give  the  precise  dialogue  in  the  very 
words  of  the  speakers,  and  yet  do  not  agree  in 
almost  any  one  expression  or  sentiment — when 
neither  preserve  a word  of  what  Mr.  Boswell  re- 
ports— and  when  both  (but  particularly  Mrs. 
Knowles)  attribute  to  Johnson  the  poorest  and 
feeblest  trash — we  may  be  forgiven  for  rejecting 
both  as  fabulous,  and  the  rather  because  Mr.  Bos- 
well’s note  was  written  on  the  instant  (“his  cus- 
tom ever  in  the  afternoon  ”),  while  those  of  the 
ladies  seem  to  have  been  made  up  many  years 
after  the  event.  It  may  however  be  suspected 
that  Boswell  was  himself  a little  ashamed  of  John- 
son’s violence,  for  he  evidently  slurs  over  the  lat- 
ter part  of  the  conversation.  But  in  the  Doctor’s 
behalf  it  should  be  recollected  that  he  had  taken  a 
great  and  alfectionate  interest  in  this  young  crea- 
ture, who  had,  as  he  feared,  not  only  endangered 
her  spiritual  welfare,  but  offended  her  friends,  and 
forfeited  her  fortune;  and  that  he  was  forced  into 
the  discussion  by  the  very  person  by  whose  unau- 
thorized and  underhand  interference  so  much 
mischief  (as  he  considered  it)  had  been  done. — 
Long  as  this  note  is,  it  must  be  added,  that  it  ap- 
pears in  another  part  of  Miss  Seward’s  correspond- 
ence (vol.  ii.  p.  383),  that  when  a young  Quaker 
iady  married  a member  of  the  church  '-f  England, 
Mrs.  Knowles  did  not  hesitate  to  designate  her  as 
an  apostate,  although  she  had  not  quitted 
bcr  sect,  but  otfly  married  one  who  did  not 
beiai^g  to  it. — I'd.] 


I told  him  that  at  a gent.eman’s  house 
where  there  was  thought  to  be  such  extra 
vagance  or  had  management,  that  he  was 
living  much  beyond  his  income,  his  lady  1 
had  objected  to  the  cutting  of  a pickled 
mango,  and  that  I had  taken  an  opportunity 
to  ask  the  price  of  it,  and  found  it  was  only 
two  shillings;  so  here  was  a very  poor  sav 
ing.  Johnson.  “ Sir,  that  is  the  blunder 
ing  economy  of  a narrow  understanding. 
It  is  stopping  one  hole  in  a sieve.” 

1 expressed  some  inclination  to  publish 
an  account  of  my  travels  upon  the  conti 
nent  of  Europe,  for  which  I had  a variety 
of  materials  collected.  Johnson.  “ I do 
not  say,  sir,  you  may  not  publish  your  trav- 
els; but  I give  you  my  opinion,  that  you 
would  lessen  yourself  by  it.  What  can  you 
tell  of  countries  so  well  known  as  those  up- 
on the  continent  of  Europe,  which  you  have 
visited?”  Boswell.  “But  I can  give 
an  entertaining  narrative,  with  many  inci- 
dents, anecdotes,  jeux  d’  esprit,  and  re- 
marks, so  as  to  make  very  pleasant  read- 
ing.” Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  most  mod- 
ern travellers  in  Europe  who  have  publish- 
ed their  travels  have  been  laughed  at:  I 
would  not  have  you  added  to  the  number2. 
The  world  is  now  not  contented  to  be  mere 
ly  entertained  by  a traveller’s  narrative; 
they  want  to  learn  something.  Now  som? 
of  my  friends  asked  me,  why  I did  not  givt 
some  account  of  my  travels  in  France. 
The  reason  is  plain;  intelligent,  readers  had 
seen  more  of  France  than  I had.  You 
might  have  liked  my  travels  in  France,  and 
The  Club  might  have  liked  them;  but, 
upon  the  whole,  there  would  have  been 
more  ridicule  than  good  produced  by  them.” 
Boswell.  “ I cannot  agree  with  you,  sir. 
People  would  like  to  read  what  you  say  of 
any  thing.  Suppose  a face  has  been  paint- 
ed by  fifty  painters  before;  still  we  love  to 


1 [We  learn  from  Miss  Hawkins  {Mem.  ii. 
282),  what  might  have  been  guessed  from  several 
other  passages,  that  the  gentleman  and  lady  here 
alluded  to  were  Mr.  Langton  and  Lady  Rothes. 
She  goes  on  to  say,  that  “ the  anecdote  not  hav- 
ing a shadow  of  truth  in  it  but  the  presence  of  the 
mango  at* table,  Lady  Rothes,  who  knew  the  slan- 
der to  be  aimed  at  herself,  asked  Boswell  how  he 
could  put  together  such  a falsity.  He  replied, 
affecting  the  tone  of  Johnson,  ‘ Why,  madam,  it 
is  no  more  than  is  done  by  landscape  painters  • 
the  landscape  is  from  nature,  and  they  put  a tree 
in  the  foreground  as  an  embellishment.’  ” As 
Miss  Hawkins  could  have  heard  Boswell’s  con- 
fession only  at  second-hand,  we  may,  without 
<iuestioning  her  veracity,  be  permitted  to  disbe- 
lieve it  altogether.  Boswell  never  could  have 
made  any  such  admission. — Ed.] 

2 I believe,  however,  I shall  follow  my  own 
opinion;  for  the  world  has  shown  a very  flattering 
partiality  to  my  writings,  on  many  occasions. — 
Boswell. 


1778. — iETAT.  69. 


173 


see  it  done  by  Sir  Joshua.”  Johnson. 
££  Ti;ue,  sir;  but  Sir  Joshua  cannot  paint  a 
face  when  he  has  not  time  to  look  on  it.” 
Boswell.  ££  Sir,  a sketch  of  any  sort  by 
him  is  valuable.  And,  sir,  to  talk  to  you  in 
your  own  style  (raising  my  voice,  and 
shaking  my  head),  you  should  have  given 
us  your  travels  in  France.  I am  sure  I am 
right,  and  there  ’ s an  end  on  ’ t .” 

I said  to  him  that  it  was  certainly  true, 
as  my  friend  Dempster  had  observed  in  his 
letter  to  me  upon  the  subject,  that  a great 
part  of  what  was  in  his  “ Journey  to  the 
Western  Islands  of  Scotland  ” had  been  in 
his  mind  before  he  left  London.  Johnson. 
<£  Why,  yes,  sir,  the  topicks  were;  and 
books  of  travels  will  be  good  in  proportion 
to  what  a man  has  previously  in  his  mind; 
his  knowing  what  to  observe;  his  power  of 
contrasting  one  mode  of  life  with  another. 
As  the  Spanish  proverb  says,  c He  who 
would  bring  home  the  wealth  of  the  Indies 
must  carry  the  wealth  of  the  Indies  with 
him.’  So  it  is  in  travelling;  a man  must 
carry  knowledge  with  him,  if  he  would 
bring  home  knowledge.”  Boswell.  “The 
proverb,  I suppose,  sir,  means,  he  must  car- 
ry a large  stock  with  him  to  trade  with.” 
Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir.” 

It  was  a delightful  day;  as  we  walked  to 
St.  Clement’s  church,  I again  remarked 
that  Fleet-street  was  the  most  cheerful 
scene  in  the  world.  tc  Fleet-street,”  said 
I,  cc  is  in  my  mind  more  delightful  than 
Tempe.”  Johnson.  “ Ay,  sir,  but  let  it 
be  compared  with  Mul! ! ” 

There  was  a very  numerous  congrega- 
tion to-day  at  St.  Clement’s  church,  which 
Dr.  Johnson  said  he  observed  with  plea- 
sure. 

And  now  I am  to  give  a pretty  full  ac- 
count of  one  of  the  most  curious  incidents 
in  Johnson’s  life,  of  which  he  himself  has 
made  the  following  minute  on  this  day: 

££In  my  return  from  church,  I was  ac- 
costed by  Edwards  *,  an  old  fellow-collegian, 
who  had  not  seen  me  since  1729 2.  He 
knew  me,  and  asked  if  I remembered  one 
Edwards;  I did  not  at  first  recollect  the 
name,  but  gradually,  as  we  walked  along, 
recovered  it,  and  told  him  a conversation 
that  had  passed  at  an  alehouse  between  us. 
My  purpose  is  to  continue  our  acquaint- 
ance.” 

It  was  in  Butcher-row  that  this  meeting 


1 [Oliver  Edwards  entered  at  Pembroke  College 
only  in  June,  1729,  so  that  he  and  Johnson  could 
not  have  been  long  acquainted. — Hall.] 

2 [This  deliberate  assertion  of  Johnson,  that  he 
had  not  seen  Edwards  since  1729,  is  a confirma- 
tion of  the  opinion  derived  by  Dr.  Hall  from  the 
dates  in  the  college  books,  that  Johnson  did  not 
return  to  Pembroke  College  after  Christmas,  1729 
— an  important  fact  in  his  early  history.  See 
ante,  vol  i.  p.  27,  n. — Ed.] 


happened.  Mr.  Edwards,  who  was  a de- 
cent-looking, elderly  man,  in  gray  clothes, 
and  a wig  of  many  curls,  accosted  Johnson 
with  familiar  confidence,  knowing  who  lie 
was,  while  Johnson  returned  his  salutation 
with  a courteous  formality,  as  to  a stranger. 
But  as  soon  as  Edwards  had  brought  to  his 
recollection  their  having  been  at  Pembroke 
College  together  nine-and-forty  years  ago 
he  seemed  much  pleased,  asked  where  he 
lived,  and  said  he  should  be  glad  to  see  him 
in  Bolt-court.  Edwards.  ££  Ah,  sir!  we 
are  old  men  now.”  Johnson  (who  never 
liked  to  think  of  being  old).  “Don’t  let 
us  discourage  one  another.”  Edwards. 
££  Why,  Doctor,  you  look  stout  and  hearty. 
I am  happy  to  see  you  so;  for  the  newspa- 
pers told  us  you  were  very  ill.”  Johnson. 
££  Ay,  sir,  they  are  always  telling  lies  of  us 
old  fellows .” 

Wishing  to  be  present  at  more  of  so  sin- 
gular a conversation  as  that  between  two 
fellow-collegians,  who  had  lived  forty  year^ 
in  London  without  ever  having  chanced  to 
meet,  I whispered  to  Mr.  Edwards  that  Dr. 
Johnson  was  going  home,  and  that  he  had 
better  accompany  him  now.  So  Edwards 
walked  along  with  us,  1 eagerly  assisting  to 
keep  up  the  conversation.  Mr.  Edwards 
informed  Dr.  Johnson  that  he  had  prac- 
tised long  as  a solicitor  in  Chancery,  but 
that  he  now  lived  in  the  country  upon  a lit- 
tle farm,  about  sixty  acres,  just  by  Steven- 
age, in  Hertfordshire,  and  that  he  came  to 
London  (to  Barnard’s  Inn,  No.  6)  general- 
ly twice  a week.  Johnson  appearing  to  be 
in  a reverie,  Mr.  Edwards  addressed  him- 
self to  me,  and  expatiated  on  the  pleasure 
of  living  in  the  country.  Boswell.  ££  I 
have  no  notion  of  this,  sir.  What  you 
have  to  entertain  you  is,  I think,  exhausted 
in  half  an  hour.”  Edwards.  ££What! 
do  n’t  you  love  to  have  hope  realised  ? I see 
my  grass,  and  my  corn,  and  my  trees  grow- 
ing. Now,  for  instance,  I am  curious  to 
see  if  this  frost  has  not  nipped  my  fruit 
trees.”  Johnson  (who  we  did  not  imagine 
was  attending).  “ You  find,  sir,  you  have 
fears  as  well  as  hopes.”  So  well  did  he  see 
the  whole,  when  another  saw  but  the  half 
of  a subject 3. 

When  we  got  to  Dr.  Johnson’s  house, 
and  were  seated  in  his  library,  the  dialogue 
went  on  admirably.  Edwards.  “Sir,  I 
remember  you  would  not  let  us  say  prodi- 
gious at  college.  For  even  then,  sir  (turn- 
ing to  me),  he  was  delicate  in  language, 
and  we  all  feared  him4.”  Johnson  (to 
Edwards).  “From  your  having  practised 

3 [Nay,  not  so.  The  question  raised  was  the 
want  of  interest  in  a country  life;  and  the  fear 
was,  therefcre,  as  good  as  the  hope. — Ed.] 

4 Johnson  said  to  me  afterwards,  “ Sir,  they 
respected  me  for  my  literature;  and  yet  it  was 
not  great  but  by  comparison.  Sir,  it  is  amazing 


174 


1778. — /ETAT.  69 


the  law  long,  sir,  I presume  you  must  be 
rich.”  Edwards.  “No,  sir;  I got  a good 
deal  of  money ; but  I had  a number  of  poor 
relations  to  whom  I gave  a great  part  of 
it.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  you  have  been  rich 
in  tne  most  valuable  sense  of  the  word.” 
Edwards.  “But  I shall  not  die  rich.” 
Johnson.  “Nay,  sure,  sir, it  is  better  to 
live  rich  than  to  die  rich.”  Edwards.  “ I 
wish  I had  continued  at  college.”  John- 
son. “ Why  do  you  wish  that,  sir?  ” Ed- 
wards. “ Because  I think  I should  have 
had  a much  easier  life  than  mine  has  been. 
I should  have  been  a parson,  and  had  a 
good  living,  like  Bloxam*  1 2 and  several  oth- 
ers, and  lived  comfortably.”  Johnson. 
“ Sir,  the  life  of  a parson,  of  a conscien- 
tious clergyman,  is  not  easy.  I have  al- 
ways considered  a clergyman  as  the  father 
of  a larger  family  than  he  is  able  to  main- 
tain. I would  rather  have  Chancery  suits 
upon  my  hands  than  the  cure  of  souls.  No, 
sir,  I do  not  envy  a clergyman’s  life  as  an 
easy  life,  nor  do  I envy  the  clergyman  who 
makes  it  an  easy  life.”  Here  taking  him- 
self up  all  of  a sudden,  he  exclaimed,  “ O ! 
Mr.  Edwards,  I ’ll  convince  you  that  I re- 
eollect  you.  Do  you  remember  our  drink- 
ing together  at  an  alehouse  near  Pembroke- 
gate?  At  that  time,  you  told  me  of  the 
Eton  boy,  who,  when  verses  on  our  Sa- 
viour’s turning  water  into  wine  were  pre- 
scribed as  an  exercise,  brought  up  a single 
line,  which  was  highly  admired : 

* Vidit  et  erubuit  lympha  pudica  Deum  * ; 5 
and  I told  you  of  another  fine  line  in c Cam- 
den’s Remains;  ’ an  eulogy  upon  one  of  our 
kings,  who  was  succeeded  by  his  son,  a 
prince  of  equal  merit  : 

* Mira  cano,  Sol  occubuit,  nox  nulla  secuta  est.’  ” 

Edwards.  “ You  are  a philosopher, 

how  little  literature  there  is  in  the  world.” — Bos- 
well. 

1 [Matthew  Bloxam  entered  at  Pembroke  Col- 
lege, March  25,  1729  ; M.  A.,  July,  1735.— 
Hall.] 

2 This  line  has  frequently  been  attributed  to 
Dryden,  when  a King’s  scholar  at  Westminster. 
But  neither  Eton  nor  Westminster  have  in  truth 
any  claim  to  it,  tlfc  line  being  borrowed,  with  a 
slight  change  (as  Mr.  Bindley  has  observed  to 
me),  from  an  epigram  by  Richard  Crashaw, 
which  was  published  in  his  “ E'pigrammata 
Sacra,”  first  printed  at  Cambridge,  without  the 
authour’s  name,  in  1634,  8vo.  The  original  is 
much  more  elegant  than  the  copy,  the  water  being 
personified,  and  the  word  on  which  the  point  of 
the  epigram  turns,  being  reserved  to  the  close  of 
the  line: 

“ Joann.  2. 

Aqii*  in  vinum  vers®. 

Unde  rubor  vestris  ei  non  sua  purpura  lymphis? 

Quae  rosa  mirantes  tam  nova  mutal  aquas? 

Numen,  convivae,  prsesens  agnoscite  numen, 

Nympha  pudica  Deum  vidit,  et  eruluit .” — Malone. 


Dr.  Johnson.  I have  tried  too  in  my  time 
to  be  a philosopher;  but,  I do  n’t  know  how, 
cheerfulness  was  always  breaking  in.”  Mr. 
Burke,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Mr.  Courte- 
nay, Mr.  Malone,  and,  indeed,  all  the  emi- 
nent men  to  whom  I have  mentioned  this, 
have  thought  it  an  exquisite  trait  of  char- 
acter. The  truth  is,  that  philosophy,  like 
religion,  is  too  generally  supposed  to  be 
hard  and  severe,  at  least  so  grave  as  to  ex- 
clude all  gaiety. 

Edwards.  r‘  I have  been  twice  married, 
Doctor.  You,  I suppose,  have  never  known 
what  it  was  to  have  a wife.”  Johnson. 
“ Sir,  I have  known  what  it  was  to  have  a 
wife,  and  (in  a solemn,  tender,  faltering 
tone)  I have  known  what  it  was  to  lose  a 
wife.  It  had  almost  broke  my  heart.” 

Edwards.  “ How  do  you  live,  sir  r 
For  my  part,  I must  have  my  regular  meals, 
and  a glass  of  good  wine.  I find  I require 
it.”  Johnson.  “ I now  drink  no  wine, 
sir.  Early  in  life  I drank  wine;  for  many 
years  I drank  none.  I then  for  some  years 
drank  a great  deai.”  Edwards.  “ Some 
hogsheads,  I warrant  you.”  Johnson.  “ I 
then  had  a severe  illness,  and  left  it  off,  and 
I have  never  begun  it  again.  I never  felt 
any  difference  upon  myself  from  eating  one 
thing  rather  than  another,  nor  from  one 
kind  of  weather  rather  than  another.  There 
are  people,  I believe,  who  feel  a difference; 
but  I am  notone  of  them.  And  as  to  regu- 
lar meals,  I have  fasted  from  the  Sunday’s 
dinner  to  the  Tuesday’s  dinner  without  any 
inconvenience.  I believe  it  is  best  to  eat 
just  as  one  is  hungry:  but  a man  who  is  in 
business,  or  a man  who  has  a family,  must 
have  stated  meals:  I am  a straggler.  I 

may  leave  this  town  and  go  to  Grand  Cairo, 
without  being  missed  here,  or  observed 
there.”  Edwards.  “ Do  n’t  you  eat  sup- 
per, sir  ? ” Johnson.  “ No,  sir.”  Ed 
wards.  “For  my  part,  now,  I consider 
supper  as  a turnpike  through  which  one 
must  pass  in  order  to  get  to  bed  3.” 

Johnson.  “You  are  a lawyer,  Mr.  Ed- 
wards. Lawyers  know  life  practically.  A 
bookish  man  should  always  have  them  to 
converse  with.  They  have  what  he  wants.” 
Edwards.  “ I am  grown  old:  I am  sixty- 
five.”  Johnson.  “ I shall  be  sixty-eight 
next  birth-day.  Come,  sir,  drink  water, 
and  put  in  for  a hundred.” 

Mr.  Edwards  mentioned  a gentleman4 
who  had  left  his  whole  fortune  to  Pembroke 
College.  Johnson.  “Whether  to  leave 

3 I am  not  absolutely  sure  but  this  was  my  own 
suggestion,  though  it  is  truly  in  the  character  of 
Edwards. — Boswell. 

4 [This  must  have  been  the  Rev.  James  Phipps 
who  had  been  a scholar  of  Pembroke,  and  who 
in  1773,  left  his  estates  to  the  college  to  purchase 
livings  for  a particular  foundation,  and  for  othei 
purposes. — II  all.  ] 


1778. — ^ETAT.  69. 


175 


one’s  whole  fortune  to  a college  be  right, 
must  depend  upon  circumstances.  I would 
leave  the  interest  of  the  fortune  I bequeath- 
ed to  a college  to  my  relations  or  my  friends, 
for  their  lives.  It  is  the  same  thing  to  a 
college,  which  is  a permanent  society, 
whether  it  gets  the  money  now  or  twenty 
years  hence;  and  I would  wish  to  make  my 
relations  or  friends  feel  the  benefit  of  it.” 

This  interview  confirmed  my  opinion  of 
Johnson’s  most  humane  and  benevolent 
heart.  His  cordial  and  placid  behaviour 
to  an  old  fellow  collegian,  a man  so  differ- 
ent from  himself;  and  his  telling  him  that 
he  would  go  down  to  his  farm  and  visit  him, 
showed  a kindness  of  disposition  very  rare 
at  an  advanced  age.  He  observed,  “ how 
wonderful  it  was  that  they  had  both  been 
in  London  forty  years,  without  having  ever 
once  met,  and  both  walkers  in  the  street 
too  ! ” Mr.  Edwards,  when  going  away, 
again  recurred  to  his  consciousness  of  sen- 
ility, and,  looking  full  in  Johnson’s  face, 
said  to  him,  “ You  ’ll  find  in  Dr.  Young, 

* O my  coevals!  remnants  of  yourselves.’  ” 

Johnson  did  not  relish  this  at  all;  but  shook 
his  head  with  impatience.  Edwards  walk- 
ed off  seemingly  highly  pleased  with  the 
honour  of  having  been  thus  noticed  by  Dr. 
Johnson.  When  he  was  gone,  I said  to 
Johnson,  I thought  him  but  a weak  man. 
Johnson.  ££  Why,  yes,  sir.  Here  is  a man 
who  has  passed  through  life  without  expe- 
rience: yet  I would  rather  have  him  with 
me  than  a more  sensible  man  who  will  not 
talk  readily.  This  man  is  always  willing  to 
say  what  he  has  to  say.”  Yet  Dr.  Johnson  had 
himself  by  no  means  that  willingness  which 
he  praised  so  much,  and  I think  so  justly: 
for  who  has  not  felt  the  painful  effect  of  the 
dreary  void,  when  there  is  a total  silence  in 
a company,  for  any  length  of  time;  or, 
which  is  as  bad,  or  perhaps  worse,  when  the 
conversation  is  with  difficulty  kept  up  by  a 
perpetual  effort  ? 

Johnson  once  observed  to  me,  “ Tom 
Tyers  described  me  the  best : £ Sir,’  said  he, 

• you  are  like  a ghost:  you  never  speak  till 
you  are  spoken  to ” 

Mr.  Edwards  had  said  to  me  aside,  that 
Dr.  Johnson  should  have  been  of  a profes- 
sion. I repeated  the  remark  to  Johnson, 
that  I might  have  his  own  thoughts  on  the 
subject.  Johnson.  u Sir,  it  would  have 
Deen  better  that  I had  been  of  a profession. 

ought  to  have  been  a lawyer.”  Boswell. 
“ I do  not  think,  sir,  it  would  have  been 
better,  for  we  should  not  have  had  the  Eng- 
lsh  Dictionary.”  Johnson.  “ But  you 
would  have  had  Reports.”  Boswell. 
£ Ay;  but  there  would  not  have  been  another 


1 [Here  followed  the  account  of  Mr.  Tyers, 
low  transferred  to  v.  i.  p.  136. — Ed.] 


who  could  have  written  the  Dictionary. 
There  have  been  many  very  good  judges. 
Suppose  you  had  been  lord  chancellor;  you 
would  have  delivered  opinions  with  more 
extent  of  mind,  and  in  a more  ornamented 
manner,  than  perhaps  any  chancellor  ever 
did,  or  ever  will  do.  But,  I believe,  causes 
have  been  as  judiciously  decided  as  you 
could  have  done.”  Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir 
Property  has  been  as  well  settled.” 

Johnson,,  however,  had  a noble  ambition 
floating  in  his  mind,  and  had,  undoubtedly, 
often  speculated  on  the  possibility  of  his  su- 
pereminent  powers  being  rewarded  in  this 
great  and  liberal  country  by  the  highest 
honours  of  the  state.  Sir  William  Scott  in- 
forms me, ’that  upon  the  death  of  the  late 
Lord  Lichfield,  who  was  chancellor  of  the 
University  of  Oxford,  he  said  to  Johnson, 
££  What  a pity  it  is,  sir,  that  you  did  not 
follow  the  profession  of  the  law  ! You 
might  have  been  lord  chancellor  of  Great 
Britain,  and  attained  to  the  dignity  of  the 
peerage;  and  now  that  the  title  of  Lichfield, 
your  native  city,  is  extinct,  you  might  have 
had  it.”  Johnson,  upon  this,  seemed  much 
agitated;  and,  in  an  angry  tone,  exclaimed, 
££  Why  will  you  vex  me  by  suggesting  this, 
when  it  is  too  late  ? ” 

But  he  did  not  repine  at  the  prosperity 
of  others.  The  late  Dr.  Thomas  Leland 
told  Mr.  Courtenay  that  when  Mr.  Ed- 
mund Burke  showed  Johnson  his  fine  house 
and  lands  near  Beaconsfield,  Johnson  cool- 
ly said,  ££  Non  equidem  invideo  ; miror 
magis^” 

2 I am  not  entirely  without  suspicion  that  John- 
son may  have  felt  a little  momentary  envy;  for 
no  man  loved  the  good  things  of  this  life  better 
than  he  did;  and  he  could  not  but  be  conscious 
that  he  deserved  a much  larger  share  of  them  than 
he  ever  had.  I attempted  in  a newspaper  to  com- 
ment on  the  above  passage  in  the  manner  of  War- 
burton,  who  must  be  allowed  to  have 'shown 
uncommon  ingenuity,  in  giving  to  any  authour’s 
text  whatever  meaning  he  chose  it  should 
carry.  As  this  imitation  may  amuse  my  readers, 
I shall  here  introduce  it:  “No  saying  of  Dr. 
Johnson’s  has  been  more  misunderstood  than  his 
applying  to  Mr.  Burke  when  he  first  saw  him 
at  his  fine  place  at  Beaconsfield,  Non  equidem 
invidco ; miror  magis.  These  two  celebrated 
men  had  been  friends  for  ma*ny  years  before  Mr. 
Burke  entered  on  his  parliamentary  career.  They 
were  both  writers,  both  members  of  The  Lite- 
rary Club;  when,  therefore,  Dr.  Johnson  saw 
Mr  Burke  in  a situation  so  much  more  splendid 
than  that  to  which  he  himself  had  attained,  he 
did  not  mean  to  express  that  he  thought  it  a dis- 
proportionate prosperity;  but  while  he,  as  a phi- 
losopher, asserted  an  exemption  from  envy , non 
equidem  invideo,  he  went  on  in  the  words  of  the 
poet,  miror  magis;  thereby  signifying,  either 
that  he  was  occupied  in  admiring  what  he  was 
glad  to  see,  or,  perhaps,  that,  considering  the 
general  lot  of  men  of  superiour  abilities,  h« 


176 


1778. — A2TAT.  69. 


let  no  man  had  a higher  notion  of  the 
dignity  of  literature  than  Johnson,  or  was 
more  determined  in  maintaining  the  respect 
which  he  justly  considered  as  due  to  it. 
Of  this,  besides  the  general  tenor  of  his  con- 
duct in  society,  some  characteristical  in- 
stances may  be  mentioned. 

He  told  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  that  once 
when  he  dined  in  a numerous  company  of 
booksellers,  where  the  room,  being  small, 
the  head  of  the  table,  at  which  he  sat,  was 
almost  close  to  the  fire,  he  persevered  in 
suffering  a great  deal  of  inconvenience  from 
the  heat,  rather  than  quit  his  place,  and  let 
one  of  them  sit  above  him. 

Goldsmith,  in  his  diverting  simplicity, 
complained  one  day,  in  a mixed*  company, 
of  Lord  Camden.  “ I met  him,”  said  he, 
“at  Lord  Clare’s 1 house  in  the  country, 
and  he  took  no  more  notice  of  me  than  if  I 
had  been  an  ordinary  man.”  The  compa- 
ny having  laughed  heartily,  Johnson  stood 
forth  in  defence  of  his  friend.  “ Nay,  gen- 
tlemen,” said  he,  “Dr.  Goldsmith  is  in  the 
right.  A nobleman  ought  to  have  made  up 
to  such  a man  as  Goldsmith;  and  I think  it 
is  much  against  Lord  Camden  that  he  neg- 
lected him  ” 

Nor  could  he  patiently  endure  to  hear, 
that  such  respect  as  he  thought  due  only  to 
higher  intellectual  qualities  should  be  be- 
stowed on  men  of  slighter,  though  perhaps 
more  amusing,  talents.  I told  him,  that 
one  morning,  when  I went  to  breakfast  with 
Garrick,  who  was  very  vain  of  his  intimacy 
with  Lord  Camden,  he  accosted  me  thus: 
“ Pray  now,  did  you — did  you  meet  a little 
lawyer  turning  the  corner,  eh?”  “No, 
sir,”  said  I “ Pray  what  do  you  mean  by 
the  question  ? ” “ Why,”  replied  Garrick, 

with  an  affected  indifference,  yet,  as  if 
standing  on  tip-toe,  “ Lord  Camden  has 
this  moment  left  me.  We  have  had  a long 
walk  together.”  Johnson.  “Well,  sir, 
Garrick  talked  very  properly.  Lord  Cam- 
den was  a little  lawyer  to  be  associating  so 
familiarly  with  a player.” 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  observed,  with 
great  truth,  that  Johnson  considered  Gar- 
rick to  be  as  it  were  his  property.  He 
would  allow  no  man  either  to  blame  or  tO\ 
praise  Garrick  in  his  presence,  without  con- 
tradicting him  2. 


wondered  that  Fortune,  who  is  represented  as 
blind,  should,  in  this  instance,  have  been  so  just.’' 
— Boswell. 

1 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  273,  n — Ed.] 

‘2  [Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  wrote  two  dialogues, 
in  illustration  of  this  position,  in  tne  first  of  which 
Johnson  attacks  Garrick  in  opposition  to  Sir 
Joshua,  and  in  the  other  defends  him  against 
Gibbon.  They  were  originally  published  in  a 
periodical  work,  but  are  preserved  in  Miss  Haw- 
kins's Memoirs , v.  ri.  p.  110.  Lord  Famborough 
has  obligingly  communicated  to  the  Editor  the  evi- 


Having  fallen  into  a very  serious  fraraa 
of  mind,  in  which  mutual  expressions  of 
kindness  passed  between  us,  such  as  would 
be  thought  too  vain  in  me  to  repeat,  I talk- 
ed with  regret  of  the  sad  inevitable  certain- 
ty that  one  of  us  must  survive  the  other. 
Johnson.  “Yes,  sir,  that  is  an  affecting 
consideration.  I remember  Swift,  in  one 
of  his  letters  to  Pope,  says,  ‘ I intend  to 
come  over,  that  we  may  meet  once  more; 
and  when  we  must  part,  it  is  what  happens 
to  all  human  beings.’  ” Boswell.  “ The 
hope  that  we  shall  see  our  departed  friends 
again  must  support  the  mind.”  Johnson. 
“Why,  yes,  sir3.”  Boswell  “There 
is  a strange  unwillingness  to  part  with  life, 
independent  of  serious  fears  as  to  futurity. 
A reverend  friend  of  ours  4 (naming  him) 
tells  me,  that  he  feels  an  uneasiness  at  the 
thoughts  of  leaving  his  house,  his  study,  his 
books.”  Johnson.  “ This  is  foolish  in  *****. 
A man  need  not  be  uneasy  on  these  grounds : 
for,  as  he  will  retain  his  consciousness,  he 
may  say  with  the  philosopher,  Omnia  mea 
mecum  porto .”  Boswell.  “True,  sir: 
we  may  carry  our  books  in  our  heads;  but 
still  there  is  something  painful  in  the  thought 
of  leaving  for  ever  what  has  given  us  plea- 
sure. I remember,  many  years  ago,  when 
my  imagination  was  warm,  and  I happened 
to  be  in  a melancholy  mood,  it  distressed  me 
to  think  of  going  into  a state  of  being  in 
which  Shakspeare’s  poetry  did  not  exist. 
A lady,  who  I then  much  admired,  a very 
amiable  woman,  humoured  my  fancy,  and 
relieved  me  by  saying,  { The  first  thing  you 
will  meet  with  in  the  other  world  will  be  an 
elegant  copy  of  Shakspeare’s  works  present- 
to  you.’  ” Dr.  Johnson  smiled  5 benignant- 
ly  at  this,  and  did  not  appear  to  disapprove 
of  the  notion. 

[Knowing  the  state  0/  Dr.  John- 
son’s nerves,  and  how  easi’ly  they 
were  affected,  Mrs.  Piozzi  forbore 
reacting  in  a new  magazine,  one  day,  the 
death  of  a Samuel  Johnson  who  expired 
that  month;  but  he,  snatching  up  the  book, 
saw  it  himself,  and,  contrary  to  her  expec- 
tation, only  said,  “ Oh!  I hope  death  will 
now  be  glutted  with  Sam  Johnsons,  and  let 
me  alone  for  some  time  to  come:  I read  of 
another  namesake’s  departure  last  week.”] 

We  went  to  St.  Clement’s  church  again 


dence  of  the  late  Sir  George  Beaumont  (who  had 

received  copies  of  them  from  Sir  Joshua  himself), 
both  of  their  authenticity  and  of  their  correct  imita- 
tion of  Johnson’s  style  of  conversation,  and  the 
Editor  has  therefore  given  them  a place  in  the  Ap- 
pendix.— Ed.] 

3 See  on  the  same  subject,  vol.  i.  p.  287. — 
Malone. 

4 [Dr.  Percy. — Ed.] 

5 [Dr.  Johnson  might  well  smile  at  such  a 
distress  of  mind,  and  at  the  argument  b)  which 
it  was  relieved. — Ed.] 


1778  — iETAT.  69. 


17  ‘ 


n the  afternoon,  and  then  returned  and 
drank  tea  and  coffee  in  Mrs.  Williams’s 
room;  Mrs.  Desmoulins  doing  the  honours 
of  the  tea-table.  I observed  that  he  would 
not  even  look  at  a proof-sheet  of  his  “ Life 
of  Waller  ” on  Good-Friday. 

jyir.  Allen,  the  printer,  brought  a book  on 
agriculture,  which  was  printed,  and  was 
soon  to  be  published1.  It  was  a very 
strange  performance,  the  authour  having 
mixed  in  it  his  own  thoughts  upon  various 
topicks,  along  with  his  remarks  on  plough- 
ing, sowing,  and  other  farming  operations. 
He  seemed  to  be  an  absurd  profane  fellow, 
and  had  introduced  in  his  books  many  sneers 
at  religion,  with  equal  ignorance  and  con- 
ceit. Dr.  Johnson  permitted  me  to  read 
some  passages  aloud.  One  was  that  he  re- 
solved to  work  on  Sunday,  and  did  work, 
but  he  owned  he  felt  some  weak  compunc- 
tion; and  he  had  this  very  curious  reflection : 

“ I was  born  in  the  wilds  of  Christianity, 
and  the  briers  and  thorns  still  hang  about 
me.”  Dr.  Johnson  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing at  this  ridiculous  image,  yet  was  very 
angry  at  the  fellow’s  impiety.  c ‘ However,” 
said  he,  “ the  reviewers  will  make  him  hang 
himself.”  He,  however,  observed,  “ that 
formerly  there  might  have  been  a dispensa- 
tion obtained  for  working  on  Sunday  in  the 
time  of  harvest.”  Indeed  in  ritual  obseiv- 
ances,  were  all  the  ministers  of  religion 
what  they  should  be,  and  what  many  of 
them  are,  such  a power  might  be  wisely  and 
safely  lodged  with  the  church. 

On  Saturday,  18th  April,  I drank  tea 
with  him.  He  praised  the  late  Mr.  Dun- 
combe  2,  of  Canterbury,  as  a pleasing  man. 
“ He  used  to  come  to  me;  I did  not  seek 
much  after  him.  Indeed  I never  sought 
much  after  any  body.”  Boswell.  “Lord 
Orrery,  I suppose.”  Johnson.  “ No,  sir; 

I never  went  to  him  but  when  he  sent  for 
me.”  Boswell.  “Richardson?”  Johnson. 
“Yes,  sir:  but  I sought  after  George  Psal- 
manazar  the  most.  I used  to  go  and  sit 
with  him  at  an  ale-house  in  the  city.” 

Piozzi,  [When  Mrs.  Piozzi  asked  Dr. 
P; 13*,  Johnson  who  was  the  best  man  he 
had  ever  known?  “ Psalmanazar  ” 
was  the  unexpected  reply.  He  said,  like- 
wise, “ that  though  a native  of  France,  as 
his  friend  imagined,  he  possessed  more  of 
the  English  language  than  any  other  for- 
eigner who  had  fallen  in  his  way.”  Though 
there  was  much  esteem,  however,  there  was 
I believe  but  little  confidence  between  them; 
they  conversed  merely  about  general  topics, 
religion  and  learning,  of  which  both  were 


1 [Marshall’s  “ Minutes  of  Agriculture.” — Ed.] 

2 [William  Duncombe,  Esq.  He  married  the 
sister  of  John  Hughes,  the  poet;  was  the  authour 
of  two  tragedies,  and  other  ingenious  productions; 
and  died  26th  Feb.  1769,  aged  79. — Malone. 

II.  23 


undoubtedly  stupendous  examples;  and 
with  regard  to  true  Christian  perfection, 
have  heard  Johnson  say,  “ That  Georg 
Psalmanazar’s  piety,  penitence,  and  virtue, 
exceeded  almost  what  we  read  as  wonderful 
even  in  the  lives  of  saints.” 

This  extraordinary  person  lived  and  died 
at  a house  in  Old-street,  where  Dr.  John- 
son was  witness  to  his  talents  and  virtues, 
and  to  his  final  preference  of  the  church  of 
England,  after  having  studied,  disgraced, 
and  adorned  so  many  modes  of  worship. 
The  name  he  went  by  was  not  supposed  by 
his  friend  to  be  that  of  his  family;  but  all 
inquiries  were  vain;  his  reasons  for  conceal- 
ing his  original  were  penitentiary;  he  de- 
served no  other  name  than  that  of  the  Im- 
postor, he  said.  That  portion  of  the  Uni- 
versal History  which  was  written  by  him 
does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  composed  with 
peculiar  spirit;  but  all  traces  of  the  wit  and 
the  wanderer  were  probably  worn  out  be- 
fore he  undertook  the  work.  His  pious  and 
patient  endurance  of  a tedious  illness,  end 
ing  in  an  exemplary  death,  confirmed  tin 
strong  impression  his  merit  had  made  upon 
the  mind  of  Dr.  Johnson.] 

He  had  never,  he  said,  seen  the  Hawk 
close  of  the  life  of  any  one  that  he  Apoph. 
wished  so  much  his  own  to  resem-  p‘  206‘ 
ble,  as  that  of  Psalmanazar,  for  its  purity  and 
devotion.  He  told  many  anecdotes  of  him; 
and  said,  he  was  supposed,  by  his  accent, 
to  have  been  a Gascon;  but  that  he  spoke 
English  with  the  city  accent,  and  coarse 
enough.  He  for  some  years  spent  his  even- 
ings at  a publick-house  near  Old-street, 
where  many  persons  went  to  talk  with  him. 
When  Dr.  Johnson  was  asked  whether  he 
ever  contradicted  Psalmanazar;  “ I should 
as  soon,”  said,  “ have  thought  of  contra- 
dicting a bishop : ” so  high  did  he  hold  his 
character  in  the  latter  part  of  his  life.  When 
he  was  asked  whether  he  ever  mentioned 
F ormosa  before  him,  he  said,  “ he  was  afraid 
to  mention  even  China.”] 

I am  happy  to  mention  another  instance 
which  I discovered  of  his  seeking  after  a 
man  of  merit.  Soon  after  the  Honourable 
Daines  Barrington  had  published  his  ex  ei- 
lent  “Observations  on  the  Statutes3 4,” 
Johnson  waited  on  that  worthy  and  learned 
gentleman;  and,  having  told  him  his  name, 
courteously  said,  “ I have  read  your  book, 
sir,  with  great  pleasure,  and  wish  to  be 
better  known  to  you.”  Thus  began  an  ac- 
quaintance, which  was  continued  with  mu- 
tual regard  as  long  as  Johnson  lived. 

Talking  of  a recent  seditious  delinquenl  1 , 


3 4to.  1766.  The  worthy  authour  died  many 
years  after  Johnson,  March  13,  1800,  aged  aboul 
74. — Malone. 

4 [Mr.  Horne  Tooke,  who  had  been  in  the 
preceding  J uly  convicted  of  a seditious  libel.  Th« 


178 


177S. — ASTAT.  69. 


he  said,  “ They  should  set  him  in  the  pillo- 
ry, that  he  may  be  punished  in  a way  that 
would  disgrace  him.”  I observed,  that  the 
pillory  does  not  always  disgrace.  And  i 
mentioned  an  instance  of  a gentleman*  l, 
who  1 thought  was  not  dishonoured  by  it. 
Johnson.  “ Ay,  but  he  was,  sir.  He 
could  not  mouth  and  strut  as  he  used  to  do, 
after  having  been  there.  People  are  not 
willing  to  ask  a man  to  their  tables  who 
has  stood  in  the  pillory.” 

The  gentleman  who  had  dined  with  us  at 
Dr.  Percy’s 2 came  in.  Johnson  attacked 
the  Americans  with  intemperate  vehemence 
of  abuse.  I said  something  in  their  favour; 
and  added,  that  I was  always  sorry  when 
he  talked  on  that  subject.  This,  it  seems, 
exasperated  him;  though  he  said  nothing 
at  the  time.  The  cloud  was  charged  with 
sulphureous  vapour,  which  was  afterwards 
to  burst  in  thunder.  We  talked  of  a gen- 
tleman3 who  was  running  out  his  fortune 
in  London;  and  I said,  “ We  must  get  him 
out  of  it.  All  his  friends  must  quarrel  with 
him,  and  that  will  soon  drive  him  away.” 
Johnson.  “Nay,  sir,  we’ll  send  you  to 
him.  If  your  company  does  not  drive  a 
man  out  of  his  house,  nothing  will.”  This 
was  a horrible  shock,  for  which  there  was 
no  visible  cause.  I afterwards  asked  him 
why  he  had  said  so  harsh  a thing.  John- 
son. “ Because,  sir,  you  made  me  angry 
about  the  Americans.”  Boswell.  “ But 
why  did  you  not  take  your  revenge  direct- 
ly?” Johnson  (smiling).  “Because, 
sir,  I had  nothing  ready.  A man  cannot 
strike  till  he  has  his  weapons.”  This  was 
a candid  and  pleasant  confession. 

He  showed  me  to-night  his  drawing- 
room, very  genteelly  fitted  up,  and  said, 
Mrs.  Thrale  sneered  when  I talked  of  my 
having  asked  you  and  your  lady  to  live  at 

sentence — pronounced  in  November,  1777 — was 
a year’s  imprisonment,  and  200/.  fine;  but  it 
seems  strange  that  Johnson  should,  in  April,  1778, 
have  spoken  conjecturally  of  a sentence  passed 
six  months  before.  Perhaps  the  conversation 
.occurred  at  Ashbourn  in  the  preceding  autumn, 
when  the  sentence  was  a subject  of  much  con- 
jecture and  curiosity,  and  that,  by  some  mistake 
in  arranging  his  notes,  Mr.  Boswell  has  misplaced 
it  here. — Ed.] 

1 [Probably  Dr.  Shebbeare.  It  was  Shebbeare’s 
exposure  which  suggested  the  witty  allusion  of  the 
Ileroick  Epistle, 

‘ Does  envy  doubt  ? Witness,  ye  chosen  train, 

Who  breathe  the  sweets  of  his  Saturnian  reign  ; 

Witness,  ye  Hills,  ye  Johnsons,  ScoHs,  Shebbeares 

Hark  to  my  call,  for  some  of  you  have  ears!" 

But  his  ears  were  not  endangered;  indeed  he  was 
so  favourably  treated,  being  allowed  to  stand  on, 
and  not  in,  the  pillory,  and  to  have  certain  other 
indulgencies,  that  the  sheriff  was  afterwards  pros- 
ecuted for  partiality  towards  him. — Ed.] 

2 See  p.  162,  of  this  volume. — Boswell. 

* [Mr.  Langton. — Ed.] 


my  house.  I was  obliged  to  tell  her  that 
you  would  be  in  as  respectable  a situation 
in  my  house  as  in  her’s.  “ Sir,  the  inso- 
lence of  wealth  will  creep  out.”  . Boswell. 
“ She  has  a little  both  of  the  insolence  of 
wealth  and  the  conceit  of  parts.”  John- 
son. “ The  insolence  of  wealth  is  a wretch- 
ed thing;  but  the  conceit  of  parts  has  some 
foundation.  To  be  sure,  it  should  not  be 
But  who  is  without  it  ? ” Boswell. 
“Yourself,  sir.”  Johnson.  “Why,  1 
play  no  tricks:  I lay  no  traps.”  Boswell. 
“ No,  sir.  You  are  six  feet  high,  and  you 
only  do  not  stoop.” 

We  talked  of  the  numbers  of  people  that 
sometimes  have  composed  the  household  of 
great  families.  I mentioned  that  there 
were  a hundred  in  the  family  of  the  present 
Earl  of  Eglintoune’s  father.  Dr.  Johnson 
seeming  to  doubt  it,  I began  to  enumerate; 
“ Let  us  see,  my  lord  and  my  lady,  two.” 
Johnson.  “ Nay,  sir,  if  you  are  to  count 
by  twos,  you  may  be  long  enough.”  Bos- 
well. “Well,  but  now  I add  two  sons 
and  seven  daughters,  and  a servant  for  each, 
that  will  make  twenty;  so  we  have  the  fifth 
part  already.”  Johnson.  “Very  true. 
You  get  at  twenty  pretty  readily;  but  you 
will  not  so  easily  get  further  on.  We  grow 
to  five  feet  pretty  readily;  but  it  is  not  so 
easy  to  grow  to  seven.” 

[Yesterday  (18th)  I rose  late,  prayers 
having  not  slept  ill.  Having  pro-  & Med. 
mised  a dedication,  I thought  it  p‘ 163' 
necessary 4 to  write;  but  for  some  time  nei- 
ther wrote  nor  read.  Langton  came  in  and 
talked.  After  dinner  I wrote.  At  tea  Bos- 
well came  in.  He  staid  till  near  twelve.] 

On  Sunday,  19th  April,  being  Easter- 
day,  after  the  solemnities  of  the  festival  in 
St.  Paul’s  church,  I visited  him,  but  could 
not  stay  to  dinner.  I expressed  a wish  to 
have  the  arguments  for  Christianity  always 
in  readiness,  that  my  religious  faith  might 
be  as  firm  and  clear  as  any  proposition 
whatever;  so  that  I need  not  be  under  the 
least  uneasiness  when  it  should  be  attacked. 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  you  cannot  answer  all 
objections.  You  have  demonstration  for  a 
first  cause:  you  see  he  must  be  good  as  well 
as  powerful,  because  there  is  nothing  to 
make  him  otherwise,  and  goodness  of  itself 
is  preferable.  Yet  you  have  against  this, 
what  is  very  certain,  the  unhappiness  of 
human  life.  This,  however,  gives  us  reason 
to  hope  for  a future  state  of  compensation, 
that  there  may  be  a perfect  system.  Bui 
of  that  we  were  not  sure  till  we  had  a posi 
tive  revelation.”  I told  him  that  his  “ Ras 
selas  ” had  often  made  me  unhappy;  lor  il 
represented  the  misery  of  human  life  so  well. 

4 [He  means  that  if  it  had  not  been  in  per- 
formance of  a promise,  he  would  not  have  done 
any  worldly  business  on  Easter  eve.  What  the 
dedication  was  does  not  appear. — Ed.] 


1778. — /ETA1  69. 


179 


and  so  convincingly  to  a thinking  mind, 
that  if  at  any  time  the  impression  wore  off, 
and  I felt  myself  easy,  I began  to  suspect 
some  delusion. 

[In  reviewing  my  time  from  Easter, 
1777, 1 found  a very  melancholy  and  shame- 
ful blank.  So  little  has  been  done,  that 
days  and  months  are  without  any  trace.  My 
health  has,  indeed,  been  very  much  inter- 
rupted. My  nights  have  been  commonly, 
not  only  restless,  but  painful  and  fatiguing. 
My  respiration  was  once  so  difficult,  that  an 
asthma  was  suspected.  I could  not  walk, 
hut  with  great  difficulty,  from  Stowhill  to 
Greenhill.  Some  relaxation  of  my  breast 
has  been  procured,  I think,  by  opium, 
which,  though  it  never  gives  me  sleep, 
frees  my  breast  from  spasms. 

I have  written  a little  of  the  Lives  of  the 
Poets.  I think  with  all  my  usual  vigour. 
I have  made  sermons,  perhaps  as  readily  as 
formerly.  My  memory  is  less  faithful  in 
retaining  names,  and,  I am  afraid,  in  retain- 
ing occurrences.  Of  this  vacillation  and 
vagrancy  of  mind,  I impute  a great  part  to 
a fortuitous  and  unsettled  life,  and  therefore 
purpose  to  spend  my  time  with  more  me- 
thod.] 

On  Monday,  20th  April,  I found  him  at 
home  in  the  morning.  We  talked  of  a gen- 
tleman who  we  apprehended  was  gradually 
involving  his  circumstances  by  bad  man- 
agement b Johnson.  “ Wasting  a for- 
tune is  evaporation  by  a thousand  imper- 
ceptible means.  If  it  were  a stream,  they ’d 
stop  it.  You  must  speak  to  him.  It  is  real- 
ly miserable.  Were  he  a gamester,  it  could 
be  said  he  had  hopes  of  winning.  Were  he 
a bankrupt  in  trade,  he  might  have  grown 
rich;  but  he  has  neither  spirit  to  spend,  nor 
resolution  to  spare.  He  does  not  spend 
fast  enough  to  have  pleasure  from  it.  He 
has  the  crime  of  prodigality,  and  the  wretch- 
edness of  parsimony.  If  a man  is  killed  in 
a duel,  he  is  killed  as  many  a one  has  been 
killed;  but  it  is  a sad  thing  for  a man  to  lie 
down  and  die;  to  bleed  to  death,  because 
he  has  not  fortitude  enough  to  sear  the 
wound,  or  even  to  stitch  it  up.”  I cannot 
but  pause  a moment  to  admire  the  fecundi- 
ty of  fancy,  and  choice  of  language,  which 
in  this  instance,  and,  indeed,  on  almost  all 
occasions,  he  displayed.  It  was  well  ob- 
served by  Dr.  Percy,  (afterwards  Bishop 
of  Dromore),  “The  conversation  of  John- 
son is  strong  and  clear,  and  may  be  com- 
pared to  an  antique  statue,  where  every 
vein  and  muscle  is  distinct  and  bold.  Or- 
dinary conversation  resembles  an  inferiour 
cast.” 

On  Saturday,  25th  April,  I dined  with 
him  at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s,  with  the 
^earned  Dr.  Musgrave* 2,  Counsellor  Le- 


[Mr.  Langton. — Ed.] 

Sjuncel  Mui  gr&ve,  M.  D.  editor  of  the  Eurip- 


land  of  Ireland,  son  to  the  historian,  Mrs. 
Cholmondeley,  and  some  more  ladies. 
“The  Project,”  a new  poem,  was  read  to 
the  cympany  by  Dr.  Musgrave.  Johnson. 

“ Sir,  it  has  no  power.  Were  it  not  for 
the  well-known  names  with  which  it  is  fill- 
ed, it  would  be  nothing:  the  names  carry 
the  poet,  not  the  poet  the  names.”  Mus- 
grave. “A  temporary  poem  always  en- 
tertains us.”  Johnson.  “ So  does  an  ac- 
count of  the  criminals  hanged  yesterday  en- 
tertain us.” 

He  proceeded; — “ Demosthenes  Taylor, 
as  he  was  called  (that  is,  the  editor  of  De- 
mosthenes), was  the  most  silent  man,  the 
merest  statue  of  a man,  that  I have  ever 
seen.  I once  dined  in  company  with  him, 
and  all  he  said  during  the  whole  time  was 
no  more  than  Richard.  How  a man  should 
say  only  Richard , it  is  not  easy  to  imagine. 
But  it  was  thus:  Dr.  Douglas  was  talking 
of  Dr.  Zachary  Grey,  and  ascribing  to  him 
something  that  was  written  by  Dr.  Richard 
Grey.  So,  to  correct  him,  Taylor  said 
‘ Richard.'  ” 

Mrs.  Cholmondeley,  in  a high  flow  of 
spirits,  exhibited  some  lively  sallies  of  hy- 
perbolical compliment  to  Johnson,  with 
whom  she  had  been  long  acquainted,  and 
was  very  easy.  He  was  quick  in  catching 
the  manner  of  the  moment,  and  answered 
her  somewhat  in  the  style  of  the  hero  of  a 
romance,  “Madam,  you  crown  me  with 
unfading  laurels.” 

[Sitting  at  table  one  day  with  Mur])h 
Mrs.  Cholmondeley,  he  took  hold  Essay,’ 
of  her  hand  in  the  middle  of  din-  P* 137- 
ner,  and  held  it  close  to  his  eye,  wondering 
at  the  delicacy  and  whiteness,  till,  with  a 
smile,  she  asked,  “ Will  he  give  it  to  me 
again  when  he  has  done  with  it  ? ”] 

I happened,  I know  not  how,  to  say  that 
a pamphletmeant  a prose  piece.  Johnson. 

“ No,  sir.  A few  sheets  of  poetry  unbound 
are  a pamphlet 3,  as  much  as  a few  sheets 
of  prose.”  Musgrave.  “ A pamphlet  may 
be  understood  to  mean  a poetical  piece  in 
Westminster-hall,  that  is,  in  formal  lan- 
guage; but  in  common  language  it  is  under- 
stood to  mean  prose.”  Johnson.  (And  here 
was  one  of  the  many  instances  of  his  knowing 
clearly  and  telling  exactly  how  a thing  is), 

ides,  and  authour  of  “ Dissertations  on  the 
Grecian  Mythology,”  &c.  published  in  1782,  after 
his  death,  by  the  learned  Mr.  Tyrwhitt. — Ma- 
lone. [I  suppose  this  is  the  same  who  wus 
made  Radcliffe’s  travelling  fellow  in  1760.  Ue 
was  of  C.  C.  C.  M.  A.  1756.  B.  and  D.  M. 

1775.— Hall.] 

3 Dr  Johnson  is  here  perfectly  correct,  and  is 
supported  by  the  usage  of  preceding  writers  do 
in  Musarum  Delicise,  a collection  of  poems,  Pro. 
1656,  (the  writer  is  speaking  of  duckling's  play  t 
entitled  Aglaura,  printed  in  folio): 

“ This  gTeat  voluminous  pamphlet  may  be  sai;l, 

To  be  1 ke  one,  that  hath  more  hair  than  head.”— 

M VL(  NK. 


180 


1778. — iE'JLAT.  69. 


“ A pamphlet  is  understood  in  common  lan- 
guage to  mean  prose,  only  from  this,  that 
there  is  so  much  more  prose  written  than 
poetry;  as  when  we  say  a book,  p^ose  is 
understood  for  the  same  reason,  though  a 
book  may  as  well  be  in  poetry  as  in  prose. 
We  understand  wbat  is  most  general,  and 
we  name  what  is  less  frequent.” 

We  talked  of  a lady’s  verses  on  Ireland. 
Miss  Reynolds.  “ Have  you  seen  them, 
sir?”  Johnson.  “No,  madam;  I have 
seen  a translation  from  Horace,  by  one  of 
her  daughters.  She  showed  it  me.”  Miss 
Reynolds.  “And  how  was  it,  sir  ?” 
Johnson.  “ Why,  very  well,  for  a young 
miss’s  verses;  that  is  to  say,  compared  with 
excellence,  nothing;  but  very  well,  for  the 
person  who  wrote  them.  I am  vexed  at 
being  shown  verses  in  that  manner.”  Miss 
Reynolds.  “ But  if  they  should  be  good, 
why  not  give  them  hearty  praise  ? ” John- 
son. “ Why,  madam,  because  I have  not 
then  got  the  better  of  my  bad  humour  from 
having  been  shown  them.  You  must  con- 
sider, madam,  beforehand  they  may  be  bad 
as  well  as  good.  Nobody  has  a right  to  put 
another  under  such  a difficulty,  that  he 
must  either  hurt  the  person  by  telling  the 
truth,  or  hurt  himself  by  telling  what  is  not 
true.”  Boswell.  “A  man  often  shows 
his  writings  to  people  of  eminence,  to  ob- 
tain from  them,  either  from  their  good-na- 
ture, or  from  their  not  being  able  to  tell  the 
truth  firmly,  a commendation,  of  which  he 
may  afterwards  avail  himself.”  Johnson. 
“ Very  true,  sir.  Therefore,  the  man  who  is 
asked  by  an  authour,  what  he  thinks  of  his 
work,  is  put  to  the  torture , and  is  not 
obliged  to  speak  the  truth;  so  that  what  he 
says  is  not  considered  as  his  opinion;  yet 
he  has  said  it,  and  cannot  retract  it;  and 
this  authour,  when  mankind  are  hunting 
him  with  a canister  at  his  tail,  can  say,  c I 
would  not  have  published,  had  not  Johnson, 
or  Reynolds,  or  Musgrave,  or  some  other 
good  judge  commended  the  work.’  Yet  I 
consider  it  as  a very  difficult  question  in 
conscience,  whether  one  should  advise  a 
man  not  to  publish  a work,  if  profit  be  his 
object;  for  the  man  may  say,  ‘ Had  it  not 
been  for  you,  I should  have  had  the  money.’ 
Now  you  cannot  be  sure;  for  you  have  only 
your  own  opinion,  and  the  publick  may 
think  very  differently.”  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds. “ You  must  upon  such  an  occasion 
have  two  judgments;  one  as  to  the  real 
value  of  the  work,  the  other  as  to  what  may 
please  the  general  taste  at  the  time.”  John- 
son. “ But  you  can  be  sure  of  neither; 
and  therefore  I should  scruple  much  to  give 
a suppressive  vote.  Both  Goldsmith’s  com- 
edies were  once  refused,  his  first  by  Gar- 
rick, his  second  by  ColmaL  who  was  pre- 
vailed on  at  last  by  much  solid  lation,  nay, 
t kind  of  force,  to  br'ng  it  on.  His  ‘ Vicar 


of  Wakefield’  I myself  did  net  think  wouo 
have  had  much  success.  It  was  written 
and  sold  to  a bookseller  before  his  ‘ Travel- 
ler,’ but  published  after ; so  little  expecta 
tion  had  the  bookseller  from  it.  Had  it 
been  sold  after  ‘ The  Traveller,’  he  might 
have  had  twice  as  much  money  for  it, 
though  sixty  guineas  was  no  mean  price. 
The  bookseller  had  the  advantage  of  Gold- 
smith’s reputation  from  ‘ The  Traveller  ’ in 
the  sale,  though  Goldsmith  had  it  not  in 
selling  the  copy.”  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 
“ The  Beggar’s  Opera  affords  a proof  how 
strangely  people  will  differ  in  opinion  about 
a literary  performance.  Burke  thinks  it 
has  no  merit.’’  Johnson.  “ It  was  refused 
by  one  of  the  houses;  but  I should  have 
thought  it  would  succeed,  not  from  any 
great  excellence  in  the  writing,  but  from 
the  novelty,  and  the  general  spirit  and 
gaiety  of  the  piece,  which  keeps  the  audi- 
ence always  attentive,  and  dismisses  them 
in  good  humour.” 

We  went  to  the  drawing-room,  where 
was  a considerable  increase  of  company. 
Several  of  us  got  round  Dr.  Johnson,  and 
complained  that  he  would  not  give  us  an 
exact  catalogue  of  his  works,  that  there 
might  be  a complete  edition.  He  smiled 
and  evaded  our  entreaties.  That  he  intend 
ed  to  do  it,  I have  no  doubt,  because  I have 
heard  him  say  so;  and  I have  in  my  pos- 
session an  imperfect  list,  fairly  written  out 
which  he  entitles  Historia  Studiorum. 
I once  got  from  one  of  his  friends  a list, 
which  there  was  pretty  good  reason  to  sup- 
pose was  accurate,  for  it  was  written  down 
in  his  presence  by  this  friend,  who  enumer 
ated  each  article  aloud,  and  had  some  of 
them  mentioned  to  him  by  Mr.  Levett,  in 
concert  with  whom  it  was  made  out;  and 
Johnson,  who  heard  all  this,  aid  not  con 
tradict  it.  But  when  I showed  a copy  of 
this  list  to  him,  and  mentioned  the  evidence 
for  its  exactness,  he  laughed,  and  said,  “ 1 
was  willing  to  let  them  go  on  as  they  pleas- 
ed, and  never  interfered.”  Upon  which  1 
read  it  to  him,  article  by  article,  and  gol 
him  positively  to  own  or  refuse;  and  thenj 
having  obtained  certainty  so  far,  I got  some 
other  articles  confirmed  by  him  directly, 
and,  afterwards,  from  time  to  lime,  made 
additions  under  his  sanction. 

His  friend,  Edward  Cave,  having  been 
mentioned,  he  told  us,  “ Cave  used  to  sell 
ten  thousand  of  £ The  Gentleman’s  Maga- 
zine ;’  yet  such  was  then  his  minute  atten- 
tion and  anxiety  that  the  sale  should  not 
suffer  the  smallest  decrease,  that  he  would 
name  a particular  person  who  he  heard  had 
talked  of  leaving  off  the  Magazine,  and 
would  say,  ‘ Let  us  have  something  good 
next  month.’  ” 

It  was  observec , that  avarice  was  inhe 
rent  in  some  dispositions.  Johnson.  iL  No 


ft 

1778. — AST  AT.  69. 


man  was  born  a miser,  because  no  man  was 
born  to  possession.  Every  man  is  born 
cupidus — desirous  of  getting;  but  not  ava- 
rus — desirous  of  keeping.”  Boswell.  “ I 
have  heard  old  Mr.  Sheridan  maintain,  with 
much  ingenuity,  that  a complete  miser  is  a 
happy  man:  a miser  who  gives  himself 
wholly  to  the  one  passion  of  saving.” 
Johnson.  “ That  is  flying  in  the  face  of 
all  the  world,  who  have  called  an  avaricious 
man  a miser , because  he  is  miserable.  No, 
sir;  a man  who  both  spends  and  saves 
money  is  the  happiest  man,  because  he  has 
both  enjoyments.” 

The  conversation  having  turned  on  bon- 
mots,  he  quoted,  from  one  of  the  Jlna,  an 
exquisite  instance  of  flattery  in  a maid  of 
honour  in  France,  who  being  asked  by  the 
queen  what  o’clock  it  was,  answered, 
“ What  your  majesty  pleases  l.”  He  ad- 
mitted that  Mr.  Burke’s  classical  pun2 
upon  Mr.  Wilkes’s  being  carried  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  mob, 

‘ numerisque  feitur 

Lege  solutis,”  HoR.  4.  Od.  2.  25. 

was  admirable;  and  though  he  was  strange- 
ly unwilling  to  allow  to  that  extraordinary 
man  the  talent  of  wit3,  he  also  laughed  with 
approbation  at  another  of  his  playf nl  conceits; 
which  was,  that  “ Horace  has  in  one  line 
given  a description  of  a good  desirable  ma- 
nour: 

‘ Est  modus  in  rebus,  sunt  certi  denique  fines  4 
1 Sat.  1.  106. 


1 [The  anecdote  is  told  in  “ Menagiana,” 
vol.  iii.  p.  104,  but  not  of  a “ maid  of  honour ,” 
nor  as  an  instance  of  “ exquisite  flattery .”  “ M. 
de  Uzes  etait  chevalier  d’honneur  de  la  reine. 
Cette  princesse  Iui  demanda  un  jour  quelle  heure 
il  etait;  il  repondit,  * Madame,  l’heure  qu’il  plaira 
k votre  majeste.’  ” Menage  tells  it  as  a pleas- 
antry of  M.  de  Uz£s;  but  M.  de  la  Monnoye  says, 
that  this  duke  was  remarkable  for  naivetes  and 
jjjlunders,  and  was  a kind  of  butt , to  whom  the 
wits  of  the  court  used  to  attribute  all  manner  of 
absurdities. — Ed.] 

2 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  330. — Ed.] 

3 See  this  question  fully  investigated  in  the  notes 
upon  the  “ Journal  of  a Tour  to  the  Hebrides,” 
ante,  v.  i.  p.  330,  et  seq.  And  here,  as  a lawyer 
mindful  of  the  maxim  Suutn  cuique  tribuito,  I 
cannot  forbear  to  mention,  that  the  additional 
note,  beginning  with  “ I find  since  the  former 
edition,”  is  not  mine,  but  was  obligingly  furnished 
by  Mr.  Malone,  who  was  so  kind  as  to  superintend 
the  press  while  I was  in  Scotland,  and  the  first 
part  of  the  second  edition  was  printing.  lie  would 
not  allow  me  to  ascribe  it  to  its  proper  authour; 
but,  as  it  is  exquisitely  acute  and  elegant,  1 Lake 
this  opportunity,  w ‘houthis  knowledge,  to  do  him 
justice. — Boswell 

4 This,  as  both  Mr.  Bindley  and  Dr.  Kearney 
have  observed  to  me,  is  the  motto  to  “An  Inqui- 
ry into  Customary  Estates  and  Tenants’  Rights, 
fcc. ; with  some  Considerations  for  restraining  ex- 


181 

that  is  to  say,  a modus  as  to  the  tithes  and 
certain  fines.” 

He  observed,  “ A man  cannot  with  pro- 
priety speak  of  himself,  except  he  relates 
simple  facts;  as,  c I was  at  Richmond:  ’ or 
what  depends  on  mensuration;  as, c I am  six 
feet  high.’  He  is  sure  he  has  been  at  Rich- 
mond; he  is  sure  he  is  six  feet  high;  but 
he  cannot  be  sure  he  is  wise,  or  that  he  has 
any  other  excellence.  Then,  all  censure  of 
a mail’s  self  is  oblique  praise.  It  is  in  or- 
der to  show  how  much  he  can  spare.  It 
has  all  the  invidiousness  of  self-praise  and 
all  the  reproach  of  falsehood.”  Boswell. 
“ Sometimes  it  may  proceed  from  a man’s 
strong  consciousness  of  his  faults  being  ob- 
served. He  knows  that  others  would  throw 
him  ck>wn,  and  therefore  he  had  better  lie 
down  softly  of  his  own  accord.” 

On  Tuesday,  April  28,  he  was  engaged 
to  dine  at  General  Paoli’s,  where,  as  I have 
already  observed,  I was  still  entertained  in 
elegant  hospitality,  and  with  all  the  ease 
and  comfort  of  a home.  I called  on  him. 
and  accompanied  him  in  a hackney-coach. 
We  stopped  first  at  the  bottom  of  Hedge- 
lane,  into  which  he  went  to  leave  a letter, 
“ with  good  news  for  a poor  man  in  dis- 
tress,” as  he  told  me.  I did  not  question 
him  particularly  as  to  this.  He  himself  oft- 
en resembled  Lady  Bolingbroke’s  lively  de- 
scription of  Pope:  that  “ he  was  un  politi- 
que aux  choux  et  aux  raves.”  He  would 
say,  “ I dine  to-day  in  Grosvenor-square;  ” 
this  might  be  with  a duke;  or,  perhaps,  “ I 
dine  to-day  at  the  other  end  of  the  town;  ” 
or,  “ A gentleman  of  great  eminence  called 
on  me  yesterday.”  He  loved  thus  to  keep 
things  floating  in  conjecture:  Omne  igno- 
tumpro  magnifico  est.  I believe  I ventured 
to  dissipate  the  cloud,  to  unveil  the  mystery, 
more  freely  and  frequently  than  any  of  his 
friends.  We  stopped  again  at  Wirgman’s, 
the  well-known  toy-shop  in  St.  James’s- 
street,  at  the  corner  of  St.  James’s-place, 
to  which  he  had  been  directed,  but  not  clear- 
ly, for  he  searched  about  some  time,  and 
could  not  find  it  at  first;  and  said,  “ To  di- 
rect one  only  to  a corner  shop  is  toying 
with  one.”  I supposed  he  meant  this  as  a 
play  upon  the  word  toy ; it  was  the  first 
time  that  1 knew  him  stoop  to  such  sport. 
After  he  had  been  some  time  in  the  shop, 
he  sent  for  me  to  come  out  of  the  coach,  and 
help  him  to  choose  a pair  of  silver  buckles,  as 
those  he  had  were  too  small.  Probably 
this  alteration  in  dress  had  been  suggested 
by  Mrs.  Thrale,  by  associating  with  whom, 
his  external  appearance  was  much  improved. 
He  got  better  clothes;  and  the  dark  colour, 
from  which  he  never  deviated,  was  enliven- 

cessive  Fbies ,”  by  Everard  Fleetwood,  Esq.  8vo 
1731.  But  it  is,  probably,  a mere  coincidence 
Mr.  Burke,  perhaps,  never  saw  that  pamphlet.-  - 
Malone. 


1»2 


1778.— ^ETAT.  69. 


ed  by  metal  buttons.  His  wigs,  too,  were 
much  better;  and,  during  their  travels  in 
France,  he  was  furnished  with  a Paris-made 
wig,  of  handsome  construction.  [In 
D'  general  his  wigs  were  very  shabby, 
and  their  fore  parts  were  burned  away  by 
the  near  approach  of  the  candle,  which  his 
short-sightedness  rendered  necessary  in 
reading.  At  Streatham,  Mr.  Th rale’s  butler 
had  always  a better  wig  ready,  and  as  John- 
son passed  from  the  drawing-room,  when 
dinner  was  announced,  the  servant  would 
remove  the  ordinary  wig,  and  replace  it  with 
the  newer  one,  and  this  ludicrous  ceremony 
was  performed  every  day.]  This  choosing 
of  silver  buckles  was  a negotiation:  “ Sir,” 
said  he,  “I  will  not  have  the  ridiculous 
large  ones  now  in  fashion;  and  I will  give 
no  more  than  a guinea  for  a pair.”  Such 
were  the  principles  of  the  business;  and, 
after  some  examination,  he  was  fitted.  As 
we  drove  along,  I found  him  in  a talking 
humour,  of  which  I availed  myself.  Bos- 
well. “ I was  this  morning  in  Ridley’s 
shop,  sir;  and  was  told,  that  the  collection 
called  ‘ Johnsoniana 1 ’ had  sold  very  much.” 
Johnson.  “ Yet  the  J Journey  to  the  He- 
brides ’ has  not  had  a great  sale2.”  Bos- 
well. “That  is  strange.”  Johnson.  “Yes, 
sir;  for  in  that  book  I have  told  theworld  a 
great  deai  that  they  did  not  know  before.” 

Boswell.  “ I drank  chocolate,  sir,  this 
morning  with  Mr.  Eld;  and,  to  my  no  small 
surprise,  found  him  to  be  a Staffordshire 
whig , a being  which  I did  not  believe  had 
existed.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  there  are  ras- 
cals in  all  countries.”  Boswell.  “ Eld 
said,  a tory  was  a creature  generated  be- 
tween a non-juring  parson  and  one’s  grand- 
mother.” Johnson.  “ And  I have  always 
said,  the  first  whig  was  the  devil.”  Bos- 
well. “ He  certainly  was,  sir.  The  de- 
vil was  impatient  of  subordination;  he  was 
the  first  who  resisted  power : 

‘ Better  to  reign  iri  hell,  than  serve  in  heaven.’  ” 

At  General  Paoli’swere  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, Mr.  Langton,  Marchese  Gherardi  of 
Lombardy,  and  Mr.  John  Spottiswoode  the 
younger,  of  Spottiswoode 3,  the  solicitor. 


1 [See  ante,  p.  31. — Ed.] 

2 Here  he  either  was  mistaken,  or  had  a different 
notion  of  an  extensive  sale  from  what  is  generally 
entertained : for  the  fact  is,  that  four  thousand 
copies  of  that  excellent  work  were  sold  very  quick- 
ly. A new  edition  has  been  printed  since  his 
death,  besides  that  in  the  collection  of  his  works. 
— Boswell.  Another  edition  has  been  printed 
since  Mr.  Boswell  wrote  the  above,  besides  re- 
peated editions  in  the  general  collection  of  his 
works  during  the  last  twenty  years. — Malone. 

3 In  the  phraseology  of  Scotland,  I should  have 
sJd,  “ Mr.  -John  Spottiswoode  the  younger,  of 
that  ilk.  .Johnson  knew  that  sense  of  the  word 
very  v*  el  , and  bus  thus  explained  it  in  his  “ Dic- 


At  this  time  fears  of  an  invasion  were  cir 
culated;  to  obviate  which  Mr.  Spottiswoode 
observed,  that  Mr.  Fraser,  the  engineer, 
who  had  lately  come  from  Dunkirk,  said 
that  the  French  had  the  same  fears  of  us 
Johnson.  “ It.  is  thus  that  mutual  coward- 
ice keeps  us  in  peace.  Were  one  half  of 
mankind  brave,  and  one  half  cowards,  the 
brave  would  be  always  beating  the  cowards 
Were  all  brave,  they  would  lead  a very 
uneasy  life;  all  would  be  continually  fight 
ing:  but  being  all  cowards,  we  go  on  very 
well.”  [One  afternoon,  while  all 
the  talk  was  of  this  apprehended 
invasion,  he  said  most  pathetically, 

“ Alas ! alas ! how  this  unmeaning  stuff  spoils 
all  my  comfort  in  my  friends’  conversation ! 
Will  the  people  never  have  done  with  it; 
and  shall  I never  hear  a sentence  again 
without  the  French  in  it?  Here  is  no  in 
vasion  coming,  and  you  know  there  is  none. 
Let  such  vexatious  and  frivolous  talk  alone, 
or  suffer  it  at  least  to  teach  you  one  truth; 
and  learn  by  this  perpetual  echo  of  even 
unapprehended  distress,  how  historians 
magnify  events  expected,  or  calamities  en- 
dured; when  you  know  they  are  at  this 
very  moment  collecting  all  the  big  words 
they  can  find,  in  which  to  describe  a con 
sternation  never  felt,  or  a misfortune  which 
never  happened.  Among  all  your  lamenta- 
tions, who  eats  the  less?  Who  sleeps  the 
worse,  for  one  general’s  ill  success,  or  an 
other’s  capitulation?  Oh,  pray  let  us  hear 
no  more  of  it!”] 

We  talked  of  drinking  wine.  Johnson. 
“ I require  wine,  only  when  I am  alone.  1 
have  then  often  wished  for  it,  and  often 
taken  it.”  Spottiswoode.  “What,  by 
way  of  a companion,  sir?”  Johnson. 
“ To  get  rid  of  *myself,  to  send  myself 
away.  Wine  gives  great  pleasure;  and 
every  pleasure  is  of  itself  a good.  It  is  a 
good,  unless  counterbalanced  by  evil.  A 
man  may  have  a strong  reason  not  to  drink 
wine;  and  that  may  be  greater  than  the 
pleasure.  Wine  makes  a man  better  pleased 
with  himself.  I do  not  say  that  it  makes 
him  more  pleasing  to  others.  Sometimes 
it  does.  But  the  danger  is,  that  while  a 
man  grows  better  pleased  with  himself,  h# 
may  be  growing  less  pleasing  to  others  4 


tionary  ” — voce,  Ilk.  “ It  also  signifies  ‘ the 
same;’  as,  Mackintosh  of  that  ilk,  denotes  a gen- 
tleman whose  surname  and  the  title  of  his  estate 
are  the  same.” — Boswell.  . 

4 It  is  observed  in  “ Waller’s  Life,”  in  the 
“ Biographia  Britannica,”  that  he.  drank  only 
water,  and  that  while  he  sat  in  a company  who 
were  drinking  wine,  “ he  had  the  dexterity  to  ac- 
commodate his  discourse  to  the  pitch  of  theirs  as 
it  siink.,'>  If  excess  in  drinking  be  meant,  the 
remark  is  acutely  just.  But  surely,  a moderate 
use  of  wine  gives  a gaiety  of  spirits  winch 
water-drinkers  know  not. — Boswei.i.. 


1778.  - /FT  AT.  69. 


183 


Wine  gives  a man  nothing.  It  neither 
gives  him  knowledge  nor  wit;  it  only 
animates  a man,  and  enables  him  to  .bring 
out  what  a dread  of  the  company  has 
repressed.  It  only  puts  in  motion  what 
has  been  locked  up  in  frost.  But  this  may 
be  good,  or  it  may  be  bad.”  Spottis- 
woode.  “ So,  sir,  wine  is  a key  which 
opens  a box;  but  this  box  may  be  either 
full  or  empty?”  Johnson.  “Nay,  sir, 
conversation  is  the  key:  wine  is  a pick-lock, 
which  forces  open  the  box,  and  injures^t. 
A man  should  cultivate  his  mind  so  as  to 
have  that  confidence  and  readiness  without 
wine,  which  wine  gives.”  Boswell.  “The 
great  difficulty  of  resisting  wine  is  from  be- 
nevolence. For  instance,  a good  worthy 
man  asks  you  to  taste  his  wine,  which  he  has 
had  twenty  years  in  his  cellar.”  Johnson. 
c Sir,  all  this  notion  about  benevolence 
arises  from  a man’s  imagining  himself  to 
De  of  more  importance  to  others  than  he 
really  is.  They  don’t  care  a farthing 
whether  he  drinks  wine  or  not.”  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds.  “Yes,  they  do  for 
the  time.”  Johnson.  “For  the  time! 
If  they  care  this  minute,  they  forget  it  the 
next.  And  as  for  the  good  woithy  man, 
how  do  you  know  he  is  good  and  worthy? 
No  good  and  worthy  man  will  insist  upon 
another  man’s  drinking  wine.  As  to  the 
wine  twenty  years  in  the  cellar, — of  ten 
men,  three  say  this,  merely  because  they 
must  say  something;  three  are  telling  a lie, 
when  they  say  they  have  had  the  wine  twen- 
tyyears; — three  would  rather  save  the  wine; 
one,  perhaps,  cares.'  I allow  it  is  something 
to  please  one’s  company;  and  people  are 
always  pleased  with  those  who  partake 
pleasure  with  them.  But  after  a man  has 
brought  himself  to  relinquish  the  great  per- 
sonal pleasure  which  arises  from  drinking 
wine1,  any  other  consideration  is  a trifle. 
To  please  others  by  drinking  wine,  is 
something  only,  if  there  be  nothing  against 
it.  I should,  however,  be  sorry  to  offend 
worthy  men: 

‘ Curst  be  the  verse,  how  well  soe’er  it  flow, 

That  tends  to  make  one  worthy  man  my  foe.  ’ ’ ’ 

. Bosweli,.  “ Curst  be  the  spring , the  wa- 
ter.”  Johnson.  “ But  let  us  consider 
what  a sad  thing  it  would  be,  if  we  were 
obliged  to  drink  or  do  any  thing  else  that 
may  happen  to  be  agreeable  to  the  company 
where  we  are.”  Langton.  “ By  the 
same  rule,  you  must  join  with  a gang  of 
cut-purses.”  Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir;  but 
yet  we  must  do  justice  to  wine;  we  must 
allow  it  the  power  it  possesses.  To  make 
a man  pleased  with  himself,  let  me  tell  you, 
is  doing  a very  great  thing; 

‘ Si  patriae  volumus,  si  nobis  vivere  cari.’  ” i 


I wTas  at  this  time  myself  a water-d/inker, 
upon  trial,  by  Johnson’s  recommendation 
Johnson.  “ Boswell  is  a bolder  combatant 
than  Sir  Joshua;  he  argues  for  wine  with- 
out the  help  of  wine;  but  Sir  Joshua  with 
it.”  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  “But  to 
please  one’s  company  is  a strong  motive.” 
Johnson  (who,  from  drinking  only  water, 
supposed  every  body  who  drank  wine  to  be 
elevated).  “ I won’t  argue  any  more 
with  you,  sir.  You  are  too  far  gone.” 
Sir  Joshua.  k I should  have  thought  so 
indeed,  sir,  had  I made  such  a speech  as 
you  have  now  done.”  Johnson  (drawing 
himself  in,  and,  I really  thought,  blushing). 
“ Nay,  do  n’t  be  angry.  I did  not  mean  to 
offend  you.”  Sir  Joshua.  “At  first  the 
taste  of  wine  was  disagreeable  to  me;  but 
I brought  myself  to  drink  it,  that  I might 
be  like  other  people.  The  pleasure  of 
drinking  wine  is  so  connected  with  pleasing 
your  company,  that  altogether  there  is 
something  of  social  goodness  in  it.”  John- 
son. “ Sir,  this  is  only  saying  the  same 
thing  over  again.”  Sir  Joshua.  “ No, 
this  is  new.”  Johnson.  “ You  put  it  in 
new  words,  but  it  is  an  old  thought.  This 
is  one  of  the  disadvantages  of  wine,  it 
makes  a man  mistake  words  for  thoughts.” 
Boswell.  “ I think  it  is  a new  thought; 
at  least  it  is  in  a new  attitude .”  Johnson. 
“ Nay,  sir,  it  is  only  in  a new  coat;  or  an 
old  coat  with  a new  facings”  Then  laughing 
heartily:  “ It  is  the  old  dog  in  the  new 
doublet.  An  extraordinary  instance,  how- 
ever, may  occur  where  a man’s  patron  will 
do  nothing  for  him,  unless  he  will  drink: 
there  may  be  a good  reason  for  drinking.” 
I mentioned  a nobleman2,  who  I believed 
was  really  uneasy,  if  his  company  would 
not  drink  hard.  Johnson.  “ That  is 
from  having  had  people  about  him  whom 
he  has  been  accustomed  to  command.’ 
Boswell.  “ Supposing  I should  be  tele 
a-tete  with  him  at  table?”  Johnson. 
“Sir,  there  is  no  more  reason  for  youi 
drinking  with  him , than  his  being  sober 
with  i/ow.”  Boswell.  “Why,  that  is 
true;  for  it  would  do  him  less  hurt  to  be 
sober,  than  it  would  do  me  to  get  drunk.” 
Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir;  and  from  what  I 
have  heard  of  him,  one  would  not  wish  to 
sacrifice  himself  to  such  a man.  If  he  must 
always  have  somebody  to  drink  with  him, 
he  should  buy  a slave,  and  then  he  would 
be  sure  to  have  it.  They  who  submit  to 
drink  as  another  pleases,  make  themselves 
his  slaves.”  Boswell.  “ But,  sir,  you 
will  surely  make  allowance  for  the  duty  of 
hospitality.  A gentleman  who  loves  drink- 
ing, comes  to  visit  me.”  Johnson.  “ Sir, 
a man  knows  whom  he  visits;  he  comes  to 
the  table  of  a sober  man.”  Boswell 


‘ fSeo  ante , vol,  i.  p.  39,  and  p.  64. — En.j 


8 [Perhaps  Lord  Kellie.  E?eeante,p.  120. — Ei>.' 


184 


1778.— ,ETAT.  69. 


“ But,  sir,  you  and  1 should  not  have  been 
so  well  received  in  the  Highlands  and  Heb- 
rides, if  I had  not  drunk  with  our  worthy 
friends.  Had  I drunk  water  only  as  you 
did,  they  would  not  have  been  so  cordial.” 
Johnson.  “ Sir  William  Temple  mentions, 
that  in  his  travels  through  the  Netherlands 
he  had  two  or  three  gentlemen  with  him; 
and  when  a bumper  was  necessary,  he  put 
it  on  them.  Were  I to  travel  again  through 
the  islands,  I would  have  Sir  Joshua  with 
me  to  take  the  bumpers.”  Boswell. 
“ But,  sir,  let  me  put  a case.  Suppose  Sir 
Joshua  should  take  a jaunt  into  Scotland; 
he  does  me  the  honour  to  pay  me  a visit  at 
my  house  in  the  country;  1 am  overjoyed 
at  seeing  him;  we  are  quite  by  ourselves; 
shall  I unsociably  and  churlishly  let  him  sit 
drinking  by  himself?  No,  no,  my  dear 
Sir  Joshua,  you  shall  not  be  treated  so;  I 
will  take  a bottle  with  you.” 

The  celebrated  Mrs.  Rudd  1 being  men- 
tioned: Johnson.  “Fifteen  years  ago  I 

should  have  gone  to  see  her.”  Sfottis- 
woode.  “ Because  she  was  fifteen  years 
younger?”  Johnson.  “ No,  sir;  but  now 
they  have  a trick  of  putting  every  thing  in- 
to the  newspapers.” 

He  begged  of  General  Paoli  to  repeat 
one  of  the  introductory  stanzas  of  the  first 
book  of  Tasso’s  “ Jerusalem,”  which  he 
did,  and  then  Johnson  found  fault  with  the 
simile  of  sweetening  the  edges  of  a cup  for 
a child,  being  transferred  fiom  Lucretius 
into  an  epick  poem.  The  general  said  he 
did  not  imagine  Homer’s  poetry  was  so  an- 
cient as  is  supposed,  because  he  ascribes  to 
a Greek  colony  circumstances  of  refinement 
not  found  in  Greece  itself  at  a later  period, 
when  Thucydides  wrote.  Johnson.  “ I 
recollect  but  one  passage  quoted  by  Thucy- 
dides from  Homer,  which  is  not  to  be  found 
in  our  copies  of  Homer’s  works;  I am  for 
the  antiquity  of  Homer,  and  think  that  a 
Grecian  colony  by  being  nearer  Persia 
might  be  more  refined  than  the  mother 
country.” 

On  Wednesday,  29th  April,  I dined  with 
him  at  Mr.  Allan  Ramsay’s,  where  were 
Lord  Binning,  Dr.  Robertson,  the  histo- 
rian, Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  and  the  Hon- 
ourable Mrs.  Boscawen2,  widow  of  the  ad- 
miral, and  mother  of  the  present  Viscount 
Falmouth;  of  whom,  if  it  be  not  presumptu- 
ous in  me  to  praise  her,  I would  say,  that 
her  manners  are  the  most  agreeable,  and 
her  conversation  the  best,  of  any  lady  with 

1 [Sec  ante , p.  38,  n. — Ed.] 

2 [Frances,  daughter  of  William  Evelyn  Glan- 
ville,  Esq.,  married  in  1742  to  Admiral  Boscawen. 
They  were  the  parents  of  George  Evelyn,  third 
Viscount  Falmouth,  of  Frances,  married  to  the 
Hon.  John  Leveson  Gower,  and  of  Elizabeth,  the 
wife  of  the  fifth  Duke  of  Beaufort.  Mrs.  Bosca- 

wen died  in  1805. — Ed.] 


whom  I ever  had  the  happiness  to  he  ac 
quainted.  Before  Johnson  came  we  talked 
a good  deal  of  him.  Ramsay  said,  he  had 
always  found  him  a very  polite  man,  and 
that  he  treated  him  with  great  respect, 
which  he  did  very  sincerely.  1 said,  I wor 
shipped  him.  Robertson.  “ But  some  of 
you  spoil  him:  you  should  not  worship 
him;  you  should  worship  no  man.”  Bos- 
well. “ I cannot  help  worshipping  him, 
he  is*so  much  superior  to  other  men.” 
Robertson.  “ In  criticism,  and  in  wit 
ana  conversation,  he  is  no  doubt  very  ex- 
cellent; but  in  other  respects  he  is  not  above 
other  men : he  will  believe  any  thing,  and 
will  strenuously  defend  the  most  minute 
circumstance  connected  with  the  church  of 
England.”  Boswell.  “ Believe  me, 
Doctor,  you  are  much  mistaken  as  to  this; 
for  when  you  talk  with  him  calmly  in  pri- 
vate, he  is  very  liberal  in  his  way  of  think- 
ing.” Robertson.  “ He  and  I have  been 
always  very  gracious;  the  first  time  I met 
him  was  one  evening  at  Strahan’s,  when 
he  had  jujt  had  an  unlucky  altercation  with 
Adam  Smith3,  to  whom  he  had  been  so 
rough,  that  Strahan,  after  Smith  was  gone, 
had  remonstrated  with  him,  and  told  him 
that  I was  coming  soon,  and  that  he  was 
uneasy  to  think  that  he  might  behave  in 
the  same  manner  to  me.  c No,  no,  sir, 
(said  Johnson),  I warrant  you  Robertson 
and  I shall  do  very  well.’  Accordingly  he 
was  gentle  and  good  humoured  and  cour- 
teous with  me,  the  whole  evening;  and  he 
has  been  so  upon  every  occasion  that  we 
have  met  since.  I have  often  said,  (laugh- 
ing) that  I have  been  in  a great  measure 
indebted  to  Smith  for  my  good  reception.” 
Boswell.  “ His  power  of  reasoning  is 
very  strong,  and  he  has  a peculiar  art  of 
drawing  characters,  which  is  as  rare  as 
good  portrait  painting.”  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds. “ He  is  undoubtedly  admirable  in 
this:  but,  in  order  to  mark  the  characters 
which  he  draws,  he  overcharges  them,  and 
gives  people  more  than  they  really  have, 
whether  of  good  or  bad.” 

No  sooner  did  he,  of  whom  we  had  been 
thus  talking  so  easily,  arrive,  than  we  were 
all  as  quiet  as  a school  upon  the  entrance  of 
the  head-master  ; and  we  very  soon  sat 
down  to  a table  covered  with  such  variety 
of  good  things,  as  contributed  not  a little  to 
dispose  him  to  be  pleased. 

3 [The  Editor  thinking  it  was  hardly  possible 
that  Boswell  should  have  omitted  all  mention  of 
Adam  Smith  if  Johnson  had  met  him  at  Glasgow, 
almost  doubts  whether  the  violent  scene  reported 
to  have  taken  place  there  {ante,  v.  i.  p.  453-4) 
might  not,  in  fact,  have  been  that  which  occurred 
at  Mr.  Strahan’s,  in  London,  referred  to  by  Dr. 
Robertson.  It  is  clear,  that,  after  such  a parting, 
they  never  could  have  met  in  society  again. — 
Ed.] 


1778.  — /ETAT  69. 


186 


Ramsay.  ct  I am  old  enough  1 to  have 
been  a contemporary  of  Pope.  His  poetry 
was  highly  admired  in  his  life-time,  more  a 
great  deal  than  after  his  death.5'  John- 
son. “ Sir,  it  has  not  been  less  admired 
since  his  death;  no  authours  ever  had  so 
much  fame  in  their  own  life-time  as  Pope 
and  Voltaire;  and  Pope’s  poetry  has  been 
as  much  admired  since  his  death  as  during 
his  life;  it  has  only  not  been  as  much  talk- 
ed of,  but  that  is  owing  to  its  being  now 
more  distant,  and  people  having  other 
writings  to  talk  of.  Virgil  is  less  talked  of 
than  Pope,  and  Homer  is  less  talked  of  than 
Virgil;  but  they  are  not  less  admired.  We 
must  read  what  the  world  reads  at  the  mo- 
ment. It  has  been  maintained  that  this 
superfetation,  this  teeming  of  the  press  in 
modern  times,  is  prejudicial  to  good  litera- 
ture, because  it  obliges  us  to  read  so  much 
of  what  is  of  inferiour  value,  in  order  to  be 
in  the  fashion;  so  that  better  works  are 
neglected  for  want  of  time,  because  a man 
will  have  more  gratification  of  his  vanity  in 
conversation,  from  having  read  modern 
books,  than  from  having  read  the  best 
works  of  antiquity.  But  it  must  be  con- 
sidered, that  we  have  now  more  knowledge 
generally  diffused;  all  our  ladies  read  now, 
which  is  a great  extension.  Modern  wri- 
ters are  the  moons  of  literature;  they  shine 
with  reflected  light,  with  light  borrowed 
from  the  ancients.  Greece  appears  to  me 
to  be  the  fountain  of  knowledge;  Rome  of 
elegance.”  Ramsay.  “ I suppose  Ho- 
mer’s c Iliad 5 to  be  a collection  of  pieces 
which  had  been  written  before  his  time.  I 
should  like  to  see  a translation  of  it  in  po- 
etical prose,  like  the  book  of  Ruth  or  Job.” 
Robertson.  “ Would  you,  Dr.  Johnson, 
who  are  a master  of  the  English  language, 
but  try  your  hand  upon  a part  of  it.”  John- 
son. “ Sir,  you  would  not  read  it  without 
the  pleasure  of  verse  2.” 

We  talked  of  antiquarian  researches. 
Johnson.  “ All  that  is  really  known  of 
the  ancient  state  of  Britain  is  contained  in 
a few  pages.  We  can  know  no  more  than 
what  the  old  writers  have  told  us;  yet  what 
large  books  have  we  upon  it,  the  whole  of 
which,  excepting  such  parts  as  are  taken 
from  those  old  writers,  is  all  a dream,  such 
as  Whitaker’s  c Manchester.’  I have  heard 
Henry’s  c History  of  Britain  ’ well  spoken  of; 
I am  told  it  is  carried  on  in  separate  divi- 
sions, as  the  civil,  the  military,  the  religious 

n [Mr.  Ramsay  was  just  of  Johnson’s  age. — 

Em] 

2 This  experiment,  which  Madame  Dacier  made 
in  vain,  has  since  been  tried  in  our  own  language, 
'by  the  editor  of  “ Ossian,”  and  we  must  either 
think  very  meanly  of  his  abilities,  or  allow  that 
Dr.  Johnson  was  in  the  right.  And  Mr.  Cowper, 
a man  of  real  genius,  has  miserably  failed  in  his 
blank  verse  translation. — Boswell. 

vol.  ii  24 


history;  I wish  much  to  ha  /e  one  branch 
well  done,  and  that  is  the  history  of  man- 
ners, of  common  life.”  Robertson.  “Hen- 
ry should  have  applied  his  attention  to  that 
alone,  which  is  enough  for  any  man;  and 
he  might  have  found  a great  deal  scattered 
in  various  books,  had  he  read  solely  with 
that  view.  Henry  erred  in  not  selling  his 
first  Volume  at  a moderate  price  to  the  book- 
sellers, that  they  might  have  pushed  him 
on  till  he  had  got  reputation.  I sold  my 
c History  of  Scotland  ’ at  a moderate  price, 
as  a work  by  which  the  booksellers  might 
either  gain  or  not;  and  Cadell  has  told  me, 
that  Miller  and  he  have  got  six  thousand 
pounds  by  it.  I afterwards  received  a much 
higher  price  for  my  writings.  An  authour 
should  sell  his  first  work  for  what  the  book- 
sellers will  give,  till  it  shall  appear  whether 
he  is  an  authour  of  merit,  or,  which  is  the 
same  thing  as  to  purchase-money,  an  au- 
thour who  pleases  the  publick.” 

Dr.  Robertson  expatiated  on  the  charac- 
ter of  a certain  nobleman  3;  that  he  was  one 
of  the  strongest-minded  men  that  ever 
lived;  that  he  would  sit  in  company  quite 
sluggish,  while  there  was  nothing  to  call 
forth  his  intellectual  vigour;  but  the  mo- 
ment that  any  important  subject  was  start- 
ed, for  instance,  how  this  country  is  to  be 
defended  against  a French  invasion,  he 
would  rouse  himself,  and  show  his  extraor- 
dinary talents  with  the  most  powerful  abil- 
ity and  animation.  Johnson.  “ Yet  this 
man  cut  his  own  throat.  The  true  strong 
and  sound  mind  is  the  mind  that  can  em- 
brace equally  great  things  and  small.  Now 
I am  told  the  King  of  Prussia  will  say  to  a 
servant,  c Bring  me  a bottle  of  such  a wine, 
which  came  in  such  a year;  it  lies  in  such  a 
corner  of  the  cellars.’  I would  have  a man 
great  in  great  things,  and  elegant  in  little 
things.”  He  said  to  me  afterwards,  when 
we  were  by  ourselves,  “ Robertson  was  in  a 
mighty  romantick  humour,  he  talked  of  one 
whom  he  did  not  know;  but  I downed  him 
with  the  King  of  Prussia.”  “ Yes,  sir,” 
said  I,  “ you  threw  a bottle  at  his  head.” 
An  ingenious  gentleman  was  mentioned, 
concerning  whom  both  Robertson  and 
Ramsay  agreed  that  he  had  a constant  firm- 
ness of  mind;  for  after  a laborious  day,  and 
amidst  a multiplicity  of  cares  and  anxieties, 
he  would  sit  down  with  his  sisters  and  be 
quite  cheerful  and  good-humoured.  Such 
a disposition,  it  was  observed,  was  the  hap- 
py gift  of  nature.  Johnson.  “I  do  not 
think  so:  a man  has  from  nature  a certain 
portion  of  mind;  the  use  he  makes  of  it  de- 
pends upon  his  own  free  will.  That  a man 
has  always  the  same  firmness  of  mind,  I do 
not  say:  because  every  man  feels  his  mind 
less  firm  at  one  time  than  another;  but  I 
think,  a man’s  being  in  a good  or  bad  hu 

3 [Lord  Clive.— Ed.] 


186 


1778.— /ET  AT.  69. 


mour  depends  upon  his  will.”  I,  however, 
could  not  help  thinking  that  a man’s  hu- 
mour is  often  uncontrollable  by  his  will. 

Johnson  harangued  against  drinking 
wine.  “ A man,”  said  he,  “ may  choose 
whether  he  will  have  abstemiousness  and 
knowledge,  or  claret  and  ignorance.”  Dr. 
Robertson,  (who  is  very  companionable), 
was  beginning  to  dissent  as  to  the  proscrip- 
tion of  claret.  Johnson  (with  a placid 
smile).  “Nay,  sir,  you  shall  not  differ 
with  me;  as  I have  said  that  the  man  is 
most  perfect  who  takes  in  the  most  things, 
I am  for  knowledge  and  claret.”  Robert- 
son (holding  a glass  of  generous  claret  in  his 
hand).  “ Sir,  I can  only  drink  your  health.” 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  I should  be  sorry  if  you 
should  be  ever  in  such  a state  as  to  be  able 
to  do  nothing  more.”  Robertson.  “ Dr. 
Johnson,  allow  me  to  say,  that  in  one  re- 
spect I have  the  advantage  of  you;  when 
you  were  in  Scotland  you  would  not  come 
to  hear  any  of  our  preachers;  whereas,  when 
I am  here,  I attend  your  publick  worship 
without  scruple,  and,  indeed,  with  great  sa- 
tisfaction.” Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  that  is 
not  so  extraordinary:  the  King  of  Siam 
sent  ambassadors  to  Louis  the  Fourteenth, 
but  Louis  the  Fourteenth  sent  none  to  the 
King  of  Siam  b” 

Here  my  friend  for  once  discovered  a 
want  of  knowledge  or  forgetfulness;  for 
Louis  the  Fourteenth  did  send  an  embassy 
to  the  King  of  Siam1 2,  and  the  Abbe  Choisi, 
who  was  employed  in  it,  published  an  ac- 
count of  it  in  two  volumes. 

Next  day,  Thursday,  April  30,  I found 
him  at  home  by  himself.  Johnson.  “Well, 
sir,  Ramsay  gave  us  a splendid  dinner.  I 
love  Ramsay.  You  will  not  find  a man  in 
whose  conversation  there  is  more  instruc- 
tion, more  information,  and  more  elegance, 
than  in  Ramsay’s.”  Boswell.  “ What 
I admire  in  Ramsay,  is  his  continuing  to  be 
so  young.”  Johnson.  “ Why,  yes,  sir, 
it  is  to  be  admired.  I value  myself  upon 
this,  that  there  is  nothing  of  the  old  man 
in  my  conversation3.  I am  now  sixiy- 
eiglit,  and  I have  no  more  of  it  than  at 
twenty-eight.”  Boswell.  “ But,  sir, 


1 Mrs.  Piozzi  confidently  mentions  this  as  hav- 
ing passed  in  Scotland. — Anecdotes , p.  62. — 
Boswell. 

2 The  Abbe  de  Choisi  was  sent  by  Louis  XIV. 
on  an  embassy  to  the  King  of  Siam  in  1683,  with 
a view,  it  has  been  said,  to  convert  the  king  of 
the  country  to  Christianity. — Malone. 

3 [Johnson  in  his  “ Meditations  ” (April  20, 

ante,  p.  179),  congratulates  himself  on  writing 

with  all  his  usual  vigour.  “ I have  made  ser- 
mons,”  says  he,  “ as  readily  as  formerly.” 
Probably,  those  which  were  left  for  publication 
by  Dr.  Taylor,  and  written,  perhaps  (or  some  of 
them),  at  Ashbiurne  in  the  preceding  autumn. 
See  ante  p 124.— Hall  ] 


would  not  you  wish  to  know  old  age?  He 
who  is  never  an  old  man/  does  not  know 
the  whole  of  human  life;  for  old  age  is  one 
of  the  divisions  of  it.”  Johnson.  “ Nay, 
sir,  what  talk  is  this?”  Boswell.  “1 
mean,  sir,  the  Sphinx’s  description  of  it: — 
morning,  noon,  and  night.  I would  know 
night,  as  well  as  morning  and  noon.” 
Johnson.  “What,  sir,  would  you  know 
what  it  is  to  feel  the  evils  of  old  age? 
Would  you  have  the  gout?  Would  you 
have  decrepitude?”  Seeing  him  heated, 
I would  not  argue  any  farther;  but  I was 
confident  that  I was  in  the  right.  I tvould, 
in  due  time,  be  a Nestor,  an  elder  of  the 
people;  and  there  should  be  some  difference 
between  the  conversation  of  twenty-eight 
and  sixty-eight 4.  A grave  picture  should 
not  be  gay.  There  is  a serene,  solemn, 
placid  old  age.  Johnson.  “ Mrs.  Thrale’s 
mother  said  of  me  what  flattered  me  much. 
A clergyman  was  complaining  of  want  of 
society  in  the  country  where  he  lived;  and 
said,  ‘ They  talk  of  runts , (that  is,  young 
cows)5.  c Sir  (said  Mrs.  Salisbury),  Mr 
Johnson  would  learn  to  talk  of  runts  ; ’ 
meaning  that  I was  a man  who  would  make 
the  most  of  my  situation,  whatever  it  was.” 
He  added,  “ I think  mvself  a very  polite 
man.” 

[Johnson  expressed  a similar  Piozzi, 
opinion  of  his  own  politeness  to  p-  27-s, 
Mrs.  Thrale,  and,  oddly  enough, ' 199,200, 
on  two  particular  occasions,  in  which  the 
want  of  that  quality  seemed  remarkably  ap- 
parent. Dr.  Johnson  delighted  in  his  own 
partiality  for  Oxford;  and  one  day,  at  her 
house,  entertained  five  members  of  the 
other  university  with  various  instances  of 
the  superiority  of  Oxford,  enumerating  the 
gigantic  names  of  many  men  whom  it  had 
produced,  with  apparent  triumph.  At  last 

4 Johnson  clearly  meant  (what  the  authour  has 
often  elsewhere  mentioned),  that  he  had  none  of 
the  listlessness  of  old  age,  that  he  had  the  same 
activity  and  energy  of  mind , as  formerly;  not 
that  a man  of  sixty-eight  might  dance  in  a pub- 
lick  assembly  with  as  much  propriety  as  he  could 
at  twenty-eight.  His  conversation  being  the  pro- 
duct of  much  various  knowledge,  great  acuteness, 
and  extraordinary  wit,  was  equally  well  suited  to 
every  period  of  life ; and  as  in  his  youth  it  proba 
bly  did  not  not  exhibit  any  unbecoming  levity,  so 
certainly  in  his  later  years  it  was  totally  free  from 
the  garrulity  and  querulousness  of  old  age. — Ma- 
lone. 

5 Such  is  the  signification  of  this  word  in  Scot- 
land, and  it  should  seem  in  Wales.  (See  Skin- 
ner in  v.)  But  the  heifers  of  Scotland  and  Wales, 
when  brought  to  England,  being  always  smaller 
than  those  of  this  country,  the  word  runt  has  ac- 
quired a secondary  sense,  and  generally  signifies  a 
heifer  diminutive  in  size,  small  beyond  the  ordi- 
nary growth  of  that  animal;  and  in  this  sense 
alone  the  word  is  acknowledged  by  Dr.  Johnsoc 
in  his  Dictionary. — Malone 


1776.— AT.  69. 


187 


Mrs.  Thrale  said  to  him,  “ Why  there 
happens  to  be  no  less  than  five  Cambridge 
men  in  the  room  now.”  “I  did  not,”  said 
he,  “ think  of  that  till  you  told  me ; but 
the  wolf  do  n’t  count  the  sheep.”  When 
the  company  were  retired,  the  domestic  cir- 
cle happened  to  be  talking  of  Dr.  Barnard, 
the  provost  of  Eton,  who  died  about  that 
time;  and  after  a long  and  just  euiogium 
on  his  wit,  bis  learning,  and  goodness  of 
heart, — Dr.  Johnson  said,  quite  seriously, 
“ He  was  the  only  man,  too,  that  did  jus- 
tice to  my  good  breeding;  and  you  may  ob- 
serve that  I am  well-bred  to  a degree  of 
needless  scrupulosity.  No  man,”  contin- 
ued he,  not  observing  the  amazement  of  his 
hearers, “ no  man  is  so  cautious  not  to  in- 
terrupt another;  no  man  thinks  it  so  neces- 
sary to  appear  attentive  when  others  are 
speaking;  no  man  so  steadily  refuses  pre- 
ference to  himself,  or  so  willingly  bestows 
it  on  another,  as  I do;  nobody  holds  so 
strongly  as  I do  the  necessity  of  ceremony, 
and  the  ill  effects  which  follow  the  breach 
of  it:  yet  people  think  me  rude;  but  Bar- 
nard did  me  justice.”  “ ’Tis  pity,”  said  Mrs. 
Thrale,  laughing,  “ that  he  had  not  h^ard 
you  compliment  the  Cambridge  men  after 
dinner  to-day ! ” 

Piozzi  On  an°ther  occasion,  he  had 

p.  199’  been  professing  that  he  was  very 
200-  attentive  not  to  offend,  and  very 
careful  to  maintain  the  ceremonies  of  life; 
and  had  told  Mr.  Thrale,  that  though  he 
had  never  sought  to  please  till  he  was  past 
thirty,  considering  the  matter  as  hopeless, 
yet  he  had  been  always  studious  not  to  make 
enemies,  by  apparent  preference  of  himself, 
ft  happened,  that  this  curious  conversation, 
of  which  Mrs.  Thrale  was  a silent  auditress, 
passed,  in  her  coach,  in  some  distant  pro- 
vince, either  Shropshire  or  Derbyshire;  and 
as  soon  as  it  was  over,  Dr.  Johnson  took 
out  of  his  pocket  a little  book  and  was 
reading,  when  a gentleman,  of  no  small 
distinction  for  his  birth  and  elegance,  sud- 
denly rode  up  to  the  carriage,  and  paying 
them  all  his  proper  compliments,  was  desi- 
rous not  to  neglect  Dr.  Johnson  ; but  ob- 
serving that  he  did  not  see  him,  tapped 
him  gently  on  the  shoulder.  “ 5 Tis  Mr. 
Choimondeley,”  said  Mr.  Thrale.  “ Well, 
sir!  and  what  ifitisMr.  Choimondeley!” 
said  the  other  sternly,  just  lifting  his  eyes 
a moment  from  his  book,  and  returning  to 
it  again  with  renewed  avidity.] 

Ed  [Miss  Reynolds  describes  these 

points  of  Johnson’s  character  with 
more  discrimination. 

“ That  Dr.  Johnson  possessed  the 
•Recoi.  essential  principles  of  politeness  and 
of  good  taste  (which  I suppose  are 
the  same,  at  least  concomitant),  none  who 
knew  his  virtues  and  his  genius  will,  I im- 
agine, be  disposed  to  dispute.  But  why 


they  remained  with  him,  like  gold  in  the 
ore,  unfashioned  ana  unseen,  except  in  his 
literary  capacity,  no  person  that  l know  of 
has  made  any  inquiry  though  in  general 
it  has  been  spoken  of  as  an  unaccountable 
inconsistency  in  his  character.  Much,  too, 
may  be  said  in  excuse  lor  an  apparent,  as- 
perity of  manners  which  were,  at  times  at 
least,  the  natural  effect  of  those  inherent 
mental  infirmities  to  which  he  was  subject. 

His  corporeal  defects  also  contributed  large- 
ly to  the  singularity  of  his  manners;  and  a 
little  reflection  on  the  disqualifying  influ- 
ence of  blindness  and  deafness  would  sug- 
gest many  apologies  for  Dr.  Johnson’s 
want  of  politeness.  The  particular  in- 
stance1 I have  just  mentioned,  of  his  ina- 
bility to  discriminate  the  features  of  any 
one’s  face,  deserves  perhaps  more  than  any 
other  to  be  taken  into  consideration,  want- 
ing, as  he  did,  the  aid  of  those  intelligent 
signs,  or  insinuations,  which  the  counte- 
nance displays  in  social  converse  ; and 
which,  in  their  slightest  degree,  influence 
and  regulate  the  manners  of  the  polite,  or 
even  the  common  observer.  And  to  his 
defective  hearing,  perhaps,  his  unaccom- 
modating manners  may  be  equally  ascribed, 
which  not  only  precluded  him  from  the 
perception  of  the  expressive  tones  of  the 
voice  of  others,  but  from  hearing  the  bois- 
terous sound  of  his  own : and  nothing,  ,1 
believe,  more  conduced  to  fix  upon  his 
character  the  general  stigma  of  ill-breeding, 
than  his  loud  imperious  tone  of  voice, 
which  apparently  heightened  the  slightest 
dissent  to  a tone  of  harsh  reproof ; and, 
with  his  corresponding  aspect,  had  an  in- 
timidating influence  on  those  who  were  not 
much  acquainted  with  him,  and  excited  a 
degree  of  resentment  which  his  words  in 
ordinary  circumstances  would  not  have 
provoked.  I have  often  heard  him  on  such 
occasions  express  great  surprise,  that  what 
he  had  said  could  have  given  any  offence 
Under  such  disadvantages,  it  was  not  much 
to  be  wondered  at  that  Dr.  Johnson  should 
have  committed  many  blunders  and  absur- 
dities, and  excited  surprise  and  resentmenl 
in  company;  one  in  particular  I remember 
Being  in  company  with  Mr.  Garrick  and 
some  others,  who  were  unknown  to  Dr. 
Johnson,  he  was  saying  something  tending 
to  the  disparagement  of  the  character  or  of 
the  works  of  a gentleman  present — I have 
forgot  which;  on  which  Mr.  Garrick  touch- 
ed his  foot  under  the  table,  but  he  still 
went  on,  and  Garrick,  much  alarmed, 
touched  him  a second  time,  and,  I believe,  ^ 
the  third;  at  last  Johnson  exclaimed,  1 Da- 
vid, David,  is  it  you?  What  makes  you 
tread  on  my  toes  so?’  This  little  anec- 
dote, perhaps,  indicates  as  much  the  want 


1 [ Ante , p.  18,  n. — Er  ] 


188 


1778. — yETAT.  69. 


of  prudence  in  Dr.  Johnson  as  the  want  of 
sight.  But  had  he  at  first  seen  Garrick’s 
expressive  countenance,  and  (probably)  the 
embarrassment  of  the  rest  of  the  company 
on  the  occasion,  it  doubtless  would  not 
have  happened.” 

“ It  were  also  mi^ch  to  be  wished,  in  jus- 
tice to  Dr.  Johnson’s  character  for  good 
manners,  that  many  jocular  and  ironical 
speeches  which  have  been  reported  had 
been  noted  ^as  such,  for  the  information  of 
those  who  were  unacquainted  with  him. 
Though  he  was  fond  of  drawing  characters, 
and  did  so  con  amor e, to  the  delight  of  all  who 
heard  him,  I cannot  say  (though  he  said 
he  loved  a good  hater)  that  I ever  heard  him 
draw  one  con  odio .”] 

“ DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ [Thursday,]  30th  April,  1778. 

“ Since  I was  fetched  away  from 
etteis.  the  journal  [of  engage- 

ments] stands  thus: 

Saturday,  Sir  Joshua. 

Sunday,  Mr.  Hoole. 

Monday,  Lord  Lucan. 

Tuesday,  Gen.  Paoli. 

Wednesday,  Mr.  Ramsay. 

Thursday,  Old  Bailey  1. 

Friday,  Club. 

Saturday,  Sir  Joshua. 

Sunday,  Lady  Lucan. 

“ Monday.  Pray  let  it  be  Streatham, 
and  very  early;  do,  now,  let  it  be  very  ear- 
ly. For  I may  be  carried  away — just  like 
Ganymede  of  Troy. 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

“ Do,  now,  let  me  know  whether  you  will 
send  for  me — early — on  Monday.  But  take 
some  care,  or  your  letter  will  not  come  till 
Tuesday.” 

On  Saturday,  May  2,  I dined  with  him 
at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s,  where  there  was  a 
very  large  company,  and  a great  deal  of 
conversation;  but,  owing  to  some  circum- 
stance which  I cannot  now  recollect,  I have 
no  record  of  any  part  of  it,  except  that  there 
were  several  people  there  by  no  means  of 
the  Johnsonian  school;  so  that  less  atten- 
tion was  paid  to  him  than  usual,  which  put 
him  out  of  humour : and  upon  some  imagin- 
ary offence  2 from  me,  he  attacked  me  with 

1 [There  is  a dinner  given  at  the  Old  Bailey  to 
the  judges,  council,  and  a few  guests — perhaps  it 
was  to  one  of  these  dinners  that  Johnson  was  in- 
vited.— After  the  foregoing  note  had  been  written, 
the  Editor  learned  that  the  venerable  Mr.  Cham- 
berlain Clarke,  now  in  his  ninety-first  year,  re- 
members to  have  taken  Johnson  to  his  dinner,  he 
being  then  sheriff.  The  judges  were  Blackstone 
and  Eyre.  Mr.  Justice  Blackstone  conversed  with 
Johnson  on  the  subject  of  their  absent  friend,  Sir 
Robert  Chambers. — Ed.] 

2 [Lord  Wellesley  has  been  so  obliging  as  to 
give  the  Editor  the  following  account  of  the  cause 


such  rudeness,  that  1 was  vexed  and  angry 
because  it  gave  those  persons  an  opportu 
nity  of  enlarging  upon  his  supposed  ferocity, 
and  ill  treatment  of  his  best  friends.  I was 
so  much  hurt,  and  had  my  pride  so  much 
roused,  that  I kept  away  from  him  for  a 
week;  and,  perhaps,  might  have  kept  away 
much  longer,  nay,  gone  to  Scotland  with- 
out seeing  him  again,  had  not  we  fortunate- 
ly met  and  been  reconciled.  To  such  un- 
happy chances  are  human  friendships  liable. 

On  Friday,  May  8, 1 dined  with  him  at  Mr. 
Langton’s.  I was  reserved  and  silent,  which 
I suppose  he  perceived,  and  might  recollect 
the  cause.  After  dinner,  when  Mr.  Lang- 
ton  was  called  out  of  the  room,  and  we  were 
by  ourselves,  he  drew  his  chair  near  to  mine, 
and  said,  in  a tone  of  conciliating  courtesy, 
“ Well,  how  have  you  done?  ” Boswell. 
“ Sir,  you  have  made  me  very  uneasy  by 
your  behaviour  to  me  when  we  were  last  at 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s.  You  know,  my 
dear  sir,  no  man  has  a greater  respect  and 
affection  for  you,  or  would  sooner  go  to  the 
end  of  the  world  to  serve  you.  Now  to 
treat  me  so — .”  He  insisted  that  I had  in- 
terrupted, which  I assured  him  was  not  the 
case;  and  proceeded — cc  But  why  treat  me 
so  before  people  who  neither  love  you  nor 
me?”  Johnson.  “ Well,  I am  sorry  for 
it.  I ’ll  make  it  up  to  you  twenty  different 
ways,  as  you  please.”  Boswell.  “I  said 
to-day  to  Sir  Joshua,  when  he  observed 
that  you  tossed  me  sometimes,  I don’t  care 
how  often,  or  how  high  he  tosses  me,  when 
only  friends  are  present,  for  then  I fall  upon 
soft  ground;  but  I do  not  like  falling  on 

of  this  quarrel:  “ Boswell,  one  day  at  Sir  Joshua’s 
table,  chose  to  pronounce  a high-flown  panegyric 
on  the  wits  of  Queen  Anne’s  reign,  and  exclaimed, 
‘ How  delightful  it  must  have  been  to  have  lived 
in  the  society  of  Pope,  Swift,  Arbulhnot,  Gay, 
and  Bolingbroke  ! We  have  no  such  society  in 
our  days.’  Sir  Joshua.  ‘I  think,  Mr.  Bos- 
well you  might  be  satisfied  with  your  great  friend’s 
conversation’  Johnson.  ‘Nay,  sir,  Boswell 
is  right ; every  man  wishes  for  preferment,  and  if 
Boswell  had  lived  in  those  days,  he  would  have 
obtained  promotion.’  Sir  Joshua.  * How  so, 
sir?’  Johnson.  ‘Sir,  he  would  have  had  a 
high  place  in  the  Dunciad.’  This  anecdote  Lord 
Wellesley  heard  from  Mr.  Thomas  Sydenham, 
who  received  it  from  Mr.  Knight,  on  the  author- 
ity of  Sir  J oshua  Reynolds  himself.”  The  Edi- 
tor, however,  suspects  that  this  is  but  another  ver 
I sion  of  the  repartee  of  the  same  kind,  in  reference 
to  the  Dunciad,  made  in  Sir  Joshua’s  presence, 
though  not  at  his  house,  some  years  before  (see 
ante,  vol.  i.  p.  259).  Johnson’s  playful  retort 
seems  so  much  less  offensive  than  fifty  others,  that 
Boswell  relates  himself  to  have  endured  patiently, 
that  it  is  improbable  that  he  should  have  resented 
it  so  deeplv.  The  anecdote,  in  passing  through 
the  hands  of  Mr.  Knight  and  Mr.  Sydenham, 
may  have  lost  its  true  date,  and  acquired  something 
beyond  its  true  expression.-  -Ed.] 


1778. — iETAT  69 


189 


stones,  which  is,  the  case  when  enemies  are 
present.  I think  this  a pretty  good  image, 
sir.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  it  is  one  of  the  hap- 
piest I have  ever  heard  V’ 

The  truth  is,  there  was  no  venom  in  the 
wounds  which  he  inflicted  at  any  time,  un- 
less they  were  irritated  by  some  malignant 
infusion  by  other  hands.  We  were  instant- 
ly as  cordial  again  as  ever,  and  joined  in 
hearty  laugh  at  some  ludicrous  but  innocent 
peculiarities  of  one  of  our  friends.  Bos- 
well. “ Do  you  think,  sir,  it  is  always 
culpable  to  laugh  at  a man  to  his  face?” 
Johnson.  ££  Why,  sir,  that  depends  upon 
the  man  and  the  thing.  If  it  is  a slight 
man,  and  a slight  thing,  you  may;  for  you 
take  nothing  valuable  from  him.” 

He  said,  “ I read  yesterday  Dr.  Blair’s 
sermon  on  devotion,  from  the  text  £ Corne- 
lius, a devout  man.5  His  doctrine  is  the 
best  limited,  the  best  expressed : there  is  the 
most  warmth  without  fanaticism,  the  most 
rational  transport.  There  is  one  part  of  it 
which  I disapprove,  and  I ’d  have  him  cor- 
rect it;  which  is,  that  c he  who  does  not 
feel  joy  in  religion  is  far  from  the  kingdom 
of  heaven ! 5 there  are  many  good  men 
whose  fear  of  God  predominates  over  their 
love.  It  may  discourage.  It  was  rashly 
said1 2.  A noble  sermon  it  is  indeed.  I 
wish  Blair  would  come  over  to  the  church 
of  Englarifl.” 

When  Mr.  Langton  returned  to  us,  the 
££  flow  of  talk  went  on.”  An  eminent  au- 
thour3being  mentioned:  Johnson.  ££  He 
is  not  a pleasant  man.  His  conversation  is 
neither  instructive  nor  brilliant.  He  does 
not  talk  as  if  impelled  by  any  fulness  of 


1 [The  simplicity  with  which  Boswell  repeats 
this  flattery,  without  seeing  that  it  was  only  a 
peace-offering , is  very  characteristic  and  amusing. 

— Ed.] 

2 [The  passage  referred  to  is,  “Of  what  na- 
ture must  that  man’s  religion  be,  who  professes  to 
worship  God  and  to  believe  in  Christ,  and  yet 
raises  his  thoughts  towards  God  and  his  Saviour 
without  any  warmth  of  gratitude  or  love ? This 
is  not  the  man  whom  you  would  choose  for  your 
bosom  friend , or  whose  heart  you  would  expect 
to  answer  with  reciprocal  warmth  to  yours; 
such  a person  must  as  yet  be  far  from  the  king- 
dom of  heaven.” — Blair's  Sermons,  vol.  i.  p. 
261.  Dr.  Johnson’s  remark  is  certainly  just ; and 
it  may  be,  moreover,  observed  that,  from  Blair’s 
expressions,  and  his  reference  to  human  friend- 
ships and  affections,  he  might  be  understood  to 
mean,  that  unless  we  feel  the  same  kind  of 
“warmth”  and  affection  towards  God  that  we 
do  towards  the  objects  of  human  love,  we  are 
far  from  the  kingdom  of  heaven — an  idea  which 
seems  to  countenance  fanaticism,  and  which  every 
sober-minded  Christian  feels  to  be  a mere  play  on 
words  ; for  the  love  of  God  and  the  love  of  one’s 
wife  and  friend  are  certainly  not  the  same  pas- 
sion.— Ed.] 

3 [Probal’y  Dr.  Robertson. — Ed.] 


knowledge  or  vivacity  of  imagination.  His 
conversation  is  like  that  of  any  other  sensi- 
ble man.  He  talks  with  no  wish  either  to 
inform  or  to  hear,  but  only  because  he 

thinks  it  does  not  become to  sit  in 

a company  and  say  nothing.55 

Mr.  Langton  having  repeated  the  anec- 
dote of  Addison  having  distinguished  be- 
tween his  powers  in  conversation  and  in 
writing,  by  saying  “ I have  only  ninepence 
in  my  pocket;  but  I can  draw  for  a thou- 
sand pounds; 55 — Johnson.  “ He  had  not 
that  retort  ready,  sir;  he  had  prepared  it  be- 
fore-hand.” Langton  (turningto  me)  “ A 
fine  surmise.  Set  a thief  to  catch  a thief.55 

Johnson  called  the  East  Indians  barba- 
rians. Boswell.  ££  You  will  except  the 
Chinese,  sir?  ” Johnson.  “ No,  sir.55 
Boswell.  “ Have  they  not  arts  ? ” John 
son.  “ They  have  pottery.”  Boswell 
“ What  do  you  say  to  the  written  charac- 
ters of  their  language?  ” Johnson.  “ Sir, 
they  have  not  an  alphabet.  They  have 
not  been  able  to  form  what  all  other  nations 
have  formed.”  Boswell.  “ There  is 
more  learning  in  their  language  than  in  any 
other,  from  the  immense  number  of  their 
characters.”  Johnson.  “ It  is  only  more 
difficult  from  its  rudeness;  as  there  is  more 
labour  in  hewing  down  a tree  with  a stone 
than  with  an  axe.” 

He  said,  “ I have  been  reading  Lord 
Karnes’s  £ Sketches  of  the  History  of  Man.’ 
In  treating  of  severity  of  punishment,  he 
mentions  that  of  Madame  Lapouchin,  in 
Russia,  but  he  does  not  give  it  fairly;  for  I 
have  looked  at  Chappe  D'Jluteroche,  from 
whom  he  has  taken  it.  He  stops  where  it 
is  said  that  the  spectators  thought  her  inno- 
cent, and  leaves  out  what  follows;  that  she 
nevertheless  was  guilty.  Now  this  is  being 
as  culpable  as  one  can  conceive,  to  misre- 
present fact  in  a book,  and  for  what  motive  ? 
It  is  like  one  of  those  lies  which  people  tell, 
one  cannot  see  why.  The  woman’s  life 
was  spared;  and  no  punishment  was  too 
great  for  the  favourite  of  an  empress,  who 
had  conspired  to  dethrone  her  mistress.” 
Boswell.  ££  He  was  only  giving  a picture 
of  the  lady  in  her  sufferings.”  Johnson  1 
££  Nay,  don’t  endeavour  to  palliate  this. 
Guilt  is  a principal  feature  in  the  picture. 
Karnes  is  puzzled  with  a question  that  puz- 
zled me  when  I was  a very  young  man. 
Why  is  it  that  the  interest  of  money  is  low- 
er, when  money  is  plentiful;  for  five  pounds 
has  the  same  proportion  of  value  to  a hun- 
dred pounds  when  money  is  plentiful,  as 
when  it  is  scarce?  A lady  explained  it  to 
me.  It  is  (said  she)  because  when  money 
is  plentiful  there  are  so  many  more  who 
have  money  to  lend,  that  they  bid  down  one 
another.  Many  have  then  a hundred 
pounds;  and  one  says — Take  mine  rather 
than  another’s,  and  you  shall  have  it  at  four 
per  cent”  Boswell.  ££  Does  Lord  Karnes 


190 


1778.— flETAT.  69 


decide  the  question  ? ” Johnson.  cc  I think 
lie  leaves  it  as  he  found  it  ” Boswell. 
“ This  must  have  been  an  extraordinary  lady 
who  instructed  you,  sir.  May  I ask  who 
she  was?  ” Johnson.  “ Molly  Aston  sir, 
the  sister  of  those  ladies  with  whom  you 

dined  at  Lifchfield. 1 shall  be  at  home 

to-morrow.”  Boswell.  “ Then  let  us 
dine  by  ourselves  at  the  Mitre,  to  keep  up 
the  old  custom,  c the  custom  of  the  manor,5 
custom  of  the  Mitre.”  Johnson.  “ Sir, 
so  it  shall  be.” 

, [Dr-  Johnson  had  however  an 
T°i2o’  avowed  and  scarcely  limited  partial- 
ity for  all  who  bore  the  name  or 
coasted  the  alliance  of  an  Aston  or  a fier- 
vey;  [but  above  all  for  Miss  Mary  Aston, 
whom  he  has  celebrated  in  his  criticisms  on 
Pope’s  epitaphs,  as  a lady  of  great  beauty 
and  elegance.]  And  when  Mr.  Thrale 
once  asked  him  which  had  been  the  happi- 
est period  of  his  past  life  ? he  replied,  it  was 
that  year  in  which  he  spent  one  whole  even- 
ing with  Molly  Aston.  “ That  indeed,” 
said  he,  “ was  not  happiness,  it  was  rapture; 
but  the  thoughts  of  it  sweetened  the  whole 
year.”  Mrs.  Piozzi  observes,  that  the  even- 
ing alluded  to  was  not  passed  tite-a-tete, 
but  in  a select  company,  of  which  the  pre- 
sent Lord  Kilmorey 1  2 was  one.  “ Molly,” 
said  Dr.  Johnson,  “was  a beauty  and  a 
scholar,  and  a wit  and  a whig;  and  she 
talked  all  in  praise  of  liberty:  and  so  I made 
that  epigram  upon  her. — She  was  the  love- 
liest creature  I ever  saw  ! 

Mrs.  Piozzi  asked  him  what  his  wife 
thought  of  this  attachment  ? “ She  was 

1 Johnson  had  an  extraordinary  admiration  of 
this  lady,  notwithstanding  she  was  a violent  whig. 
In  answer  to  her  high-flown  speeches  for  liberty , 
he  addressed  to  her  the  following  epigram,  of 
which  I presume  to  offer  a translation: 

“ Liber  ut  esse  velim,  suasisti  pulchra  Maria, 

Ut  maneam  liber — puflchra  Maria,  vale ! ” 

Adieu,  Maria!  since  you’d  have  me  free: 

For,  who  beholds  thy  charms,  a slave  must  be. 

A correspondent  of  “ The  Gentleman’s  Maga- 
zine,” who  subscribes  himself  Sciolus,  to  whom 
•I  am  indebted  for  several  excellent  remarks,  ob- 
serves, “ The  turn  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  lines  to  Miss 
Aston,  whose  whig  principles  he  had  been  com- 
bating, appears  to  me  to  be  taken  from  an  inge- 
nious epigram  in  the  * Menagiana,’  vol.  iii.  p. 
376,  edit.  1716,  on  a young  lady  who  appeared 
at  a masquerade,  habillee  en  Jesuite,  during  the 
fierce  contentions- of  the  followers  ofMolinos  and 
and  Jansenius  concerning  free-will  : 

“ On  s’etonnc  ici  que  Caliste 
Ait  pris  l’habit  de  Moliniste. 

Puisque  cette  jeune  beaute 
Ote  a chacun  sa  liberte 
N’est-ce  pas  une  Janseniste  ?”■ — Boswell. 

* [See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  4S1,  n.,  where  Loid  Kil- 
morey  should  have  been  stated  to  be  John,  the 
tenth  VBcount. — Ed.] 


jealous,  to  be  sure,”  said  he,  *«  and  teased 
me  sometimes,  when  I would  let  her;  and 
one  day,  as  a fortune-telling  gipsy  passed 
us,  when  we  were  walking  out  in  company 
with  two  or  three  friends  in  the  country,  she 
made  the  wench  look  at  my  hand,  but  soon 
repented  her  curiosity;  for,  says  the  gipsy, 
your  heart  is  divided,  sir,  between  a Betty 
and  a Molly:  Betty  loves  you  best,  but  you 
take  most  delight  in  Molly’s  company:  when 
I turned  about  to  laugh,  I saw  my  wife 
was  crying.  Pretty  charmer ! she  had  no 
reason ! ”] 

On  Saturday,  May  9,  we  fulfilled  our  pur 
pose  of  dining  by  ourselves  at  the  Mure, 
according  to  the  old  custom.  There  was. 
on  these  occasions,  a little  circumstance  of 
kind  attention  to  Mrs.  Williams,  which 
must  not  be  omitted.  Before  coming  out, 
and  leaving  her  to  dine  alone,  he  gave  her 
her  choice  of  a chicken,  a sweetbread,  or  any 
other  little  nice  thing,  which  was  carefully- 
sent  to  her  from  the  tavern  ready  drest. 

Our  conversation  to-day,  I know  not  how, 
turned,  I think,  for  the  only  time  at  any 
length,  during  our  long  acquaintance,  upon 
the  sensual  intercourse  between  the  sexes, 
the  delight  of  which  he  ascribed  chiefly  to 
imagination.  “ Were  it  not  for  imagina- 
tion, sir,”  said  he,  “ a man  would  be  as  hap- 
py in  the  arms  of  a chambermaid  as  of  a 
duchess.  But  such  is  the  adventitious 
charm  of  fancy,  that  we  find  men  who  have 
violated  the  best  principles  of  society,  and 
ruined  their  fame  and  their  fortune,  that 
they  might  possess  a woman  of  rank.”  Ii 
would  not  be  proper  to  record  the  particu 
lars  of  such  a conversation  in  moments  of 
unreserved  frankness,  when  nobody  was 
present  on  whom  it  could  have  any  hurt 
ful  effect.  That  subject,  when  philosophi 
cally  treated,  may  surely  employ  the  mind  in 
a curious  discussion,  and  as  innocently  as 
anatomy;  provided  that  those  who  do  treat 
it  keep  clear  of  inflammatory  incentives. 

“From  grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to  se 
vere,” — we  were  soon  engaged  in  very  dif 
ferent  speculation;  humbly  and  reverently 
considering  and  wondering  at  the  universal 
mystery  of  all  things,  as  our  imperfect 
faculties  can  now  judge  of  them.  “ There 
are,”  said  he,  “ innumerable  questions  to 
■which  the  inquisitive  mind  can  in  this 
state  i *eive  n# answer:  Why  do  you  and 
I exist  ? Why  was  this  world  created  ? 
Since  it  was  to  be  created,  why  was  it  not 
created  sooner?  ” 

On  Sunday,  May  10,. I supped  with  hun 
at  Mr.  Hoole’s,  with  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 
I have  neglected  the  memorial  of  this  even 
ing,  so  as  to  remember  no  more  of  it  than 
two  particulars:  one  that  he  strenuously 
opposed  an  argument  by  Sir  Joshua,  that 
virtue  was  preferable  to  vice,  considering 
this  life  only;  and  that  a man  would  bf 


1778.— ^ETAT.  69. 


virtuous  were  it  only  to  preserve  his  charac- 
ter; and  that  he  expressed  much  wonder  at 
the  curious  formation  of  the  bat,  a mouse 
with  wings;  saying,  that  it  was  almost  as 
strange  a thing  in  physiology,  as  if  the 
fabulous  dragon  could  be  seen. 

On  Tuesday,  May  12,  I waited  on  the 
Earl  of  Marchmont,  to  know  if  his  lordship 
would  favour  Dr.  Johnson  with  informa- 
tion concerning  Pope,  whose  Life  he  was 
about  to  write.  Johnson  had  not  flattered 
himself  with  the  hopes  of  receiving  any  civil- 
ity from  this  nobleman;  for  he  said  to  me, 
when  I mentioned  Lord  Marchmont  as  one 
who  could  tell  him  a great  deal  about  Pope, 
— “ Sir,  he  will  tell  me  nothing.”  I had  the 
honour  of  being  known  to  his  lordship,  and 
applied  to  him  of  myself,  without  being 
commissioned  by  Johnson.  His  lordship 
behaved  in  the  most  polite  and  obliging 
manner,  promised  to  tell  all  he  recollected 
about  Pope,  and  was  so  very  courteous  as 
to  say,  “ Tell  Dr.  Johnson  I have  a great 
respect  for  him,  and  am  ready  to  show  it  in 
any  way  I can.  I am  to  be  in  the  city  to- 
morrow, and  will  call  at  his  house  as  I re- 
turn.” His  lordship  however  asked,  “ Will 
he  write  the  ‘ Lives  of  the  Poets  ’ impar- 
tially ? He  was  the  first  that  brought  whig 
and  tory  into  a dictionary.  And  what  do 
you  think  of  the  definition  of  Excise  ? Do 
you  know  the  history  of  his  aversion  to  the 
word  transpire  1 ” Then  taking  down  the 
folio  Dictionary,  he  showed  it  with  this 
censure  on  its  secondary  sense:  ‘ To  escape 
from  secrecy  to  notice;  a sense  lately  inno- 
vated from  France,  without  necessity  V 
“ The  truth  was,  Lord  Bolingbroke  who 
left  the  Jacobites,  first  used  it;  therefore  it 
was  to  be  condemned.  He  should  have 
shown  what  word  would  do  for  it,  if  it 
was  unnecessary.”  I afterwards  put  the 
question  to  Johnson:  “Why,  sir,”  said  he, 
“ get  abroad .”  Boswell.  “ That,  sir,  is 
using  two  words.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  there 
is  no  end  to  this.  You  may  as  well  insist 
to  have  a word  for  old  age.”  Boswell. 
“ Well,  sir,  senectus .”  Johnson.  “ Nay, 
sir,  to  insist  always  that  there  should  be  one 
word  to  express  a thing  in  English,  be- 
cause tnere  is  one  in  another  language,  is 
to  change  the  language.” 

I availed  myself  of  this  opportunity  to 
hear  from  his  lordship  many  particulars 

1  [Few  words,  however,  of  modern  introduction 
have  had  greater  success  than  this — for  it  is  not 
only  in  general,  but  even  in  vulgar  use.  Johnson’s 
awkward  substitute  of  “get  abroad  ” does  not 
seem  to  express  exactly  the  same  meaning  : a se- 
cret may  get  abroad  by  design,  by  accident,  by 
breach  of  confidence  ; but  it  is  said  to  transpire 
when  it  becomes  known  by  small  indirect  circum- 
stances— by  symptoms — by  inferences.  It  is  now 
often  used  in  the  direct  sense  of  t£  get  abroad 
but,  as  appears  to  the  editor,  incorrectly. — Ed.] 


191 

both  of  Pope  and  Lora  Bolingbroke,  which 
I have  in  writing. 

I proposed  to  Lord  Marchmont,  that  he 
should  revise  Johnson’s  Life  of  Pope:  So.” 

said  his  lordship,  “ you  would  put  me  in  a 
dangerous  situation.  You  know  he  knock- 
ed down  Osborne,  the  bookseller2 3.” 

Elated  with  the  success  of  my  spontane- 
ous exertion  to  procure  material  and  respec- 
table aid  to  Johnson  for  his  very  favourite 
work,  “ the  Lives  of  the  Poets,”  I hasten 
ed  down  to  Mr.  Thrale’s,  at  Streatham, 
where  he  now  was,  that  I mignt  ensure  hia 
being  at  home  next  day:  and  after  dinner 
when  1 thought  he  would  receive  the  goou 
news  in  the  best  humour,  1 announced  it 
eagerly : “ I have  been  at  work  for  you  to- 
day, sir.  I have  been  with  Lord  March- 
mont. He  bade  me  tell  you  he  has  a great 
respect  for  you,  and  will  call  on  you  to- 
morrow at  one  o’clock,  and  communicate 
all  he  knows  about  Pope.”  Here  I paused, 
in  full  expectation  that  he  would  be  pleased 
with  this  intelligence,  would  praise  my  ac- 
tive merit,  and  would  be  alert  to  embrace 
such  an  offer  from  a nobleman.  But 
whether  I had  shown  an  over-exultation, 
which  provoked  his  spleen;  or  whether  he 
was  seized  with  a suspicion  that  I had  ob- 
truded him  on  Lord  Marchmont,  and  hum- 
bled him  too  much;  or  whether  there  was 
any  thing  more  than  an  unlucky  fit  of  ill- 
humour,  I know  not;  but  to  my  surprise 
the  result  was, — Johnson.  “ I shall  not 
be  in  town  to-morrow.  I do  n’t  care  to 
know  about  Pope.”  Mrs.  Thrale:  (sur- 
prised as  I was,  and  a little  angry).  “ I 
suppose,  sir,  Mr.  Boswell  thought,  that  as 
you  are  to  write  Pope’s  Life,  you  would 
wish  to  know  about  him.”  Johnson. 
“ Wish  ! why  yes.  If  it  rained  knowledge, 
I ’d  hold  out  my  hand;  but  I would  not  give 
myself  the  trouble  to  go  in  quest  of  it.’ 
There  was  no  arguing  with  him  at  the  mo- 
ment. Some  time  afterwards  he  said, 
“ Lord  Marchmont  will  call  on  me,  and  then 
1 shall  call  on  Lord  Marchmont.”  Mis. 
Thrale  was  uneasy  at  his  unaccountable  >' 
caprice;  and  told  me,  that  if  1 did  not  take 
care  to  bring  about  a meeting  between 
Lord  Marchmont  and  him,  it  wTould  never 
take  place,  which  would  be  a great  pity.  ) 
sent  a card  to  his  lordship,  to  be  left  at 
Johnson’s  house,  acquainting  him,  that  Dr. 
Johnson  could  not  be  in  town  next  day, 
but  would  do  himself  the  honour  of  waiting 
on  him  at  another  time.  I give  this  ac 

2 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  61. — Ed.] 

3 [Not  quite  so  unaccountable  as  Mr.  Boswell 
seems  to  think.  His  intervention  in  this  affair, 
unsolicited  and  unauthorized,  exhibits  the  bust- 
ling vanity  of  h.s  own  character,  and  Johnson 
very  judiciously  declined  being  dragged  bef’oie 
Lord  Marchmont  by  so  head.ong  a master  of  the 
ceremonies. — Ed.  ] 


192 


1778  — jETAT.  69- 


count  fairly,  as  a specimen  of  that  unhappy 
temper  with  which  this  great  and  good  man 
had  occasionally  to  struggle,  from  some- 
thing morbid  in  his  constitution.  Let  the 
most  censorious  of  my  readers  suppose  mm- 
self  to  have  a violent  fit  of  the  toothache  or 
to  have  received  a severe  stroke  on  the  shin- 
bone, and  when  in  such  a state  to  be  asked 
a question;  and  if  he  has  any  candour,  he 
will  not  be  surprised  at  the  answers  which 
Johnson  sometimes  gave  in  moment^  of  ir- 
ritation, which,  let  me  assure  them  is  ex- 
quisitely painful.  But  it  must  not  be  erro- 
neously supposed  that  he  was,  in  the  small- 
est degree,  careless  concerning  any  work 
which  he  undertook,  or  that  he  was  gener- 
ally thus  peevish.  It  will  be  seen  that  in 
the  following  year  he  had  a very  agreeable 
interview  with  Lord  Marchmont  at  his 
lordship’s  house ; and  this  very  afternoon 
ne  soon  forgot  any  fretfulness,  and  fell  into 
conversation  as  usual. 

I mentioned  a reflection  having  been 
thrown  out  against  four  peers 1 for  having 
presumed  to  rise  in  opposition  to  the  opin- 
ion of  the  twelve  judges,  in  a cause  in  the 
house  of  lords,  as  if  that  were  indecent. 
Johnson.  ££  Sir,  there  is  no  ground  for 
censure.  The  peers  are  judges  themselves : 
and  supposing  them  really  to  be  of  a differ- 
ent opinion,  they  might  from  duty  be  in 
opposition  to  the  judges,  who  were  there 
only  to  be  consulted.” 

In  this  observation  I fully  concurred  with 
him;  for.  unquestionably,  all  the  peers  are 
vested  with  the  highest  judicial  powers; 
and  when  they  are  confident  that  they  un- 
derstand a cause,  are  not  obliged,  nay, 
ought  not  to  acquiesce  in  the  opinion  of  the 
ordinary  law  judges,  or  even  in  that  of 
those  who  from  their  studies  and  experience 
are  called  the  law  lords.  I consider  the 
peers  in  general  as  I do  a jury,  who  ought 
to  listen  with  respectful  attention  to  the 
sages  of  the  law;  but  if,  after  hearing 
them,  they  have  a firm  opinion  of  their 
own,  are  bound,  as  honest  men,  to  decide 
accordingly.  Nor  is  it  so  difficult  for  them  to 
understand  even  law  questions  as  is  gener- 
ally thought,  provided  they  will  bestow 
sufficient  attention  upon  them.  This  ob- 
servation was  made  by  my  honoured  rela- 
tion the  late  Lord  Cathcart,  who  had  spent 
his  life  in  camps  and  courts;  yet  assured 
me,  that  he  could  form  a clear  opinion  upon 
most  of  the  causes  that  came  before  the 
house  of  lords, ££  as  they  were  so  well  enu- 
cleated in  the  Cases.” 

Mrs.  Thrale  told  us,  that  a curious  cler- 
gyman of  our  acquaintance  had  discovered 
a licentious  stanza,  which  Pope  had  origi- 
nally in  his  ££  Universal  Prayer,”  before  the 
stanza, 


1 [The  occasion  was  Mr.  Home’s  writ  of  error 
m 1778  —Ed  ] 


• “ What  conscience  dictates  to  be  done 
Or  warns  us  not  to  do,”  &e. 

It  was  this* 

t£  Can  sins  of  moment  claim  the  rod 
Of  everlasting  fires  ? 

And  that  offend  great  Nature’s  God 
Which  Nature’s  self  inspires  ? ” 

and  that  Dr.  Johnson  observed.  ‘£i  had 
been  borrowed  from  Guamni.”  There 
are,  indeed,  m Pastor  Fido.  many  such 
flimsy  superficial  reasonings  as  that  in  the 
last  two  lines  of  this  stanza. 

Boswell.  cc  In  that  stanza  of  Pope’s 
£ rod  of  fires  5 is  certainly  a bad  metaphor.’* 
Mrs.  Thrale.  ££  And  £ sins  of  moment 5 
is  a faulty  expression;  for  its  true  import  is 
momentous , which  cannot  be  intended.” 

Johnson.  ££  It  must  have  been  written 
£ of  moments .’  Of  moment , is  momentous , 
of  moments , momentary . I warrant  you, 
however,  Pope  wrote  this  stanza,  ana  some 
friend  struck  it  out.  Boileau  wrote  some 
such  thing,  and  Arnaud  struck  it  out,  say- 
ing, £ Vous  gagnerez  deux  ou  trois  impies , 
et  ptrdrez  je  ne  spais  combien  d’honettes 
gens.'  These  fellows  want  to  say  a daring 
thing,  and  do  n’t  know  how  to  go  about  it. 
Mere  poets  know  no  more  of  fundamenta 
principles  than — .”  Here  he  was  inter- 
rupted somehow.  Mrs.  Thrale  mentioned 
Dryden.  Johnson.  “ He  puzzled  him- 
self about  predestination.  How  foolish 
was  it  in  Pope  to  give  all  his  friendship  to 
lords,  who  thought  they  honoured  him  by 
being  with  him;  and  to  choose  such  lords 
as  Burlington,  and  Cobham,  and  Boling- 
broke!  Bathurst  was  negative,  a pleasing 
man ; and  I have  heard  no  ill  of  Marchmont. 
And  then  always  saying,  £ I do  not  value 
you  for  being  a lord;  ’ which  was  a sure 
proof  that  he  did.  I never  say  I do  not 
value  Boswell  more  for  being  born  to  an 
estate,  because  I do  not  care.”  Boswell. 
££  Nor  for  being  a Scotchman?”  ££  Nay, 
sir,  I do  value  you  more  for  being  a Scotch- 
man. You  are  a Scotchman  without  the 
faults  of  Scotchmen.  You  would  not  have 
been  so  valuable  as  you  are  had  you  not 
been  a Scotchman.” 

Talking  of  divorces,  I asked  if  Othello:s 
doctrine  was  not  plausible; 

“ He  that  is  robb’d,  not  wanting  what  is  stolen, 

Let  him  not  know ’t,  and  he ’s  not  robb’d  at  all.” 

Dr.  Johnson  and  Mrs.  Thrale  joined  against 
this.  Johnson.  ££  Ask  any  man  if  he ’d 
wish  not  to  know  of  such  an  injury.” 
Boswell.  ££  Would  you  tell  your  friend 
to  make  him  unhappy?  ” Johnson.  “Per- 
haps, sir,  I should  not;  but  that  would  be 
from  prudence  on  my  own  account.  A man 
would  tell  his  father.”  Boswell.  ££  Yes, 
because  he  would  not  have  spurious  children 
to  get  any  share  of  the  family  inheritance.” 
' Mrs.  Thrale.  ££  Or  he  would  tell  hia 


1778.— ^TAT  69. 


193 


brother.”  Boswell.  “ Certainly  his  el- 
der brother.35  Johnson.  “You  would 
tell  your  friend  of  a woman’s  infamy,  to 
prevent  his  marrying  a prostitute:  there  is 
the  same  reason  to  tell  him  of  his  wife’s 
infidelity  when  he  was  married,  to  prevent 
the  consequences  of  imposition.  It  is  a 
breach  of  confidence  not  to  tell  a friend.” 

Boswell.  “ Would  you  tell  Mr. ?” 

(naming  a gentleman  1 who  assuredly  was 
not  in  the  least  danger  of  such  a miserable 
disgrace,  though  married  to  a fine  woman.) 
Johnson.  “ No,  sir;  because  it  would  do 
no  good:  he  is  so  sluggish,  he ’d  never  go 
to  parliament  and  get  through  a divorce.” 

He  said  of  one2  of  our  friends,  “ He  is 
ruining  himself  without  pleasure.  A man 
who  loses  at  play,  or  who  runs  out  his  for- 
tune at  court,  makes  his  estate  less,  in  hopes 
of  making  it  bigger  (I  am  sure  of  this 
word,  which  was  often  used  by  him)  : but 
it  is  a sad  thing  to  pass  through  the  quag- 
mire of  parsimony  to  the  gulf  of  ruin.  To 
pass  over  the  flowery  path  of  extravagance 
is  very  well.” 

Amongst  the  numerous  prints  pasted  on 
the  walls  of  the  dining-room  at  Streatham 
was  Hogarth’s  “ Modern  Midnight  Conver- 
sation.” I asked  him  what  he  knew  of 
Parson  Ford,  who  made  a conspicuous  fig- 
ure in  the  riotous  group.  Johnson.  “ Sir, 
he  was  my  acquaintance  and  relation,  my 
mother’s  nephew.  He  had  purchased  a 
living  in  the  country,  but  not  simoniacally. 
I never  saw  him  but  in  the  country.  I 
have  been  told  he  was  a man  of  great 
parts;  very  profligate,  but  I never  heard  he 
was  impious.”  Boswell.  “Was  there 
not  a story  of  his  ghost  having  appeared?” 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  it  was  believed.  A wait- 
er at  the  Hummums,  in  which  house  Ford 
died,  had  been  absent  for  some  time,  and 
returned,  not  knowing  that  Ford  was  dead. 
Going  down  to  the  cellar,  according  to  the 
story,  he  met  him;  going  down  again,  he 
met  him  a second  time.  When  he  came 
up,  he  asked  some  of  the  people  of  the 
house  what  Ford  could  be  doing  there. 
They  told  him  Ford  was  dead.  The 
waiter  took  a fever,  in  which  he  lay  for 
some  time.  When  he  recovered,  he  said 
he  had  a message  to  deliver  to  some  women 
from  Ford;  but  He  was  not  to  tell  what,  or 
to  whom.  He  walked  out;  he  was  fol- 
lowed; but  somewhere  about  St.  Paul’s 
they  lost  him.  He  came  back,  and  said  he 
had  delivered  the  message,  and  the  women 
exclaimed,  c Then  we  are  all  undone ! ’ 
Dr.  Pellet,  who  was  not  a credulous  man, 
mquired  into  the  truth  of  this  story,  and  he 

1 [The  editor  declines  to  attempt  supplying  this 
lame.  He  fears  that  it  will  be  but  too  evident  at 
whose  expense  Mr.  Boswell  chose  to  make  so  of- 
fensive an  hypothesis. — Ed.] 

* [No  doubt  Mr.  Langton. — Ed.] 

25 


said  the  evidence  was  irresistible.  My 
wife  went  to  the  Hummums;  (it  is  a place 
where  people  get  themselves  cupped.)  I 
believe  she  went  with  intention  to  hear 
about  this  story  of  Ford.  At  first  they 
were  unwilling  to  tell  her;  but,  after  they 
had  talked  to  her,  she  came  away  satisfied 
that  it  was  true.  To  be  sure,  the  man  had 
a fever;  and  this  vision  may  have  been  the 
beginning  of  it.  But  if  the  message  to  the 
women,  and  their  behaviour  upon  it,  were 
true  as  related,  there  was  something  super- 
natural. That  rests  upon  his  word;  and 
there  it  remains.” 

After  Mrs.  Thrale  was  gone  to  bed, 
Johnson  and  I sat  up  late.  We  resumed 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s  argument  on  the 
preceding  Sunday,  that  a man  would  be 
virtuous,  though  he  had  no  other  motive 
than  to  preserve  his  character.  .Johnson. 
“ Sir,  it  is  not  true;  for,  as  to  this  world, 
vice  does  not  hurt  a man’s  character.” 
Boswell.  “ Yes,  sir,  debauching  a friend’s 
wife  will.”  Johnson.  “ No,  sir.  Who 
thinks  the  worse  of 3 for  it?”  Bos- 
well. “ Lord 4 was  not  his  friend.” 

Johnson.  “ That  is  only  a circumstance, 
sir;  a slight  distinction.  He  could  not  get 

into  the  house  but  by  Lord 4.  A 

man  is  chose  knight  of  the  shire  not  the 
less  for  having  debauched  ladies.”  Bos 
well.  “ What,  sir,  if  he  debauched  the 
ladies  of  gentlemen  in  the  county,  will  not 
there  be  a general  resentment  against  him ? ” 
Johnson.  “ No,  sir.  He  will  lose  those 
particular  gentlemen;  but  the  rest  will  not 
trouble  their  heads  about  it”  (warmly). 
Boswell.  “ Well,  sir,  I cannot  think  so.” 
Johnson.  cc  Nay,  sir,  there  is  no  talking 
with  a man  who  will  dispute  what  every 
body  knows  (angrily).  Don’t  you  know 
this?  ” Boswell.  “ No,  sir;  and  I wish 
to  think  better  of  your  country  than  you 
represent  it.  I knew  in  Scotland  a gentle- 
man obliged  to  leave  it  for  debauching  a 
lady;  and  in  one  of  our  counties  an  earl’s 
brother  lost  his  election  because  he  had  de- 
bauched the  lady  of  another  earl  in  that 
county,  and  destroyed  the  peace  of  a noble 
family.” 

Still  he  would  not  yield.  He  proceeded: 
“ Will  you  not  allow,  sir,  that  vice  does  not 
hurt  a man’s  character  so  as  to  obstruct 
his  prosperity  in  life,  when  you  know  that 

5 was  loaded  with  wealth  and 

honours?  a man  who  had  acquired  his  for- 
tune bjr  such  crimes,  that  his  consciousness 
of  them  impelled  him  to  cut  his  own 
throat.”  Boswell.  “ You  will  recollect, 
sir,  that  Dr.  Robertson  said  he  cut  his 
throat  because  he  was  weary  of  still  life: 

3 [Mr.  Beauclerk.  See  ante,  v.  i.  p.  316  n, 
— Ed.] 

4 [Bolingbroke.  See  as  above. — Ed.] 

6 [Lord  Clive.  See  ante,  p.  18$  — Ed  ] 


194 


1778.— ^ETAT.  69. 


little  things  not  being  sufficient  to  move 
his  great  mind.”  Johnson  (very  angry). 
“ Nay,  sir,  what  stuff  is  this?  You  had  no 
more  this  opinion  after  Robertson  said  it 
than  before.  I know  nothing  more  offen- 
ewe  than  repeating  what  one  knows  to  be 
foolish  things,  by  way  of  continuing  a dis- 
pute, to  see  what  a man  will  answer, — to 
make  him  your  butt!”  (angrier  still). 
Boswell.  “My  dear  sir,  I had  no  such 
intention  as  you  seem  to  suspect;  I had  not, 
'ndeed.  Might  not  this  nobleman  have  felt 
every  thing  £ weary,  stale,  flat,  and  un- 
profitable,’ as  Hamlet  says?”  Johnson. 
“ Nay,  if  you  are  to  bring  in  gabble , I ’ll 
talk  no  more.  I will  not,  upon  my  honour.” 
My  readers  will  decide  upon  this  dispute. 

Next  morning  I stated  to  Mrs.  Thrale  at 
breakfast,  before  he  came  down,  the  dispute 
of  last  night  as  to  the  influence  of  character 
upon  success  in  life.  She  said  he  was  cer- 
tainly wrong;  and  told  me  that  a baronet 
’ost  an  election  in  Wales  because  he  had 
debauched  the  sister  of  a gentleman  in  the 
county,  whom  he  made  one  of  his  daugh- 
ters invite  as  her  companion  at  his  seat  in 
the  country,  when  his  lady  and  his  other 
rhildren  were  in  London.  But  she  would 
not  encounter  Johnson  upon  the  subject. 

T staid  all  this  day  with  him  at  Strea- 
fham.  He  talked  a great  deal  in  very  good 
humour. 

Looking  at  Messrs.  Dilly’s  splendid  edi- 
tion of  Lord  Chesterfield’s  miscellaneous 
works,  he  laughed,  and  said,  “ Here  are 
now  two  speeches  ascribed  to  him,  both  of 
which  were  written  by  me:  and  the  best  of 
it  is,  they  have  found  out  that  one  is  like 
Demosthenes,  and  the  other  like  Cicero  L” 

He  censured  Lord  Karnes’s  “ Sketches 
of  the  History  of  Man,”  for  misrepresenting 
Clarendon’s  account  of  the  appearance  of 
Sir  George  Villiers’s  ghost,  as  if  Clarendon 
were  weakly  credulous;  when  the  truth  is, 
that  Clarendon  only  says,  that  the  story 
was  upon  a better  foundation  of  credit  than 
usually  such  discourses  are  founded  upon; 
nay,  speaks  thus  of  the  person  who  was  re- 
ported to  have  seen  the  vision,  ■“  the  poor 
man,  if  he  had  been  at  all  waking;  ” which 
Lord  Karnes  has  omitted  2.  He  added,  “ In 
this  book  it  is  maintained  that  virtue  is  natu- 
ral to  man,  and  that  if  we  would  but  consult 
our  own  hearts,  we  should  be  virtuous. 
Now,  after  consulting  our  own  hearts  all 
we  can,  and  with  all  the  helps  we  have,  we 
find  how  few  of  us  are  virtuous.  This  is 
saying  a thing  which  all  mankind  know  not 
to  be  true.”  Boswell.  “ Is  not  modesty 
natural?”  Johnson.  * “ I cannot  say,  sir, 


1 [See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  60. — Ed.] 

'2  [This  suppression  is  particularly  blameable, 
because  the  question  was  as  to  the  extent  of  Clar- 
endon's credulity.  See  also  ante,  p.  189. — Ed  ] 


as  we  find  no  people  quite  in  a state  of  na 
ture;  but,  I think,  the  mere  they  are  taught, 
the  more  modest  they  are.  The  French 
are  a gross,  ill-bred,  untaight  people;  a la- 
dy there  will  spit  on  the  floor  and  rub  it 
with  her  foot.  * What  I gained  by  being  in 
France  was,  learning  to  be  better  satisfied 
with  my  own  country.  Time  may  be  em- 
ployed to  more  advantage  from  nineteen  to 
twenty-four,  almost  in  any  way  than  in 
travelling.  When  you  set  travelling  against 
mere  negation,  against  doing  nothing,  it  is 
better  to  be  sure;  but  how  much  more 
would  a young  man  improve  were  he  to 
study  during  those  years.  Indeed,  if  a 
young  man  is  wild,  and  must  run  after  wo- 
men and  bad  ^company,  it  is  better  this 
should  be  done  abroad,  as,  on  his  return, 
he  can  break  off  such  connexions,  and  be- 
gin at  home  a new  man,  with  a character 
to  form,  and  acquaintance  to  make.  How 
little  does  travelling  supply  to  the  cceiver- 
sation  of  any  man  who  has  travelled  ; how 
little  to  Beauclerk?  ” Boswell.  “What 

say  you  to  Lord  3?”  Johnson 

“ I never  but  once  heard  him  talk  of  what 
he  had  seen,  and  that  was  of  a large  ser- 
pent in  one  of  the  pyramids  of  Egypt.” 
Boswell.  “ Well,  l happened  to  hear  him 
tell  the  same  thing,  which  made  me  men- 
tion him.” 

I talked  of  a country  life.  Johnson. 
“Were  I to  live  in  the  country,  I would 
not  devote  myself  to  the  acquisition  of  pop 
ularity;  I would  live  in  a much  better  way; 
much  more  happily;  I would  have  my  time 
at  my  own  command.”  Boswell.  “But, 
sir,  is  it  not  a sad  thing  to  be  at  a distance 
from  all  our  literary  friends.?  ” Johnson. 
“ Sir,  you  will  by-and-bv  have  enough  of 
this  conversation,  which  now  delights  you 
so  much.” 

As  he  was  a zealous  friend  of  subordina- 
tion, he  was  at  all  times  watchful  to  repress 
the  vulgar  cant  against  the  manners  of  the 
great.  “ High  people,  sir,”  said  he,  “ are 
the  best:  take  a hundred  ladies  of  quality, 
you  ’ll  find  them  better  wives,  better  moth- 
ers, more  willing  to  sacrifice  their  own  plea- 
sure to  their  children,  than  a hundred  other 
women.  Trades-women  (I  mean  the 
Avives  of  tradesmen)  in  the  city,  who  are 
worth  from  ten  to  fifteen  thousand  pounds, 
are  the  worst  creatures  upon  the  earth, 
grossly  ignorant,  and  thinking  viciousness 
fashionable.  Farmers,  I think,  are  often 
worthless  fellows.  Few  lords  will  cheat, 
and,  if  they  do,  they’ll  be  ashamed  of  it- 
farmers  cheat,  and  ere  not  ashamed  of  it: 
they  have  all  the  sensual  vices  too  of  the 
nobility,  with  cheating  into  the  bargain. 


3 [Charlemont.  His  lordship  was  in  the  haou 
of  telling  the  story  alluded  to  rather  too  often.— 
Ed.J 


1778.  -m TAT.  69. 


195 


There  is  as  much  fornication  and  adultery 
amongst  farmers  as  amongst  noblemen.” 
Boswell.  “ The  notion  of  the  world,  sir, 

"'ever,  is,  that  the  morals  of  women  of 
quauty  are  worse  than  those  in  lower  sta- 
tions.” Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir;  the  licen- 
tiousness of  one  woman  of  quality  makes 
more  noise  than  that  of  a number  of  wo- 
men in  lower  stations:  then,  sir,  you  are  to 
consider  the  malignity  of  women  in  the  city 
against  women  of  quality,  w hich  will  make 
them  believe  any  thing  of  them,  such  as 
that  they  call  their  coachmen  to  bed.  No, 
sir;  so  far  as  I have  observed,  the  higher  in 
rank,  the  richer  ladies  are,  they  are  the  bet- 
ter instructed,  and  the  more  virtuous.” 

This  year  the  Reverend*  *Mr.  Horne  pub- 
lished his  “ Letter  to  Mr.  Dunning  on  the 
English  Particle.”  Johnson  read  it,  and 
though  not  treated  in  it  with  sufficient  re- 
spect, he  had  candour  enough  to  say  to  Mr. 
Seward,  “ Were  I to  make  a new  edition 
of  my  Dictionary,  I would  adopt  several 1 
of  Mr.  Horne’s  etymologies.  I hope  they 
did  not  put  the  dog  in  the  pillory  for  his 
libel : he  has  too  much  literature  for  that9.” 

On  Saturday,  May  16,  I dined  with  him 
at  Mr.  Beauclerk’s  with  Mr.  Langton,  Mr. 
Steevens.  Dr.  Higgins,  and  some  others. 

T regret  very  feeungly  every  instance  of  my 
remissness  in  recording  his  memorabilia ; I 
am  afraid  it  is  the  condition  of  humanity 
(as  Mr.  Windham,  of  Norfolk,  once  ob- 
served to  me,  after  having  made  an  admi- 
rable speech  in  the  house  of  commons, 
which  was  highly  applauded,  but  which  he 
afterwards  perceived  might  have  been  bet- 
ter), “ that  we  are  more  uneasy  from  think- 
ing of  our  wants,  than  happy  in  thinking  of 
our  acquisitions.”  This  is  an  unreasonable 
mode  of  disturbing  our  tranquillity,  and 
should  be  corrected:  let  me  then  comfort 
myself  with  the  large  treasure  of  Johnson’s 
conversation  which  I have  preserved  for  my 
own  enjoyment  and  that  of  the  world,  and 
et  me  exhibit  what  I have  upon  each  occa- 
sion, whether  more  or  less,  whether  a 
bulse,  or  only  a few  sparks  of  a diamond. 

He  said,  “ Dr.  Mead  lived  more  in  the 
broad  sunshine  of  life  than  almost  any 
man.” 

The  disaster  of  General  Burgoyne’s  ar- 


1  In  Mr.  Horne  Tooke’s  enlargement  of  that 
“ Letter,”  which  he  has  since  published  with 
the  title  of  “ Et t±  Tr^t^vrct,  or,  The  Diversions  of 
Purley,”  he  mentions  this  compliment,  as  if  Dr. 
Johnson,  instead  of  several  of  his  etymologies, 
had  said  all  His  recollec  lion  having  thus  magni- 
fied it,  shows  how  ambitious  he  was  of  the  appro- 
bation of  so  great  a man. — Boswell. 

* [See  ante , p.  178.  The  editor  cannot  ac- 
count for  Johnson’s  ignorance  of  the  sentence — 
any  more  than  fir  the  inconsistency  between  the 
wishes  expressed  in  tills  and  the  former  passage. 
— Ed.1 


my3 *  was  then  the  common  topick  of  con- 
versation. It  was  asked  why  piling  their 
arms  was  insisted  upon  as  a matter  of  such 
consequence,  when  it  seemed  to  be  a cir- 
cumstance so  inconsiderable  in  itself.  John- 
son. “ Why,  sir,  a French  authour  says, c L 
y a beaucoup  de  puerilites  dans  la  guerre. 
All  distinctions  are  trifles,  because  great 
things  can  seldom  occur,  and  those  distinc- 
tions are  settled  by  custom.  A savage 
would  as  willingly  have  his  meat  sent  to 
him  in  the  kitchen,  as  eat  it  at  the  table 
here:  as  men  become  civilised,  various 
modes  of  denoting  honourable  preference 
are  invented.” 

He  this  day  made  the  observations  upon 
the  similarity  between  “ Rasselas  ” and 
“Candide:”  which  I have  inserted  in  its 
proper  place,  when  considering  his  admira- 
ble philosophical  romance.  He  said,  “ Can- 
dide”  he  thought  had  more  power  in  it  than 
any  thing  that  Voltaire  had  written. 

He  said,  c£  The  lyrical  part  of  Horace 
never  can  be  perfectly  translated;  so  much 
of  the  excellence  is  in  the  numbers  and  ex- 
pression. Francis  has  done  it  the  best; 
I ’ll  take  his,  five  out  of  six,  against  them 
all.” 

On  Sunday,  May  17,  I presented  to  him 
Mr.  Fullarton,  of  Fullarton,  who  has  since 
distinguished  himself  so  much  in  India,  to 
whom  he  naturally  talked  of  travels,  as  Mr. 
Brydone  accompanied  him  in  his  tour  to 
Sicily  and  Malta.  He  said,  “ The  informa- 
tion which  we  have  from  modern  travellers 
is  much  more  authentick  than  what  we  had 
from  ancient  travellers:  ancient  travellers 
guessed;  modern  travellers  measure.  The 
Swiss  admit  that  there  is  but  one  errour  in 
Stanyan.  If  Brydone  were  more  attentive 
to  his  Bible,  he  would  be  a good  traveller.” 

He  said,  “ Lord  Chatham  was  a Dictator ; 
he  possessed  the  power  of  putting  the  state 
in  motion;  now  there  is  no  power,  all  order 
is  relaxed.”  Boswell.  “ Is  there  no  hope 
of  a change  to  the  better?”  Johnson. 
“ Why,  yes,  sir,  when  we  are  weary  of 
this  relaxation.  So  the  city  of  London  will 
appoint  its  mayors  again  by  senior ty.” 
Boswell.  tc  But  is  not  that  taking  a mere 
chance  for  having  a good  or  a bad  mayor?  ” 
Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir;  but  the  evil  of  com- 
petition is  greater  than  that  of  the  worst 
mayor  that  can  come:  besides,  there  is  no 
more  reason  to  suppose  that  the  choice  of  a 
rabble  will  be  right,  than  that  chance  will 
be  right.” 

On  Tuesday,  May  19,  I was  to  set  oui 
for  Scotland  in  the  evening.  He  was  en- 
gaged to  dine  with  me  at  Mr.  Dilly’s;  I 
waifittl  upon  him  to  remind  him  of  his  ap- 
poiw.meiat  and  attend  him  thither;  he  gave 
me  some  salutary  counsel,  and  recommend- 

3 [Its  surrender  at  Saratoga,  October  17, 

1777.— Ed.] 


196 


1778. — iETAT.  69. 


ed  vigorous  resolution  against  any  devia- 
lion  from  moral  duty.  Boswell.  “ But 
you  wouid  not  have  me  to  bind  myself  by  a 
solemn  obligation?”  Johnson  (much  agi- 
tated'). “What!  a vow! — O,  no,  sir,  aj 
vow  is  a horrible  thing ! it  is  a snare  for 
sin.  The  man  who  cannot  go  to  heaven 
without  a vow,  may  go — l.”  Here,  stand- 
ing erect  in  the  middle  of  his  library,  and 
rolling  grand,  his  pause  was  truly  a curious 
compound  of  the  solemn  and  the  ludicrous: 
he  half-whistled  in  his  usual  way  when  plea- 
sant, and  he  paused  as  if  checked  by  reli- 
gious awe.  Methought  he  would  have 
added,  to  hell,  but  was  restrained.  I hu- 
moured the  dilemma.  “ What,  sir!  ” said  I, 

“ ‘ In  ccelum  jusseris  Hit  1 * ” — Juv.  3 Sat. 
alluding  to  his  imitation  of  it, 

“ And  bid  him  go  to  hell,  to  hell  he  goes.” 

I had  mentioned  to  him  a slight  fault  in 
his  noble  “ Imitation  of  the  Tenth  Satire  of 
Juvenal,”  a too  near  recurrence  of  the  verb 
spread  in  his  description  of  the  young  en- 
thusiast at  college: 

“ Through  all  his  veins  the  fever  of  renown 

Spreads  from  the  strong  contagion  of  the  gown ; 

O’er  Bodley’s  dome  his  future  labours  spread, 

And  Bacon’s  mansion  trembles  o’er  his  head.  ” 

He  had  desired  me  to  change  spreads  to 
burns ; but  for  perfect  authenticity,  I now 
had  it  done  with  his  own  hand  2.  I thought 
this  alteration  not  only  cured  the  fault,  but 
was  more  poetical,  as  it  might  carry  an  al- 
lusion to  the  shirt  by  which  Hercules  was 
inflamed. 

We  had  a quiet,  comfortable  meeting  at 
Mr.  Dilly’s;  nobody  there  but  ourselves. 
Mr.  Dilly  mentioned  somebody  having 
wished  that  Milton’s  “ Tractate  on  Educa- 
tion ” should  be  printed  along  with  his  Po- 
ems in  the  edition  of  the  English  Poets  then 
going  on.  Johnson.  “ It  would  be  break- 
ing in  upon  the  plan;  but  would  be  of  no 
great  consequence.  So  far  as  it  would  be 
any  thing,  it  would  be  wrong.  Education 
in  England  has  been  in  danger  of  being 
hurt  by  two  of  its  greatest  men,  Milton  and 
Locke.  Milton’s  plan  is  impracticable,  and 
I suppose  has  never  been  tried.  Locke’s, 

I fancy,  has  been  tried  often  enough,  but  is 
very  imperfect;  it  gives  too  much  to  one 
side,  and  too  little  to  the  other;  it  gives  too 
little  to  literature. — I shall  do  what  I can 
for  Dr.  Watts  ; but  my  materials  are  very 
scanty.  His  poems  are  by  no  means  his 
best  works  ; I cannot  praise  his  poetry  it- 
self highly;  but  I can  praise  its  design.” 


1 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  234. — Ed.] 

2 The  slip  of  paper  on  which  he  made  the 
correction  is  deposited  by  me  in  the  noble  library 
lo  which  it  relates,  and  to  which  I' have  presented 
other  pieces  of  his  handwriting. — Boivell. 


My  illustrious  friend  and  I parted  with 
assurances  of  affectionate  regard. 

^ I wrote  to  him  on  the  25th  of  May,  from 
Thorpe,  in  Yorkshire,  one  of  the  seats  o" 

I Mr.  Bosville,  and  gave  him  an  account  of 
my  having  passed  a day  at  Lincoln,  unex- 
pectedly, and  therefore  without  having  any 
letters  of  introduction,  but  that  I had  been 
honoured  with  civilities  from  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Simpson,  an  acquaintance  of  his  3,  and 
Captain  Broadley,  of  the  Lincolnshire  mili- 
tia; but  more  particularly  from  the  Rever- 
end Dr.  Gordon,  the  chancellor,  who  first 
received  me  with  great  politeness  as  a 
stranger,  and,  when  I informed  him  who  I 
was,  entertained  me  at  his  house  with  the 
most  flattering  -attention : I also  expressed 
the  pleasure  with  which  I had  found  that 
our  worthy  friend,  Langton,  was  highly 
esteemed  in  his  own  county  town. 

“TO  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

‘‘Edinburgh,  18th  June,  1778. 

“ My  dear  sir, 

******* 

“ Since  my  return  to  Scotland,  I have 
been  again  at  Lanark,  and  have  had  more 
conversation  with  Thomson’s  sister.  It  is 
strange  that  Murdoch,  who  was  his  inti- 
mate friend,  should  have  mistaken  his  mo- 
ther’s maiden  name,  which  he  says  was 
Hume,  whereas  Hume  was  the  name  of  his 
grandmother  by  the  mother’s  side.  His 
mother’s  name  was  Beatrix  Trotter 4,  a 
daughter  of  Mr.  Trotter  of  Fogo,  a small 
proprietor  of  land.  Thomson  had  one  bro- 
ther, whom  he  had  with  him  in  England 
as  his  amanuensis;  but  he  was  seized  with 
a consumption,  and  having  returned  to 
Scotland,  to  try  what  his  native  air  would 
*do  for  him,  died  young.  He  had  three  sis- 
ters ; one  married  to  Mr.  Bell,  minister  of 
the  parish  of  Strathaven,  one  to  Mr.  Craig, 
father  of  the  ingenious  architect,  who  gave 
the  plan  of  the  New  Town  of  Edinburgh, 
and  one  to  Mr.  Thomson,  master  of  the 
grammar-school  at  Lanark.  He  was  of  a 
humane  and  benevolent  disposition;  not 
only  sent  valuable  presents  to  his  sisters, 
but  a yearly  allowance  in  money,  and  was 
always  wishing  to  have  it  in  his  power  to 
do  them  more  good.  Lord  Lyttelton’s  ob- 
servation, that £ he  loathed  much  to  write,’ 
was  very  true.  His  letters  to  his  sister, 
Mrs.  Thomson,  were  not  frequent,  and  in 
one  of  them  he  says,  4 All  my  friends  who 
know  me,  know  how  backward  I am  to 


3 [Probably  brother  of  the  gentleman  to  whom 
he  addressed  the  letter,  ante , vol.  i p.  150,  and 
vol.  ii.  p.  59. — Ed.] 

4 Dr.  Johnson  was  by  no  means  attentive  to 
minute  accuracy  in  his  “Lives  of  the  Poets;” 
for,  notwithstanding  my  having  detected  this  mi* 
take,  he  eontinued  it. — Boswell. 


1778.— JET  AT.  69 


191 


write  letters;  and  never  impute  the  negli- 
gence jf  my  hand  to  the  coldness  of  my 
heart.5  I «^nd  you  a copy  of  the  last  letter 
which  sh 2 had  from  him;  she  never  heard 
that  he  had  any  intention  of  going  into  ho- 
ly orders.  From  this  late  interview  with 
his  sister,  I think  much  more  favourably  of 
him,  as  I hope  you  will.  I am  eager  to  see 
nore  of  your  Prefaces  to  the  Poets  : I sol- 
ace myself  with  the  few  proof-sheets  which 
I have. 

“ I send  another  parcel  of  Lord  Hailes’s 
1 Annals,5  which  you  will  please  to  return 
to  me  as  soon  as  you  conveniently  can. 
He  says,  ‘ he  wishes  you  would  cut  a little 
deeper; 5 hut  he  may  be  proud  that  there  is 
so  little  occasion  to  use  the  critical  knife. 
I ever  am,  my  dear  sir,  your  faithful  and 
affectionate  humble  servant, 

“ James  Boswell.55 

<{  TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“London,  3d  July,  1778. 

s(  Sir, — I have  received  two  letters  from 
you,  of  which  the  second  complains  of  the 
neglect  shown  to  the  first.  You  must  not 
tie  your  friends  to  such  punctual  correspon- 
dence. You  have  all  possible  assurances 
of  my  affection  and  esteem ; and  there 
ought  to  be  no  need  of  reiterated  professions. 
When  it  may  happen  that  I can  give  you 
either  counsel  or  comfort,  I hope  it  will 
never  happen  to  me  that  I should  neglect 
you  hut  you  must  not  think  me  criminal 
or  cold,  if  I say  nothing  when  I have  no- 
thing to  say. 

“ You  are  now  happy  enough.  Mrs. 
Boswell  is  recovered;  and  I congratulate 
you  upon  the  probability  of  her  long  life. 
If  general  approbation  will  add  any  thing 
to  your  enjoyment,  I can  tell  you  that  I 
have  heard  you  mentioned  as  a man  whom 
every  body  likes.  I think  life  has  little 
more  to  give. 

cc 1 has  gone  to  his  regiment.  He 

has  laid  down  his  coach,  and  talks  of  ma- 
king more  contractions  of  his  expense : how 
he  will  succeed,  I know  not.  It  is  difficult 
to  reform  a household  gradually;  it  may  be 
done  better  by  a system  totally  new.  I am 
afraid  he  has  always  something  to  hide. 

When  we  pressed  him  to  go  to 2 *, 

he  objected  the  necessity  of  attending  his 
navigation  3;  yet  he  could  talk  of  going  to 
Aberdeen 4,  a place  not  much  nearer  his 
navigation.  I believe  he  cannot  bear  the 

thought  of  living  at in  a strfte  of 

diminution;  and  of  appearing  among  the 
gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood  shorn  of 

1 [Langton. — Ed.]  2 [Langton. — Ed.] 

3 [The  Wey  canal,  from  Guildford  to  Wey- 

bridge,  in  which  he  had  a considerable  share,  which 
his  grandson  now  possesses. — Ed.] 

4 [His  lady  and  family,  it.  appears,  were  in 
Scotland  at  this  period. — Ed.] 


his  beams.  This  is  natural,  hut  it  is  cow- 
ardly. What  I told  him  of  the  increasing 
expense  of  a growing  family,  seems  to  have 
struck  him.  He  certainly  had  gene  on 
with  very  confused  views,  and  we  have,  1 
think,  shown  him  that  he  is  wrong;  though, 
with  the  common  deficience  of  advisers,  we 
have  not  shown  him  how  to  do  right. 

“ I wish  you  would  a little  correct  or  re- 
strain your  imagination,  and  imagine  tnat 
happiness,  such  as  life  admits,  may  be  had 
at  other  places  as  well  as  London.  With- 
out affecting5  Stoicism,  it  may  be  said, 
that  it  is  our  business  to  exempt  ourselves 
as  much  as  we  can  from  the  power  of  ex- 
ternal things.  There  is  but  one  solid  basis 
of  happiness;  and  that  is,  the  reasonable 
hope  of  a happy  futurity.  This  may  be 
had  everywhere. 

“ I do  not  blame  your  preference  to 
London  to  other  places,  for  it  is  really  to 
be  preferred,  if  the  choice  is  free;  but  few 
have  the  choice  of  their  place,  or  their  man- 
ner of  life  ; and  mere  pleasure  ought  not 
to  be  the  prime  motive  of  action. 

“ Mrs.  Thrale,  poor  thing,  has  a daugh- 
ter. Mr.  Thrale  dislikes  the  times,  like 
the  rest  of  us.  Mrs.  Williams  is  sick;  Mrs. 
Desmoulins  is  poor.  I have  miserable 
nights.  Nobody  is  well  but  Mr.  Levett. 
I am,  dear  sir,  your  most,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.55 

Mr.  Langton  has  been  pleased,  at  my 
request,  to  favour  me  with  some  particulars 
of  Dr.  Johnson’s  visit  to  Warley-camp, 
where  this  gentleman  was  at  the  time  sta- 
tioned as  a captain  in  the  Lincolnshire  mili- 
tia. I shall  give  them  in  his  own  words  in 
a letter  to  me. 

“ It  was  in  the  summer  of  the  year  1778, 
that  he  complied  with  my  invitation  to 
come  down  to  the  camp  at  Warley,  and  he 
staid  with  me  about  a week  ; the  scene  ap- 
peared, notwithstanding  a great  degree  of 
ill  health  that  he  seemed  to  labour  under, 
to  interest  and  amuse  him,  as  agreeing  with 
the  disposition  that  I believe  you  know  he 
constantly  manifested  towards  inquiring 
into  subjects  of  the  military  kind.  He  sate, 
with  a patient  degree  of  attention,  to  ob- 
serve the  proceedings  of  a regimental  court- 
martial,  that  happened  to  be  called  in  the 
time  of  his  stay  with  us;  and  one  night,  as 
late  as  at  eleven  o’clock,  he  accompanied 
the  major  of  the  regiment  in  going  what 
are  styled  the  rounds , where  he  might  ob- 
serve the  forms  of  visiting  the  guards,  foi 
the  seeing  that  they  and  their  sentries  art 
ready  in  their  duty  on  their  several  posts 
He  took  occasion  to  converse  at  times  or 
military  topics,  once  in  particular,  that  1 
see  the  mention  of,  in  your  ‘ Journal  of  a 

5  [In  former  editions  “ asserting ” — emended 

by  Mr.  Malone. — Ed.] 


198 


1778. — iETAT.  69. 


Tour  to  the  Hebrides,’  which,  lies  open  be- 
fore me  1,  as  to  gunpowder;  which  he  spoke 
of  to  the  same  effect,  in  part,  that  you 
relate. 

“On  one  occasion,  when  the  regiment 
were  going  through  their  exercise,  he  went 
quite  close  to  the  men  at  one  of  the  extrem- 
ities of  it,  and  watched  all  their  practices 
attentively;  and,  when  he  came  away,  his 
remark  was, 1 The  men  indeed  do  load  their 
musquets  and  fire  with  wonderful  celerity.’ 
He  was  likewise  particular  in  requiring  to 
know  what  was  the  weight  of  the  musket 
balls  in  use,  and  within  what  distance  they 
might  be  expected  to  take  effect  when 
fired  off. 

“ In  walking  among  the  tents,  and  ob- 
serving the  difference  between  those  of  the 
officers  and  private  men,  he  said,  that  the 
superiority  of  accommodation  of  the  better 
conditions  of  life,  to  that  of  the  inferior 
ones,  was  never  exhibited  to  him  in  so  dis- 
tinct a view.  The  civilities  paid  to  him  in 
the  camp  were,  from  the  gentlemen  of  the 
Lincolnshire  regiment,  one  of  the  officers  of 
which  accommodated  him  with  a tent  in 
which  he  slept ; and  from  General  Hall, 
who  very  courteously  invited  him  to  dine 
with  him,  where  he  appeared  to  be  very 
well  pleased  with  his  entertainment,  and 
the  civilities  he  received  on  the  part  of  the 
General 2 ; the  attention  likewise  of  the 
General’s  aid-de-camp,  Captain  Smith, 
* seemed  to  be  very  welcome  to  him,  as  ap- 
peared by  their  engaging  in  a great  deal  of 
discourse  together.  The  gentlemen  of  the 
East-York  regiment  likewise,  on  being  in- 
formed of  his  coming,  solicited  his  company 
at  dinner,  but  by  that  time  he  had  fixed 
his  departure,  so  that  he  could  not  comply 
with  the  invitation.” 

In  the  course  of  this  year  there  was  a dif- 
ference between  him  and  his  friend  Mr. 
Strahan;  the  particulars  of  which  it  is  un- 
necessary to  relate.  Their  reconciliation 
was  communicated  to  me  in  a letter  from 
Mr.  Strahan  in  the  following  words: 

“ The  notes  I showed  you  that  past  be- 
tween him  and  me  were  dated  in  March 
last.  The  matter  lay  dormant  till  27th 
July,  when  he  wrote  tu  me  as  follows: 

‘ TO  WILLIAM  STRAHAN,  ESQ. 

c Sir, — It  would  be  very  foolish  for  us  to 
continue  strangers  any  longer.  You  can 
never  by  persistency  make  wrong  right. 
If  1 resented  too  acrimoniously,  I resented 
only  to  yourself.  Nobody  ever  saw  or 


1 [Ante,  vol.  i.  p.  363. — Boswell.] 

2 When  I one  day  at  court  expressed  to  Gene- 
ral Hall  my  sense  of  the  honour  he  had  done  my 
friend,  he  politely  answered,  “ Sir,  I did  myself 
honour. ' * — Bos  w ell. 


heard  what  I wrote.  You  saw  that  my 
anger  was  over,  for  in  a day  or  two  I came 
to  your  house.  I have  given  you  a longer 
time;  and  I hope  you  have  made  so  good 
use  of  it,  as  to  be  no  longer  on  evil  terms 
with,  sir,  your,  &c. 

‘ Sam.  Johnson.’ 

“On  this  I called  upon  him  • and  he  has 
since  dined  with  me.” 

After  this  time  the  same  friendship  as 
formerly  continued  between  Dr.  Johnson 
and  Mr.  Strahan.  My  friend  mentioned  to 
me  a little  circumstance  of  his  attention, 
which,  though  we  may  smile  at  it,  must  be 
allowed  to  have  its  foundation  in  a nice  and 
true  knowledge  of  human  life.  “ When  I 
write  to  Scotland  (said  he),  I employ  Stra- 
han to  frank  my  letters,  that  he  may  have 
the  consequence  of  appearing  a parliament 
man  among  his  countrymen.” 

[“  TO  MRS.  THRALE 

“ 15th  October,  1778. 

“As  to  Dr.  Collier’s3  epitaph,  jjett 
Nollekens  has  had  it  so  long,  that  I vol.  ii 
have  forgotten  how  long.  You  ne-  p*  20‘ 
ver  had  it. 

“There  is  a print  of  Mrs.  Montague,  and 
I shall  think  myself  very  ill  rewarded  for 
my  love  and  admiration  if  she  does  not  give 
me  one;  she  will  give  it  nobody  in  whom  it 
will  excite  more  respectful  sentiments. 

But  I never  could  get  any  thing  from  her 
but  by  pushing  a face;  and  so,  if  you  please,  * 
you  may  tell  her. 

*-  * * » * * 

“When  I called  the  other  day  at  Bur 
ney’s,  1 found  only  the  young  ones  at  home; 
at  last  came  the  doctor  and  madam,  from 
a dinner  in  the  country,  to  tell  how  they 
had  been  robbed  as  they  returned.  The 
doctor  saved  his  purse,  but  gavethem  three 
guineas  and  some  silver,  of  which  they  re- 
turned him  three-and-sixpence,  unasked,  to 
pay  the  turnpike. 

“ I have  sat  twice  to  Joshua,  and  he 
sterns  to  like  his  own  performance.  He 
has  projected  another,  in  which  I am  to  be 
busy;  but  we  can  think  on  it  at  leisure. 

“ M rs.  Williams  is  come  home  better, 
and  the  habitation  is  all  concord  and  har- 
mony; only  Mr.  Levett  harbours  discon- 
tent. • 

“ With  Dr.  Lawrence’s  consent,  I have, 
for  the  two  last  nights,  taken  musk:  the 
first  night  was  c worse  night  than  common, 
the  second,  a better*  but  not  so  much  bet- 
ter as  that  i dare  ascribe  any  virtue  to  the 
medicine.  I took  a scruple  each  time 


3 [Dr.  Collier,  or  the  Conmonr  ai  earU 
friend  of  Mrs.  Thrsle’s,  wh  ■>  o.od  2Sd  AUy  1 777. 
-Ed.] 


1778. — /ETAT.  69.  199 


u TO  MRS.  THRALE.  . 

“ 31st  October,  1778. 

Utters  “ Sir  Joshua  has  finished  rny  pic 
voi.  ii.  * ture,  and  it  seems  to  please  every  bo- 
P*  27-  dy,  but  I shall  wait  to  see  how  it 
pleases  you. 

*####* 

“ To-day  Mrs.  Williams  and  Mrs.  Des- 
moulins had  a scold,  and  Wiliams  was  go- 
ing away;  but  I bid  her  not  turn  tail,  and 
she  came  back,  and  rather  got  the  upper 
hand.55] 

We  surely  cannot  but  admire  the  bene- 
volent exertions  of  this  great  and  good  man, 
especially  when  we  consider  how  grievous- 
ly he  was  afflicted  with  bad  health,  and  how 
uncomfortable  his  home  was  made  by  the 
perpetual  jarring  of  those  whom  he  charita- 
bly accommodated  under  his  roof.  He  has 
sometimes  suffered  me  to  talk  jocularly  of 
his  group  of  females,  and  call  them  his  Se- 
raglio. He  thus  mentions  them,  together 
with  honest  Levett,  in  one  of  his  letters  to 
Mrs.  Thrale;  “ Williams  hates  every  body; 
Levett  hates  Desmoulins,  and  does  not  love 
Williams;  Desmoulins  hates  them  both; 
Poll 1 .oves  none  of  them.55 

[These  connexions  exposed  him 
p.4^8.  to  trouble  and  incessant  solicitation, 
which  he  bore  well  enough;  but  his 
inmates  were  enemies  to  his  peace,  and  oc- 
casioned him  great  disquiet:  the  jealousy 
that  subsisted  among  them  rendered  his 
dwelling  irksome  to  him,  and  he  seldom  ap- 
proached it,  after  an  evening’s  conversation 
abroad,  but  with  the  dread  of  finding  it  a 
scene  of  discord,  and  of  having  his  ears  fill- 
ed with  the  complaints  of  Mrs.  Williams  of 
Frank’s  neglect  of  his  duty  and  inattention 
to  the  interests  of  his  master,  and  of  F rank 
against  Mrs.  Williams,  for  the  authority 
she  assumed  over  him,  and  exercised  with 
an  unwarrantable  severity.  Even  those  in- 
truders who  had  taken  shelter  under  his 
roof,  and  who,  in  his  absence  from  home, 
brought  thither  their  children,  found  cause 
to  murmur;  “ their  provision  of  food  was 
scanty,  or  their  dinners  ill  dressed; 55  all 
which  he  chose  to  endure  rather  than  put 
an  end  to  their  clamours  by  ridding  his 
home  of  such  thankless  and  troublesome 
guests.  Nay,  so  insensible  was  he  of  the 
ingratitude  of  those  whom  he  suffered  thus 
to  hang  upon  him,  and  among  whom  he 
may  be  said  to  have  divided  an  income 
which  was  little  more  than  sufficient  for  his 
own  support,  that  he  would  submit  to  re- 
proach and  personal  affront  from  some  of 
them;  even  Levett  would  sometimes  insult 
him,  and  Mrs.  Williams,  in  her  paroxysms 


1 Miss  Carmichael. — Boswell.  [The  editor 
has  not  learned  how  this  lady  was  connected  with 
Dr.  Johnson.— Ed.] 


of  rage,  has  been  known  to  drive  him  from 
her  presence.] 

“ TO  C ATTAIN  LANGTON2,  WARLEY-CAMP. 

“Slst  October,  1778. 

“ Dear  sir, — When  I recollect  how  long 
ago  I was  received  with  so  much  kindness 
at  Warley  common,  I am  ashamed  that  1 
have  not  made  some  inquiries  after  my 
friends. 

“ Pray  how  many  sheep-stealers  did  you 
convict?  and  how  did  you  punish  them? 
When  are  you  to  be  cantoned  in  better  hab- 
itations? The  air  grows  cold,  and  the 
ground  damp.  Longer  stay  in  the  camp 
cannot  be  without  much  danger  to  the 
health  of  the  common  men,  if  even  the  offi- 
cers can  escape. 

“ You  see  that  Dr.  Percy  is  now  dean  of 
Carlisle;  about  five  hundred  a year,  with  a 
power  of  presenting  himself' to  some  good 
living.  He  is  provided  for. 

“ The  session  of  the  Club  is  to  com- 
mence with  that  of  the  parliament.  Mr. 
Banks  3 desires  to  be  admitted;  he  will  be  a 
very  honourable  accession. 

“ Did  the  king  please  you4?  The  Cox 
heath  men,  I think,  have  some  reason  to 
complain5 6.  Reynolds  says  your  camp  is 
better  than  theirs. 

“ I hope  you  find  yourself  able  to  encoun- 
ter this  weather.  Take  care  of  your  own 
health;  and,  as  you  can,  of  your  men.  Be 
pleased  to  make  my  compliments  to  all  the 
gentlemen  whose  notice  I have  had,  and 
whose  kindness  I have  experienced.  I am, 
dear  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

I wrote  to  him  oil  the  18th  of  August, 
the  18th  of  September,  and  the  6th  of  No- 
vember; informing  him  of  my  having  had 
another  son  born,  whom  I had  called  James5, 
that  I had  passed  some  time  at  Auchinleck; 
that  the  Countess  of  Loudoun,  now  in  her 


2 Dr.  Johnson  here  addresses  his  worthy  friend, 
Bennet  Langton,  Esq.  by  his  title  as  captain  of 
the  Lincolnshire  militia,  in  which  he  has  since 
been  most  deservedly  raised  to  the  rank  of  major. 
— Boswell. 

3 [Afterwards  Sir  Joseph. — Ed.] 

4 [His  majesty  and  the  queen  visited  Warley 

Camp  on  the  20th  October. — Ed.] 

6 [Of  the  King’s  not  visiting  that  camp  as  well 
as  Warley,  which,  however,  he  did,  on  the  3d 
November. — Ed.] 

6 [This  was  the  gentleman  who  contributed  a 
few  notes  to  this  work.  He  was  of  Brazenose 
College,  and  a Vinerian  Fellow,  and  died  in  Feb- 
ruary,  1822,  at  his  chambers,  in  the  Temple. — 
Hall.  The  editor  had  the  pleasure  of  his  ac- 
quaintance. He  published  an  edition  of  Shaks- 
peare;  was  very  convivial;  and  in  other  re-peats 
like  his  father,  though  altogether  on  a smallei 
scale. — Ed.] 


200 


1778.— JSTAT.  69. 


mru  ty  ninth  year,  was  as  fresh  as  when  he 
saw  her,  and  remembered  him  with  respect; 
and  that  his  mother  by  adoption,  the  Coun- 
tess of  Eglintoune,  had  said  to  me,  “ Tell 
Mr.  Johnson,  I love  him  exceedingly;  ” 
that  I had  again  suffered  much  from  bad 
spirits;  and  that  as  it  was  very  long  since 
I heard  from  him,  I was  not  a little  uneasy. 

The  continuance  of  his  regard  for  his 
friend,  Dr.  Burney,  appears  from  the  fol- 
lowing letters  : 

tc  TO  THE  REVEREND  DR.  WHEELER  , 
OXFORD. 

“London,  2d  November,  1778. 

“ Dear  sir, — Dr.  Burney,  who  brings 
this  paper,  is  engaged  in  a History  of  Mu- 
sick;  and  having  been  told  by  Dr.  Markham 
of  some  MSS.  relating  to  his  subject,  which 
are  in  the  library  of  your  college,  is  desirous 
to  examine  them.  He  is  my  friend;  and 
therefore  I take  the  liberty  of  entreating 
your  favour  and  assistance  in  his  inquiry; 
and  can  assure  you,  with  great  confidence, 
that  if  you  knew  him  he  would  not  want 
any  intervenient  solicitation  to  obtain  the 
kindness  of  one  who  loves  learning  and  vir- 
tue as  you  love  them 

“ I have  been  flattering  myself  all  the 
summer  with  the  hope  of  paying  my  annual 
visit  to  my  friends;  but  something  has  ob- 
structed me:  I still  hope  not  to  be  long 
without  seeing  you.  I should  be  glad  of  a 
little  literary  talk;  and  glad  to  show  you, 
by  the  frequency  of  my  visits,  how  eagerly 
I love  it,  when  you  talk  it.  I am,  dear  sir, 
your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

<c  TO  THE  REVEREND  DR.  EDWARDS 1  2, 
OXFORD. 

“ London,  2d  November,  1778. 

“ Sir, — The  bearer,  Dr.  Burney,  has  had 
some  account  of  a Welsh  manuscript  in  the 
Bodleian  library,  from  which  he  hopes  to 
gain  some  materials  for  his  History  of  Mu- 
sick;  but  being  ignorant  of  the  language,  is 
at  a loss  where  to  find  assistance.  I make 
no  doubt  but  you,  sir,  can  help  him  through 
his  difficulties,  and  therefore  take  the  liberty 
of  recommending  him  to  your  favour,  as  I 
am  sure  you  will  find  him  a man  worthy  of 

1 [Benjamin  Wheeler  was  entered  at  Trinity 
College,  November  12,  1751,  at  the  age  of 
eighteen.  Having  taken  the  degree  of  M.  A. 
from  that  house  in  1758,  he  removed  to  Magdalen 
College,  where  he  became  B.  D.  1769,  and  D. 
D.  the  year  following.  In  1776  he  was  appointed 
Regius  Professor  of  Divinity  and  Canon  of  Christ 
Church,  in  which  he  was  succeeded  by  Dr. 
Randolph,  late  Bishop  of  London,  in  1783. — 
Hall.] 

2 [Edward  Edwards  entered  at  Jesus  College 

1743,  set.  17;  M.  A.  1749;  B.  D.  1756;  and  D. 
D.  1760. — Hall.] 


every  civility  that  can  be  shown,  and  every 
benefit  that  can  be  conferred 

“But  we  must  not  let  Welsh  drive  ns 
from  Greek.  What  comes  of  Xenophon  3i 
If  you  do  not  like  the  trouble  of  publishing 
the  book,  do  not  let  your  commentaries  be 
lost;  contrive  that  they  may  be  published 
somewhere.  I am,  sir,  your  humble  ser 
vant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

These  letters  procured  Dr.  Burney  great 
kindness  and  friendly  offices  from  both  of 
these  gentlemen,  not  only  on  that  occasion, 
but  in  future  visits  to  the  university.  The 
same  year  Dr.  Johnson  not  only  wrote  to 
Joseph  Warton  in  favour  of  Dr.  Burney’s 
youngest  son,  who  was  to  be  placed  in  the 
college  of  Winchester,  but  accompanied  him 
when  he  went  thither. 

tc  TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“21st  November,  1778. 

“Dear  sir, — It  is  indeed  a long  time 
since  I wrote,  and  I think  you  have  some 
reason  to  complain;  however,  you  must  n ot 
let  small  things  disturb  you,  when  you  have 
such  a fine  addition  to  your  happiness  as  a 
new  boy,  and  I hope  your  lady’s  health  re- 
stored by  bringing  him.  It  seems  very  pro- 
bable that  a little  care  will  now  restore  her, 
if  any  remains  of  her  complaints  are  left. 

“ You  seem,  if  I understand  your  letter, 
to  be  gaining  ground  at  Auchinleck,  an  inci- 
dent that  would  give  me  great  delight. 

* * * * * *■ 

“ When  any  fit  of  anxiety,  or  gloomi- 
ness, or  perversion  of  mind  lays  hold  upon 
you,  make  it  a rule  not  to  publish  it  by  com- 
plaints, but  exert  your  whole  care  to  hide 
it;  by  endeavouring  to  hide  it,  you  will 
drive  it  away.  Be  always  busy. 

“ The  Club  is  to  meet  with  the  parlia- 
ment; we  talk  of  electing  Banks,  the  trav- 
eller; he  will  be  a reputable  member. 

“ Langton  has  been  encamped  with  his 
company  of  militia  on  Warley-common ; I 
spent  five  days  amongst  them;  he  signalis- 
ed himself  as  a diligent  officer,  and  has  very 
high  respect  in  the  regiment.  He  presided 
when  I was  there  at  a court-martial;  he  is 
now  quartered  in  Hertfordshire;  his  lady 
and  little  ones  are  in  Scotland.  Paoli  came 
to  the  camp,  and  commended  the  soldiers. 

“Of myself  I have  no  great  matters  to 
say:  my  health  is  not  restored;  my  nights 
are  restless  and  tedious.  The  best  night 
that  l have  had  these  twenty  years  was  at 
Fort-Augustus. 

“ I hope  soon  to  send  you  a few  lives  to 
read.  I am,  dear  sir,  your  most  affectionate, 
“ Sam.  Johnson.” 


3  [Dr.  Edwards  was  preparing  an  edition  of 
Xenophon’s  Memorabilia,  which,  however,  rw 
did  not  live  to  publish. — En  1 


1779. — JSTAT  70 


20 


About  this  time  the  Reverend  Mr.  John 
Hussey,  who  had  been  some  time  in  trade, 
and  was  then  a clergyman  of  the  church 
of  England,  being  about  to  undertake  a 
iourney  to  Aleppo,  and  other  parts  of  the 
east,  which  he  accomplished,  Dr.  Johnson 
(who  had  long  been  in  habits  of  intimacy 
with  him)  honoured  him  with  the  following 
’etter : 

“ TO  MR.  JOHN  HUSSEY. 

“ 29th  December,  1778. 

£<  Dear  sir, — I have  sent  you  the c Gram- 
mar,5 and  have  left  you  two  books  more,  by 
which  I hope  to  be  remembered : write  my 
name  in  them;  we  may,  perhaps,  see  each 
other  no  more;  you  part  with  my  good 
wishes,  nor  do  I despair  of  seeing  you  re- 
turn. Let  no  opportunities  of  vice  corrupt 
you;  let  no  bad  example  seduce  you;  let 
the  blindness  of  Mahometans  confirm  you 
in  Christianity.  God  bless  you.  I am, 
dear  sir,  your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.55 

Johnson  this  year  expressed  great  satis- 
faction at  the  publication  of  the  first  vol- 
ume of  tc  Discourses  to  the  Royal  Acade- 
my,” by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  whom  he 
always  considered  as  one  of  his  literary 
school.  Much  praise  indeed  is  due  to  those 
excellent  Discourses,  which  are  so  univer- 
sally admired,  and  for  which  the  authour 
received  from  the  Empress  of  Russia  a gold 
snuff-box,  adorned  with  her  profile  in  bas 
relief,  set  in  diamonds;  and  containing, 
what  is  infinitely  more  valuable,  a slip  of 
paper,  on  which  are  written  with  her  im- 
perial majesty’s  own  hand,  the  following 
words:  tc  Pour  le  Chevalier  Reynolds,  en 
temoignage  du  contentement  quej’ai  res- 
sentie  a la  lecture  de  ses  excellens  discours 
sur  la  peinture.” 

This  year  Johnson  gave  the  world  a lumi- 
nous proof  that  the  vigour  of  his  mind  in 
all  its  faculties,  whether  memory,  judgment, 
or  imagination,  was  not  in  the  least  abated; 
for  this  year  came  out  the  first  four  volumes 
of  his  cc  Prefaces,  biographical  and  critical, 
to  the  most  eminent  of  the  English  Poets,*  ” 
published  by  the  booksellers  of  London. 
The  remaining  volumes  came  out  in  the 
year  1780.  The  poets  were  selected  by  the 
several  booksellers  who  had  the  honorary 
copyright,  which  is  still  preserved  among 
them  by  mutual  compact,  notwithstanding 
the  decision  of  the  house  of  lords  against 
the  perpetuity  of  literary  property.  We 
have  his  own  authority',  that  by  his  re- 
commendation the  poems  of  Blackmore, 
Watts,  Pomfret,  and  Yalden,  were  added 
to  the  collection.  Of  this  work  1 shall  speak 
more  particularly  hereafter. 


1 Life  of  Watts. — Boswell, 
jot.  ii  26 


[ctDR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  ASTON. 
“London,  Bolt-court, Fleet-street,  2d  Jan.  1779 

“ Dear  madam, — Now  the  new 
year  is  come,  of  which  I wish  you  ^nb* 
and  dear  Mrs.  Gastrell  many  and 
many  returns,  it  is  fit  that  I give  you 
some  account  of  the  year  past.  In  the  be- 
ginning of  it  I had  a difficulty  of  breathing, 
and  other  illness,  from  which,  however,  I by 
degrees  recovered,  and  from  which  I am  now 
tolerably  free.  In  the  spring  and  summer  I 
flattered  myself  that  I should  come  to  Lich- 
field, and  forbore  to  write  till  I could  tell  of 
my  intentions  with  some  certainty,  and  one 
thing  or  other  making  the  journey  always 
improper,  as  I did  not  come,  I omitted  to 
write,  till  at  last  I grew  afraid  of  hearing  ill 
news.  But  the  other  day  Mr.  Prujean2 
called  and  left  word,  that  you,  dear  madam, 
are  grown  better;  and  I know  not  when  I 
heard  any  thing  that  pleased  me  so  much. 

I shall  now  long  more  and  more  to  see 
Lichfield,  and  partake  the  happiness  of  your 
recovery. 

“ Now  you  begin  to  mend,  you  have 
great  encouragement  to  take  care  of  your 
self.  Do  not  omit  any  thing  that  can  con 
duce  to  your  health,  and  when  I come,  I 
shall  hope  to  enjoy  with  you,  and  dearest 
Mrs.  Gastrell,  many  pleasing  hours. 

“ Do  not  be  angry  at  my  long  omission 
to  write,  but  let  me  hear  how  you  both  do, 
for  you  will  write  to  nobody,  to  whom 
your  welfare  will  give  more  pleasure,  than 
to,  dearest  madam,  your  most  humble  ser- 
vant, “ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

[f(DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER 
“ Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  2d  Jail.  1779. 

“ Dearest  love, — Though  I 
have  so  long  omitted  to  write,  I mss300 
will  omit  it  no  longer.  I hope  the 
new  year  finds  you  not  worse  than  you  hav6 
formerly  been;  and  I wish  that  many  years 
may  pass  over  you  without  bringing  either 
pain  or  discontent.  For  my  part,  I think 
my  health,  though  not  good,  yet  rather 
better  than  when  I left  you. 

“ My  purpose  was  t<f  have  paid  you  my 
annual  visit  in  the  summer,  but  it  happen- 
ed otherwise,  not  by  any  journey  another 
way,  for  I have  never  been  many  miles 
from  London,  but  by  such  hindrances  as  it 
is  hard  to  bring  to  any  account. 

“Do  not  follow  my  bad  example,  but 
write  to  me  soon  again,  and  let  me  know  of 
you  what  you  have  to  tell  • I hope  it  is  all 
good. 

“ Please  to  make  my  compliments  to  Mrs. 
Cobb,  Mrs.  Adey,  and  Miss  Adey,  and  all 
the  ladies  and  gentlemen  that  frequent  your 
mansion. 


2 [Mr.  Prujean  married  the  youngest  of  the 
Misses  Aston. — Harwood.] 


1779.— /ETAT.  70.' 


'£)2 

(t  If  you  want  any  books,  or  any  thing 
else  that  I can  send  you,  let  me  know.  I 
am,  dear  madam,  your  most  humble  servant, 
“ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

On  the  22d  of  January,  1 wrote  to  him 
on  several  topicks,  and  mentioned  that  as 
he  had  been  so  good  as  to  permit  me  to 
have  the  proof  sheets  of  his  Jdves  of  the 
Poets,”  I had  written  to  his  servant,  Fran- 
cis, to  take  care  of  them  forme. 

“MR.  BOSWELL  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“ Edinburgh,  2d  February,  1779. 

“ My  dear  sir, — Garrick’s  death  is  a 
striking  event;  not  that  we  should  be  sur- 
prised with  the  death  of  any  man,  who  has 
lived  sixty-two  years1;  but  because  there 
was  a vivacity  in  our  late  celebrated  friend, 
which  drove  away  the  thoughts  of  death 
from  any  association  with  him.  I am  sure 
you  will  be  tenderly  affected  with  his  de- 
parture; and  I would  wish  to  hear  from  you 
upon  the  subject.  I was  obliged  to  him  in 
my  days  of  effervescence  in  London,  when 
poor  Derrick  was  my  governour;  and  since 
that  time  I received  many  civilities  from 
him.  Do  you  remember  how  pleasing  it 
was,  when  I received  a letter  from  him  at 
Inverary,  upon  our  first  return  to  civilized 
living  after  our  Hebridean  journey  ? I shall 
always  remember  him  with  affection  as  well 
as  admiration. 

“ On  Saturday  last,  being  the  30th  of 
January,  I drank  coffee  and  old  port,  and 
had  solemn  conversation  with  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Falconer,  a nonjuring  bishop,  a very 
learned  and  worthy  man.  He  gave  two 
toasts,  which  you  will  believe  I drank  with 
cordiality,  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  and  Flora 
Macdonald.  I sat  about  four  hours  with 
him,  and  it  was  really  as  if  I had  been  living 
in  the  last  century.  The  episcopal  church 
of  Scotland,  though  faithful  to  the  royal 
house  of  Stuart,  has  never  accepted  of  any 
congt  d'elire  since  the  revolution;  it  is  the 
only  true  episcopal  church  in  Scotland,  as 
it  has  its  own  succession  of  bishops.  For 
as  to  the  episcopal  clergy,  who  take  the 
oaths  to  the  present  government,  they  in- 
deed follow  the  rites  of  the  church  of  Eng- 
land, but,  as  Bishop  Falconer  observed, 
‘ they  are  not  episcopals;  for  they  are  un- 
der no  bishop,  as  a bishop  cannot  have 
authority  beyond  his  diocese.’  This  ven- 
erable gentleman  did  me  the  honour  to  dine 

1 On  Mr.  Garrick’s  monument  in  Lichfield 
Cathedral,  he  is  said  to  have  died,  “ aged  64 
years.”  But  it  is  a mistake,  and  Mr.  Boswell  is 
perfectly  correct.  Garrick  was  baptised  at  Here- 
ford, Feb.  28,  1716-17,  and  died  at  his  house  in 
London,  Jan.  20,  1779.  The  inaccuracy  of  lapi- 
dary inscriptions  is  well  known. — Malone. 
[The  inscription,  as  given  in  Harwood’s  History 
of  Lichfield , has  sixty-th'  ee  yeans. — F.d.] 


with  me  yesterday,  and  he  laid  his  hand* 
upon  the  heads  of  my  little  ones.  We  had 
a good  deal  of  curious  literary  conversation, 
particularly  about  Mr.  Thomas  Ruddiman, 
with  whom  he  lived  in  great  friendship. 

“ Any  fresh  instance  of  the  uncertain  / 
of  life  makes  one  embrace  more  closely  a 
valuable  friend.  My  dear  and  much  re- 
spected sir,  may  God  preserve  you  long  in 
this  world  while  I am  in  it.  I am  ever, 
your  much  obliged,  and  affectionate  humble 
servant,  “ James  Boswell.” 

[When  Garrick  was  on  his  last 
sick-bed,  no  arguments  or  recitals  Vlo™^6 
of  such  facts  as  reached  him  would  p‘ 
persuade  Dr.  Johnson  of  his  danger:  he 
had  prepossessed  himself  with  a notion,  that 
to  say  a man  was  sick,  was  very  near  wish- 
ing him  so;  and  few  things  offended  him 
more,  than  prognosticating  even  the  death 
of  an  ordinary  acquaintance.  “ Ay,  ay,” 
said  he,  “ Swift  knew  the  world  pretty  well, 
when  he  said,  that, 

Some  dire  misfortune  to  portend, 

No  enemy  can  match  a friend.  ” 

The  danger  then  of  Mr.  Garrick,  or  of 
Mr.  Thrale,  whom  he  loved  better,  was  an 
image  which  no  one  durst  present  before 
his  view;  he  always  persisted  in  the  possi- 
bility and  hope  of  their  recovering  disorders 
from  which  no  human  creatures  by  human  * 
means  alone  ever  did  recover.  His  distress 
for  their  loss  was  for  that  very  reason 
poignant  to  excess:  but  his  fears  of  his  own 
salvation  were  excessive : his  truly  tolerant 
spirit,  and  Christian  charity,  which  hopeth 
all  things , and  believeth  all  things , made 
him  rely  securely  on  the  safety  of  his  friends, 
while  his  earnest  aspiration  after  a blessed 
immortality  made  him  cautious  of  his  own 
steps,  and  timorous  concerning  their  con- 
sequences. He  knew  how  much  had  been 
given,  and  filled  his  mind  with  fancies 
of  how  much  would  be  required,  till  his  im- 
pressed imagination  was  often  disturbed  by 
them,  and  his  health  suffered  from  the  sen- 
sibility of  his  too  tender  conscience : a real 
Christian  is  so  apt  to  find  his  task  above 
his  power  of  performance  ! ] 

[“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS 
“ 15th  February,  1779. 

“ Dearest  madam, — I have  never 
deserved  to  be  treated  as  you  treat 
me.  When  you  employed  me  be- 
fore, I undertook  your  affair2  and  succeed 
ed,  but  then  I succeeded  by  choosing  a 
proper  time,  and  a proper  time  I will  try  tt» 
qfioose  again. 

“ I have  about  a week’s  work  to  do,  and 

2 [This  seems  to  allude  to  some  favour  ( probably 
a pecuniary  one)  which  Johnson  was  to  sohci! 
from  Sir  Joshua  for  Miss  Reynolds. — Ed.] 


1779.—  /ETAT.  70 


203 


then  I shall  come  to  livd  in  town,  and  will 
first  wait  on  you  in  Dover-street.  You  are 
not  to  think  that  I neglect  you,  for  your 
nieces  will  tell  you  how  rarely  they  have 
seen  me.  I will  wait  on  you  as  soon  as  1 
can,  and  yet  you  must  resolve  to  talk  things 
over  without  anger,  and  you  must  leave 
me  to  catch  opportunities,  and  be  assured, 
dearest  dear,  that  I should  have  very  little 
enjoyment  of  that  day  in  which  I had  neg- 
lected any  opportunity  of  doing  good  to  you. 
I am,  dearest  madam,  your  most  humble 
servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

[“to  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER. 
‘‘Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  4th  March,  17V 9. 

“My  dear  love, — Since  I 
Pearson  heard  from  you,  I sent  you  a little 
print,  and  two  barrels  of  oysters, 
and  I shall  have  some  little  books  to  send 
you  soon. 

“ I have  seen  Mr.  Pearson,  and  am  pleas- 
ed to  find  that  he  has  got  a Aving.  I was 
hurried  when  he  was  with  me,  but  had 
time  to  hear  that  my  friends  were  all  well. 

“ Poor  Mrs.  Adey  was,  I think,  a good 
woman,  and  therefore  her  death  is  less  to 
be  lamented;  but  it  is  not  pleasant  to  think 
how  uncertain  it  is,  that,  when  friends  part, 
they  will  ever  meet  again. 

“ My  old  complaint  of  flatulence,  and 
tight  and  short  breath,  oppress  me  heavily. 
My  nights  are  very  restless.  I think  of  con- 
sulting the  doctor  to-morrow. 

“ This  has  been  a mild  winter,  for  which 
I hope  you  have  been  the  better.  Take 
what  care  you  can  of  yourself,  and  do  not 
forget  to  drink.  I was  somehow  or  other 
hindered  from  coming  into  the  country  last 
summer,  but  I think  of  coming  this  year. 
I am,  dear  love,  your  most  humble  servant, 
“ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

[“to  MRS.  ASTON. 

» Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  4th  March,  1779. 

" Dear  madam, — Mrs.  Gastrell 
mss!*’  an<*  y°u  are  very  often  in  my 
thoughts,  though  I do  not  write 
so  often  as  might  be  expected  from  so  much 
love  and  so  much  respect.  I please  myself 
with  thinking  that  I shall  see  you  again,  and 
shall  find  you  belter.  But  futurity  is  un- 
certain: poor  David1  had  doubtless  many 
futurities  in  his  head,  which  death  has  in- 
tercepted— a death,  I believe,  totally  unex- 
pected : he  did  not  in  his  last  hour  seem  to 
think  his  life  in  danger. 

“ My  old  complaints  hang  heavy  on  me, 
and  my  nights  are  very  uncomfortable  and 
unquiet;  and  sleepless  nights  make  heavy 
days,  I think  to  go  to  my  physician,  and 
try  what  can  be  done.  For  why  should 
not  I grow  better  as  well  as  you? 


1 [Mr.  Garrick — Ed.] 


“ Now  you  are  better,  pray,  deares« 
madam,  take  care  of  yourself.  I hope  to 
come  this  summer  and  watch,  you.  It  will 
be  a very  pleasant  journey  il  l can  find  you 
and  dear  Mrs.  Gastrell  well. 

“ I sent  you  two  barrels  of  oysters;  if  £ou 
would  wish  for  more,  please  to  send  your 
commands  to,  madam,  your  most  humble 
servant,  t;  Sam.  Johnson  ”] 

[“TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“10th  March,  1779 

“ I will  come  to  see  you  on  Sat-  Letters 
urday,  only  let  me  know  whether  voi.  it 
[ must  come  to  the  Borough,  p>  42 
or  am  to  be  taken  up  here. 

* * * # • * 

“ I got  my  Lives,  not  yet  quite  printed, 
ut  neatly  together,  and  sent  them  to  the 
ing:  what  lie  says  of  them  I know  not. 
If  the  king  is  a whig,  he  will  not  like  them: 
but  is  any  king  a whig?  ”] 

On  the  23d  of  February  I had  written  to 
him  again,  complaining  of  his  silence,  as  I 
had  heard  he  was  ill,  and  had  written  to 
Mr.  Thralefor  information  concerning  him* 
and  I announced  my  intention  of  soon  be- 
ing again  in  London. 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“13th  March,  1779. 

“ Dear  sir, — Why  should  you  take 
such  delight  to  make  a bustle,  to  write  to 
Mr.  Thrale  that  I am  negligent,  and  to 
Francis  to  do  what  is  so  very  unnecessary? 
Thrale,  you  may  be  sure,  cared  not  about 
it;  and  I shall  spare  Francis  the  trouble,  by 
ordering  a set  both  of  the  Lives  and  Poets 
to  dear  Mrs.  Boswell 2,  in  acknowledgement 
of  her  marmalade.  Persuade  her  to  ac- 
cept them,  and  accept  them  kindly.  If  1 
thought  she  would  receive  them  scornfully, 
I would  send  them  to  Miss  Boswell,  who,  I 
hope,  has  yet  none  of  her  mamma’s  ill-will 
to  me. 

“ I would  send  sets  of  Lives,  four  volumes, 
to  some  other  friends,  to  Lord  Hailes  first. 
His  second  volume  lies  by  my  bed-side;  a 
book  surely  of  great  labour,  and  to  every 
just  thinker  of  great  delight.  Write  me 
word  to  whom  I shall  send  besides.  Would 
it  please  Lord  Auchinleck  ? Mrs.  Thrale 
waits  in  the  coach.  I am,  dear  sir,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

This  letter  crossed  me  on  the  road  to 
London,  where  I arrived  on  Monday, 
March  15,  and  next  morning,  at  a late 
hour,  found  Dr.  Johnson  sitting  over  his 
tea,  attended  by  Mrs.  Desmoulins,  Mr. 
Levett,  and  a clergyman,  who  had  come  to 

2 He  sent  a set  elegantly  bound  and  gilt,  which 
was  received  as  a very  handsome  present. — Bon 
I WELL. 


204 


1779.— JET  AT.  70. 


submit  some  poetical  pieces  to  his  revision. 
It  is  wonderful  what  a number  and  variety 
of  writers,  some  of  them  even  unknown  to 
him,  prevailed  on  his  good-nature  to  look 
over  their  works,  and  suggest  corrections 
and  improvements.  My  arrival  interrupted, 
for  a little  while,  the  important  business  of 
this  true  representative  of  Bayes  ; upon  its 
being  resumed,  I found  that  the  subject 
under  immediate  consideration  was  a trans- 
lation, yet  in  manuscript,  of  the  “ Carmen 
Seculare  ” of  Horace,  which  had  this  year 
been  set  to  musick,  and  performed  as  a 
publick  entertainment  in  London,  for  the 
joint  benefit  of  Monsieur  Philidor  and  Sig- 
nor Baretti.  When  Johnson  had  done  read- 
ing, the  authour  asked  him  bluntly,  “ If 
upon  the  whole  it  was  a good  translation? 55 
Johnson,  whose  regard  for  truth  was  un- 
commonly strict,  seemed  to  be  puzzled  for 
a moment  what  answer  to  make,  as  he  cer- 
■wiirlv  could  not  honestly  commend  the  per- 
formance: with  exquisite  address  he  evaded 
the  question  thus,  “ Sir,  I do  not  say  that 
it  may  not  be  made  a very  good  translation.55 
Here  nothing  whatever  in  favour  of  the 
performance  was  affirmed,  and  yet  the  wri- 
ter was  not  shocked.  A printed  “ Ode  to 
tnc*  Warlike  Genius  of  Britain  55  came  next 
in  review.  The  bard 1 was  a lank  bony  fig- 
ure, with  short  black  hair;  he  was  writhing 
himself  in  agitation,  while  Johnson  read, 
and,  showing  his  teeth  in  a grin  of  earnest- 
ness, ^claimed  in  broken  sentences,  and  in 
a keen  sharp  tone,  “ Is  that  poetry,  sir? — Is 
it  Pindar?55  Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  there 
is  here  a great  deal  of  what  is  called  poet- 
ry.55 Then,  turning  to  me,  the  poet  cried, 
tc  My  muse  nas  not  been  long  upon  the 
town,  and  ^pointing  to  the  Ode)  it  trembles 
under  the  hand  of  the  great  critick.”  John- 
son, in  a tone  of  displeasure,  asked  him, 
tc  Why  do  you  praise  Anson?  55  I did  not 
trouble  him  by  asking  his  reason  for  this 
question2 3.  He  proceeded: — “Here  is  an 


1 [This  was  a Mr.  Tasker.  Mr.  D ’Israeli  in- 
forms the  Editor,  that  this  portrait  is  so  accurately 
drawn,  that,  being,  some  years  after  the  publica- 
tion of  this  work,  at  a watering-place  on  the  coast 
•f  Devon,  he  was  visited  by  Mr.  Tasker,  whose 
name,  however,  he  did  not  then  know,  but  was 
so  struck  with  his  resemblance  to  Boswell’s 
picture,  that  he  asked  him  whether  he  had  not 
had  an  interview  with  Dr.  Johnson,  and  it  ap- 
peared that  he  was  indeed  the  authour  of  “ The 
Warlike  Genius  of  Britain.” — Ed.] 

2 [He  disliked  Lord  Anson  probably  from  local 
politics.  On  one  occasion  he  visited  Lord  An- 
son’s seat,  and  although,  as  he  confessed,  “ well 
received  and  kindly  treated,  he,  with  the  true 
gratitude  of  a wit,  ridiculed  the  master  of  the 
house  before  he  had  left  it  half  an  hour.”  In 
the  grounds  there  is  a temple  of  the  winds,  on 
which  he  made  the  following  epigram  : 


errour,  sir;  you  have  made  Genius  femi 
nine.”  “ Palpable,  sir  (cried  the  enthusi- 
ast); I know  it.  But  (in  a lower  tone)  it 
was  to  pay  a compliment  to  the  Duchess 
of  Devonshire,  with  which  her  grace  was 
pleased.  She  is  walking  across  Coxheath** 
in  the  military  uniform,  and  I suppose  her 
to  be  the  Genius  of  Britain.”  Johnson. 
“ Sir,  you  are  giving  a reason  for  it ; but 
that  will  not  make  it  right.  You  may  have 
a reason  why  two  and  two  should  make 
five;  but  they  will  still  make  but  four.” 
Although  I was  several  times  with  him 
in  the  course  of  the  following  days,  such  it 
seems  were  my  occupations,  or  such  my 
negligence,  that  I have  preserved  no  memo- 
rial of  his  conversation  till  Friday,  March 
26,  when  I visited  him.  He  said  he  ex- 
pected to  be  attacked  on  account  of  his 
“ Lives  of  the  Poets.”  “ However,55  said, 
he,  “ I would  rather  be  attacked  than  un- 
noticed. For  the  worst  thing  you  can  do 
to  an  authour  is  to  be  silent  as  to  his 
works.  An  assault  upon  a town  is  a bad 
thing;  but  starving  it  is  still  worse;  an  as- 
sault may  be  unsuccessful,  you  may  have 
more  men  killed  than  you  kill;  but  if  you 
starve  the  town,  you  are  sure  of  victory.” 
[Dr.  Johnson  was  famous  for  dis- 
regarding public  abuse.  When  the  p10^ 
people  criticised  and  answered  his 
pamphlets,  papers,  &c.  he  would  say. 
“ Why  now,  these  fellows  are  only  adver- 
tising my  book : it  is  surely  better  a man 
should  be  abused  than  forgotten.”] 

Talking  of  a friend  4 of  ours  associating 
with  persons  of  very  discordant  principles 
and  characters  ; I said  he  was  a very  uni- 
versal man,  quite  a man  of  the  world. 
Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir;  but  one  may  be  sc 
much  a man  of  the  world,  as  to  be  nothing 
in  the  world.  I remember  a passage  in 
Goldsmith’s  c Yicar  of  W akefield,5 * * *  which 
he  was  afterwards  fool  enough  to  expunge. 
c I do  not  love  a man  who  is  zealous  for 
nothing.’  ” Boswell.  “ That  was  a 
fine  passage.”  Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir 
there  was  another  fine  passage  too,  which 
he  struck  out:  ‘ When  I was  a young  man, 
being  anxious  to  distinguish  myself,  I was 
perpetually  starting  new  propositions.  But 
I soon  gave  this  over;  for  I found  that 
generally  what  was  new  was  false5.5”  I 


Gramm  aninium  laudo ; Qui  debuit  omnia  ventis, 

Quam  bene  ventorum,  surgere  templa  jubet ! — 

Piozzi  Jnec.  p.  55. — Ed.] 

3 [Where  there  was  a camp  at  this  period ; see 
ante,  p.  199. — Ed.] 

4 [Probably  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds;  see  ante,  p. 
156.— Ed.] 

5 Dr.  Burney,  in  a note  introduced  in  a former 

page,  has  mentioned  this  circumstance,  concerning 

Goldsmith,  as  communicated  to  him  by  Dr.  John- 

son, not  recollecting  that  it  occurred  here.  Hi# 


1779.— dETAT.  70. 


205 


said  I did  not  like  to  sit  with  people  of 
whom  I had  not  a good  opinion.  Johnson. 
“But  you  must  not  indulge  your  delicacy  too 
much,  or  you  will  be  a Ute-a-tete  man  all 
your  life.” 

[c  c DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ 18th  March,  1779. 

Letters,  “ On  Monday  I came  late  to  Mrs. 
voi.  ii.  ’ Vesey.  Mrs.  Montagu  was  there; 
p*  43,  I called  for  the  print 1,  and  got  good 
words.  The  evening  was  not  brilliant, 
but  I had  thanks  for  my  company.  The 
night  was  troublesome.  On  Tuesday  I fast- 
ed, and  went  to  the  doctor : he  ordered  bleed- 
ing. On  Wednesday  I had  the  tea-pot, 
fasted,  and  was  blooded.  Wednesday 
night  was  better.  To-day  I have  dined  at 
Mr.  Strahan’s,  at  Islington,  with  his  new 
wife.  To-night  there  will  be  opium;  to- 
morrow the  tea-pot;  then  heigh  for  Satur- 
day. I wish  the  doctor  would  bleed  me 
again.  Yet  every  body  that  I meet  says 
that  I look  better  than  when  I was  last 
met.55] 

During  my  stay  in  London  this  spring,  I 
find  I was  unaccountably  negligent  in  pre- 
serving Johnson’s  sayings,  more  so  than  at 
any  time  when  I was  happy  enough  to 
have  an  opportunity  of  hearing  his  wisdom 
and  wit.  There  is  no  help  for  it  now.  I 
must  content  myself  with  presenting  such 
scraps  as  I have.  But  I am  nevertheless 
ashamed  and  vexed  to  think  how  much  has 
been  lost.  It  is  not  that  there  was  a bad 
crop  this  year,  but  that  I was  not  sufficient- 
ly careful  in  gathering  it  in.  I therefore, 
in  some  instances,  can  only  exhibit  a few 
detached  fragments. 

Talking  of  the  wonderful  concealment 
of  the  authour  of  the  celebrated  letters 
signed  Junius,  he  said,  “ I should  have 
believed  Burke  to  be  Junius,  because  I 
know  no  man  but  Burke  who  is  capable 
of  writing  these  letters;  but  Burke  sponta- 
neously denied  it  to  me.  The  case  would 
have  been  different,  had  I asked  him  if  he 
was  the  authour;  a man  so  questioned,  as 
to  an  anonymous  publication,  may  think 
he  has  a right  to  deny  it.55 

He  observed  that  his  old  friend,  Mr. 
Sheridan,  had  been  honoured  with  ex- 
traordinary attention  in  his  own  country, 
by  having  had  an  exception  made  in  his 
favour  in  an  Irish  act  of  parliament  con- 


remark,  however,  is  not  wholly  superfluous,  as  it 
ascertains  that  the  words  which  Goldsmith  had 
put  into  the  mouth  of  a fictitious  character  in  the 
“ Vicar  of  Wakefield,”  and  which,  as  we  learn 
from  Dr.  Johnson,  he  afterwards  expunged,  related, 
like  many  other  passages  in  his  novel,  to  himself. 
— Malone. 

1 [Mrs.  Montage’s  portrait. — Ed  1 


cerning  insolvent  debtors  2.  “ Thus  to  be 
singled  out,”  said  he,  “ by  a legislature,  as 
an  object  of  public  consideration  and  kind- 
ness, is  a proof  of  no  common  merit.” 

At  Streatham,  on  Monday,  March  29, 
at  breakfast,  he  maintained  that  a father 
had  no  right  to  control  the  inclinations  of 
his  daughter  in  marriage.  [Of  pa- 
rental authority,  indeed,  few  people  Tioz$ 
thought  with  a lower  degree  of  es-  p' 
timation.  Mrs.  Thrale  one  day  mentioned 
the  resignation  of  Cyrus  to  his  father’s  will, 
as  related  by  Xenophon,  when,  after  all  his 
conquests,  he  requested  the  consent  of 
Cambyses  to  his  marriage  with  a neigh 
bouring  princess;  and  she  added  Rollin’s 
applause  and  recommendation  of  the  exam- 
ple. “ Do  you  not  perceive,  then,”  says 
Johnson,  “ that  Xenophon  on  this  occasion 
commends  like  a pedant,  and  Pere  Rollin 
applauds  like  a slave?  If  Cyrus,  by  his 
conquests,  had  not  purchased  emancipation, 
he  had  conquered  to  little  purpose  indeed. 
Can  you  forbear  to  see  the  folly  of  a fellow 
who  has  in  his  care  the  lives  of  thousands, 
when  he  begs  his  papa’s  permission  to  be 
married,  and  confesses  his  inability  to  de- 
cide in  a matter  which  concerns  no  man’s 
happiness  but  his  own?”  Dr.  Johnson 
caught  Mrs.  Thrale  another  time  repri 
manding  the  daughter  of  her  house-keepei 
for  having  sat  down  unpermitted  in  liffi 
mother’s  presence.  “ Why,  she  gets  her 
living,  does  she  not,55  said  he,  “ without 
her  mother’s  help?  Let  the  wench  alone,” 
continued  he.  And  when  they  were  again 
out  of  the  women’s  sight  who  were  con- 
cerned in  the  dispute,  “ Poor  people’s  chil- 
dren, dear  lady,55  said  he,  “ never  respect 
them.  I did  not  respect  my  own  mother, 
though  I loved  her:  and  one  day,  when  in 
anger,  she  called  me  a puppy,  I asked  her 
if  she  knew  what  they  called  a puppy’s 
mother.55] 

On  Wednesday,  81st  March,  when  I vis- 
ited him,  and  confessed  an  excess  of  which 
I had  very  seldom  been  guilty — that  I had 
spent  a whole  night  in  playing  at  cards, 
and  that  I could  not  look  back  on  it  with 
satisfaction — instead  of  a harsh  animadver- 
sion, he  mildly  said,  “ Alas,  sir,  on  how 

2 [This  is  a total  mistake.  Mr.  Whyte  tells 
us  of  the  personal  civility  with  which  some 
members  of  a committee  of  the  Irish  house  of 
commons  on  a bill  for  the  relief  of  insolvent 
debtors  treated  Mr.  Sheridan  and  Mr.  Whyte  w ho 
appeared  on  his  behalf,  but  there  is  no  exception 
in  the  act.  Sheridan’s  name  is  one  of  some 
hundreds,  and  has  no  distinction  whatsoever.  The 
favour  he  sought  was,  to  be  included  in  the  act 
without  being  in  actual  custody,  as  he  was  resident 
in  France;  this  he  obtained,  but  not  specially,  for 
one  hundred  and  twenty  other  persons,  in  similai 
circumstances,  are  also  included.  See  Schedule 
to  Irish  Statute , 5th  Geo.  3d,  chap.  23. — Ed.] 


206 


1779.— .OTAT.  70 


few  things  can  we  look  back  with  satisfac- 
tion ! ” 

On  Thursday,  1st  April,  he  commended 
one  of  the  Dukes  of  Devonshire  for  “a 
dogged  veracity  1.”  He  said,  too,  “ Lon- 
don is  nothing  to  some  people  ; but  to  a 
man  whose  pleasure  is  intellectual,  London 
is  the  place.  And  there  is  no  place  where 
economy  can  be  so  well  practised  as  in  Lon- 
don : more  can  be  had  here  for  the  money, 
even  by  ladies,  than  any  where  else.  You 
cannot  play  tricks  with  your  fortune  in  a 
6mall  place ; you  must  make-  an  uniform 
appearance.  Here  a lady  may  have  well- 
furnished  apartments,  and  elegant  dress, 
without  any  meat  in  her  kitchen.” 

I was  amused  by  considering  with  how 
much  ease  and  coolness  he  could  write  or 
talk  to  a friend,  exhorting  him  not  to  sup- 
pose that  happiness  was  not  to  be  found  as 
well  in  other  places  as  in  London;  when  he 
himself  was  at  all  times  sensible  of  its  being, 
comparatively  speaking,  a heaven  upon 
earth.  The  truth  is,  that  by  those  who 
from  sagacity,  attention,  and  experience, 
have  learnt  the  full  advantage  of  London, 
its  pre-eminence  over  every  other  place,  not 
only  for  variety  of  enjoyment,  but  for  com- 
fort, will  be  felt  with  a philosophical  exulta- 
tion. The  freedom  from  remark  and  petty 
censure,  with  which  life  may  be  passed 
there,  is  a circumstance  which  a man  who 
knows  the  teasing  restraint  of  a narrow 
circle  must  relish  highly.  Mr.  Burke, 
whose  orderly  and  amiable  domestick  hab- 
its might  make  the  eye  of  observation  less 
irksome  to  him  than  to  most  men,  said  once 
very  pleasantly,  in  my  hearing,  “ Though 
I have  the  honour  to  represent  Bristol,  I 
should  not  like  to  live  there  ; I should  be 
obliged  to  be  so  much  upon  my  good  be- 
haviour. In  London,  a man  may  live  in 
splendid  society  at  one  time,  and  in  frugal 
retirement  at  another,  without  animadver- 
sion. There,  and  there  alone,  a man’s  own 
house  is  truly  his  castle , in  which  he  can  be 
in  perfect  safety  from  intrusion  whenever 
he  pleases.  I never  shall  forget  how  well 
this  wras  expressed  to  me  one  day  by  Mr. 
Meynell:  “ The  chief  advantage  of  Lon- 
don,” said  he,  “ is,  that  a man  is  always  so 
near  his  burrow .” 

He  said  of  one  of  his  old  acquaintances  2, 
“ He  is  very  fit  for  a travelling  governour. 
He  knows  French  very  well.  He  is  a man 
of  good  principles;  and  there  would  be  no 
danger  that  a young  gentleman  should  catch 
his  manner;  for  it  is  so  very  bad,  that  it 
must  be  avoided.  In  that  respect  he  would 
be  like  the  drunken  Helot.” 


1 See  p.  126. — Boswell. 

2 [Probably  Mr.  Elphinstone,  the  schoolmaster 
of  Kensington,  and  translator  of  Martial  See 

antey  v.  i pp.  85,  (n.)  and  291. — Ed.] 


A gentleman  has  informed  me,  tha 
Johnson  said  of  tl}e  same  person,  “ Sir,  he 
has  the  most  inverted  understanding  of  any 
man  whom  I have  ever  known.” 

On  Friday,  2d  April,  being  Good-Fri- 
day,  I visited  him  in  the  morning  as  usual; 
and  finding  that  we  insensibly  fell  into  a 
train  of  ridicule  upon  the.  foibles  of  one  of 
our  friends,  a very  worthy  man,  I,  by  way 
of  a check,  quoted  some  good  admonition 
from  “ The  Government  of  the  Tongue,” 
that  very  pious  book.  It  happened  also  re- 
markably enough,  that  the  subject  of  the 
sermon  preached  to  us  to-day  by  Dr.  Bur- 
rows, the  rector  of  St.  Clement  Danes,  was 
the  certainty  that  at  the  last  day  we  must 
give  an  account  of  “ the  deeds  done  in  the 
body;  ” and  amongst  various  acts  of  culpa- 
bility he  mentioned  evil-speaking.  As  we 
were  moving  slowly  along  in  the  crowd 
from  church,  Johnson  jogged  my  elbow  and 
said,  “Did  you  attend  to  the  sermon?” 
“ Yes,  sir,”  said  I;  “it  was  very  applicable 
to  i/s.”  He,  however,  stood  upon  the  de- 
fensive. “ Why,  sir,  the  sense  of  ridicule 
is  given  us,  and  may  be  lawfully  used. 
The  authour  of  ‘ The  Government  of  the 
Tongue’  would  have  us  treat  all  men  alike.” 
In  the  interval  between  morning  and 
evening  service,  he  endeavoured  to  employ 
himself  earnestly  in  devotional  exercise;  and, 
as  he  has  mentioned  in  his  “ Prayers  and 
Meditations,”  gave  me  “ Les  Pensies  de 
Paschal ,”  that  I might  not  interrupt  him. 
I preserve  the  book  with  reverence.  His 
presenting  it  to  me  is  marked  upon  it  with 
his  own  hand,  and  I have  found  in  it  a truly 
divine  unction.  We  went  to  church  again 
in  the  afternoon. 

On  Saturday,  3d  April,  I visited  him  at 
night,  and  found  him  sitting  in  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams’s room,  with  her,  and  one  who  he 
afterwairds  told  me  was  a natural  son3  of 
the  second  Lord  Southwell.  The  table 
had  a singular  appearance,  being  covered 
with  a heterogeneous  assemblage  of  oysters 
and  porter  for  his  company,  and  tea  for 
himself.  I mentioned  my  having  heard  an 
eminent  physician,  who  was  himself  a 
Christian,  argue  in  favour  of  universal  tole- 
ration, and  maintain,  that  no  man  could  be 
hurt  by  another  man’s  differing  from  him 
in  opinion.  Johnson.  “ Sir,  you  are  to  a 
certain  degree  hurt  by  knowing  that  even 
one  man  does  not  believe.” 

[His  annual  review  of  his  conduct  £o 
appears  to  have  been  this  year  more 
detaile  and  severe  than  usual.] 

[Apm  2.— Good-Friday. — I am  pr.  and 
now  to  review  the  last  year,  and  Med-  p- 
find  little  but  dismal  vacuity,  nei-  1-1 


3 Mr.  Mauritius  Lowe,  a painter,  m whose  fa- 
vour Johnson,  some  years  afterwards,  wrote  a 
kind  letter  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. — Malone. 


1779.—  JETAT.  70. 


207 


ther  business  nor  pleasure;  much  intended, 
and  little  done.  My  health  is  much  broken; 
my  nights  afford  me  little  rest.  I have  tried 
opium,  but  its  help  is  counterbalanced  with 
great  disturbance;  it  prevents  the  spasms, 
but  it  hinders  sleep.  O God,  have  mercy  on 
me. 

Last  week  I published  (the  first  part  of) 
the  Lives  of  the  Poets,  written,  I hope,  in 
such  a manner  as  may  tend  to  the  promo- 
tion of  piety. 

In  this  last  year  I have  made  little  acqui- 
sition; I have  scarcely  read  any  thing.  I 

maintain  Mrs. 1 2 and  her  daughter. 

Other  good  of  myself  I know  not  where  to 
find,  except  a little  charity. 

But  I am  now  in  my  seventieth  year; 
what  can  be  done,  ought  not  to  be  delayed. 

April  3,  1779,  11  p.  m. — Easter-eve. — 
This  is  the  time  of  my  annual  review,  and 
annual  resolution.  The  review  is  comfort- 
less; little  done.  Part  of  the  Life  of  Dry- 
den  and  the  Life  of  Milton  have  been  writ- 
ten; but  my  mind  has  neither  been  im- 
proved nor  enlarged.  I have  read  little, 
almost  nothing.  And  I am  not  conscious 
that  I have  gained  any  good,  or  quitted  any 
evil  habits. 

April  4,  1779,  Easter-day. — I rose  about 
half  an  hour  after  nine,  transcribed  the 
prayer  written,  last  night;  and  by  neglect- 
ing to  count  time  sat  too  long  at  breakfast, 
so  that  I came  to  church  at  the  first  lesson. 
I attended  the  Litany  pretty  well;  but  in 
the  pew  could  not  hear  the  communion  ser- 
vice, and  missed  the  prayer  for  the  church 
militant.  Before  I went  to  the  altar,  I pray- 
ed the  occasional  prayer.  At  the  altar  I 
commended  my  © <&  and  again  prayed  the 
prayer;  I then  prayed  the  collects,  and  again 
my  own  prayer  by  memory.  I left  out  a 
clause.  I then  received,  I hope  with  ear- 
nestness ; and  while  others  received  sat 
down;  but  thinking  that  posture,  though 
usual,  improper,  I rose  and  stood.  I prayed 
again,  in  the  pew,  but  with  what  prayer  I 
have  forgotten. 

When  I used  the  occasional  prayer  at  the 
altar,  I added  a general  purpose, — To  avoid 
idleness. 

I gave  two  shillings  to  the  plate. 

Before  I went  I used,  I think,  my  prayer, 
and  endeavoured  to  calm  my  mind.  After 
my  return  I used  it  again,  and  the  collect 
for  the  day.  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  me. 

I have  for  some  nights  called  Francis  to 
prayers,  and  last  night  discoursed  with  him 
on  the  sacrament.] 

On  Easter-day,  after  [the]  solemn  ser- 
vice at  St.  Paul’s,  [just  described],  I dined 

1 [No  doubt  Mrs.  Desmoulins  and  her  daughter. 
—Ed.] 

2 [These  letters  (which  Dr.  Strahan  seems  not 
to  have  understood),  probably  mean  Qvurot  Qi\ot, 

* depat  ted  friends  * — Ed.] 


with  him.  Mr.  Allen  the  printer  wai  also 
his  guest.  He  was  uncommonly  silent;  and 
I have  not  written  down  any  thing,  except 
a single  curious  fact,  which,  having  the 
sanction  of  his  inflexible  veracity,  may  be 
received  as  a striking  instance  of  human  in 
sensibility  and  inconsideration.  As  he  was 
passing  by  a fishmonger  who  was  skinning 
an  eel  alive,  he  heard  him  “ curse  it,  be- 
cause it  would  not  lie  still.” 

On  Wednesday,  7th  April,  I dined  with 
him  at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s.  I have  not 
marked  what  company  was  there.  John- 
son harangued  upon  the  qualities  of  differ- 
ent liquors;  and  spoke  with  great  contempt 
of  claret,  as  so  weak,  that  “a  man  would 
be  drowned  by  it  before  it  made  him  drunk.” 
He  was  persuaded  to  drink  one  glass  of  it, 
that  he  might  judge,  not  from  recollection, 
which  might  be  dim,  but  from  immediate 
sensation.  He  shook  his  head,  and  said, 
“Poor  stuff!  No,  sir,  claret  is  the  liquor 
for  boys;  port  for  men;  but  he  who  aspires 
to  be  a hero  (smiling)  must  drink  brandy. 
In  the  first  place,  the  flavour  of  brandy  is 
most  grateful  to  the  palate;  and  then  brandy 
will  do  soonest  for  a man  what  drinking 
can  do  for  him.  There  are,  indeed,  few 
who  are  able  to  drink  brandy.  That  is  a 
power  rather  to  be  wished  for  than  attain- 
ed. And  yet,”  proceeded  he,  “ as  in  all 
pleasure  hope  is  a considerable  part,  I know 
not  but  fruition  comes  too  quick  by  brandy. 
Florence  wine  I think  the  worst;  it  is  wine 
only  to  the  eye;  it  is  wine  neither  while 
you  are  drinking  it,  nor  after  you  have 
drunk  it;  it  neither  pleases  the  taste,  nor 
exhilarates  the  spirits.”  I reminded  him 
how  heartily  he  and  I used  to  drink  wine 
together,  when  we  were  first  acquainted; 
and  how  I used  to  have  a headache  after 
sitting  up  with  him.  He  did  not  like  to 
have  this  recalled,  or,  perhaps,  thinking 
that  I boasted  improperly,  resolved  to  have 
a witty  stroke  at  me;  “ Nay,  sir,  it  was  not 
the  wine  that  made  your  head  ache,  but  the 
sense  that  I put  into  it.”  Bosweix. 
“What,  sir!  will  sense  make  the  head 
ache?”  Johnson.  “Yes,  sir  (with  a 
smile),  when  it  is  not  used  to  it.”  No 
man  who  has  a true  relish  of  pleasantry 
could  be  offended  at  this  ; especially  if 
Johnson  in  a long  intimacy  had  given  him 
repeated  proofs  of  his  regard  and  good  esti- 
mation. I used  to  say  that  as  he  had  given 
me  a thousand  pounds  in  praise,  he  had  a 
good  right  now  and  then  to  take  a guinea 
from  me. 

On  Thursday,  8th  April,  I dined  with 
him  at  Mr.  Allan  Ramsay’s,  with  Lord 
Graham3  and  some  other  company.  We 
talked  of  Shakspeare’s  witches.  Johnson. 

3  [The  present  [third]  Duke  of  Montrose, 
born  in  1755.  He  succeeded  to  the  dukedom  in 
1790.— Ed.] 


208 


1779.— ^ET AT.  70. 


“ They  are  beings  of  his  own  creation;  they 
are  a compound  of  malignity  and  meanness, 
without  any  abilities;  and  are  quite  differ- 
ent from  the  Italian  magician.  King 
James  says  in  his  ‘ Demonology,’  c Magi- 
cians command  the  devils:  witches  are 
their  servants.5  The  Italian  magicians  are 
elegant  beings.55  Ramsay.  “Opera  witch- 
es, not  Drury-lane  witches.55  Johnson  ob-, 
served,  that  abilities  might  he  employed  in 
a narrow  sphere,  as  in  getting  money, 
which  he  said  he  believed  no  man  could  do 
without  vigorous  parts,  though  concen- 
trated to  a point.  Ramsay.  “Yes,  like 
a strong  horse  in  a mill;  he  pulls  better.55 

Lord  Graham,  while  he  praised  the  beau- 
ty of  Lochlomond,  on  the  banks  of  which 
is  his  family  seat,  complained  of  the  climate, 
and  said  he  could* not  bear  it.  Johnson. 
“Nay,  my  lord,  don’t  talk  so:  you  may 
bear  it  well  enough.  Your  ancestors  have 
borne  it  more  years  than  I can  tell.55  This 
was  a handsome  compliment  to  the  antiqui- 
ty of  the  house  of  Montrose.  His  lordship 
told  me  afterwards  that  he  had  only  affect- 
ed to  complain  of  the  climate,  lest,  if  he  had 
spoken  as  favourably  of  his  country  as  he 
really  thought,  Dr.  Johnson  might  have 
attacked  it.  Johnson  was  very  courteous 
to  Lady  Margaret  Macdonald.  “ Madam,” 
said  he,  “ when  I was  in  the  Isle  of  Sky  !, 
I heard  of  the  people  running  to  take  the 
stones  off  the  road,  lest  Lady  Margaret’s 
horse  should  stumble.55 

Lord  Graham  commended  Dr.  Drum- 
mond at  Naples  as  a man  of  extraordinary 
talents;  and  added,  that  he  had  a great  love 
of  liberty.  Johnson.  “ He  is  young 2, 
my  lord  (looking  to  his  lordship  with  an 
arch  smile) , all  boys  love  liberty,  till  experi- 
ence convinces  them  they  are  not  so  fit  to 
govern  themselves  as  they  imagined.  We 
are  all  agreed  as  to  our  own  liberty;  we 
would  have  as  much  of  it  as  we  can  get; 
but  we  are  not  agreed  as  to  the  liberty  of 
others:  for  in  proportion  as  we  take,  oth- 
ers must  lose.  I believe  we  hardly  wish 
that  the  mob  should  have  liberty  to  govern 
us.  When  that  was  the  case  some  time 
ago,  no  man  was  at  liberty  not  to  have  can- 
dles in  his  windows.”  Ramsay.  “ The 
result  is,  that  order  is  better  than  confu- 
sion.55 Johnson.  “The  result  is,  that 
order  cannot  be  had  but  by  subordination.” 

On  Friday,  16th  April,  I had  been  pre- 
sent at  the  trial  of  the  unfortunate  Mr. 
Hackman,  who,  in  a fit  of  frantick  jealous 
love,  had  shot  Miss  Ray,  the  favourite  of  a 
nobleman3.  Johnson,  in  whose  company 
I dined  to-day  with  some  other  friends,  was 
much  interested  by  an  account  of  what 


1 [See  ante , vil.  i.  p.  412. — Ed.] 

2 [His  lordship  was  twenty-four. — Ed.] 

3 TJohn,  sixth  Earl  of  Sandwich. — Ed.] 


passed,  and  particularly  with  his  prayer  for 
the  mercy  of  Heaven.  He  said,  in  a so 
emn  fervid  tone,  “ I hope  he  shall  find 
mercy  4.55 

This  day  a violent  altercation  arose  be- 
tween Johnson  and  Beauclerk,  which  hav- 
ing made  much  noise  at  the  time,  I think  it 
proper,  in  order  to  prevent  any  future  mis- 
representation, to  give  a minute  account 
of  it. 

In  talking  of  Hackman,  Johnson  argued, 
as  Judge  Blackstone  had  done,  that  his  be- 
ing furnished  with  two  pistols  was  a proof 
that  he  meant  to  shoot  two  persons.  Mr. 
Beauclerk  said,  “ No;  for  that  every  wise 
man  who  intended  to  shoot  himself  took 
two  pistols,  that  he  might  be  slire  of  doing 
it  at  once.  Lord ’s  cook  shot  him- 

self with  one  pistol,  and  lived  ten  days  in 
great  agony.  Mr. 5,  who  loved  but- 

tered muffins,  but  durst  not  eat  them  be- 
cause they  disagreed  with  his  stomach,  re- 
solved to  shoot  himself;  and  then  he  ate 
three  buttered  muffins  for  breakfast,  before 
shooting  himself,  knowing  that  he  should 
not  be  troubled  with  indigestion  ; he  had 
two  charged  pistols;  one  was  found  lying 
charged  upon  the  table  by  him,  after  he 
had  shot  himself  with  the  other.55 — “ Well,” 
said  Johnson,  with  an  air  of  triumph,  “you 
see  here  one  pistol  was  sufficient/55  Beau- 
clerk replied  smartly,  “ Because  it  happened 
to  kill  him.55  And  either  then  or  a very 
little  afterwards,  being  piqued  at  Johnson’s 
triumphant  remark,  added,  “ This  is  what 
you  do  n’t  know,  and  I do.55  There  was 
then  a cessation  of  the  dispute;  and  some 
minutes  intervened,  during  which,  dinner 
and  the  glass  went  cn  cheerfully ; when 
Johnson  suddenly  and  abruptly  exclaimed, 
“ Mr.  Beauclerk,  how  came  you  to  talk  sc 
petulantly  to  me,  as  ( This  is  what  you 
don’t  know,  but  what  I know?5  One 
thing  I know,  which  you  do  n’t  seem  to 
know,  that  you  are  very  uncivil.55  Beau- 
clerk. “ Because  you  began  by  being 
uncivil  (which  you  always  are).”  The 
words  in  parentheses  were,  I believe,  not 
heard  by  Dr.  Johnson.  Here  again  there 
was  a cessation  of  arms.  Johnson  told  me, 

4 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  pp.  32,  33. — Ed.] 

5 [“  The  Honourable  [John  Damer],  son  to 
the  Lord  [Milton,  afterwards  Earl  of  Dorchester], 
shot  himself  at  three  o’clock  this  morning,  at  the 
Bedford  Arms,  in  Covent  Garden.  He  was  heir 
to  30,000/.  a year,  but  of  a turn  rather  too  ec 
centric  to  be  confined  within  the  limits  of  any 
fortune.  Coroner’s  verdict,  Lunacy .” — Gent. 
Mag.  15th  Aug.  1776. — Though  the  editor  was 
assured,  from  what  he  thought  good  authority, 
that  Mr.  Damer  was  here  alluded  to,  he  has  since 
reason  to  suppose  that  another  and  more  respecta- 
ble name  was  meant,  which,  however,  without 
more  certainty,  he  does  not  venture  to  mention 
—Ed.] 


1779  — /ETAT.  70. 


209 


that  the  reason  why  he  waited  at  first  some 
time  without  taking-  any  notice  of  what  Mr. 
Bvauclerk  said,  was  because  he  was  think- 
ing whether  he  should  resent  it.  But  when 
he  considered  that  there  were  present  a 
young  lord  and  an  eminent  traveller,  two 
men  of  the  world,  with  whom  he  had  never 
dined  before,  he  was  apprehensive  that 
they  might  think  they  had  a right  to  take 
such  liberties  with  him  as  Beauclerk  did, 
and  therefore  resolved  he  would  not  let  it 
pass;  adding,  “that  he  would  not  appear  a 
coward.”  A little  while  after  this,  the  con- 
versation turned  on  the  violence  of  Hack- 
man’s temper.  Johnson  then  said,  “ It  was 
his  business  to  command  his  temper,  as  my 
friend,  Mr.  Beauclerk,  should  have  done 
some  time  ago.”  Beauclerk.  “I  should 
learn  of  you,  sir.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  you 
have  given  me  opportunities  enough  of 
learning,  when  I have  been  in  your  compa- 
ny. No  man  loves  to  be  treated  with  con- 
tempt.” Beauclerk  (with  a polite  incli- 
nation towards  Johnson).  # “ Sir,  you  have 
known  me  twenty  years,  and  however  I 
may  have  treated  others,  you  may  be  sure  I 
could  never  treat  you  with  contempt.” 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  you  have  said  more  than 
was  necessary.”  Thus  it  ended;  and  Beau- 
clerk’s  coach  not  having  come  for  him  till 
very  late,  Dr.  Johnson  and  another  gentle- 
man sat  with  him  a long  time  after  the  rest 
of  the  company  were  gone;  and  he  and  1 
dined  at  Beauclerk’s  on  the  Saturday  se’n 
night  following. 

After  this  tempest  had  subsided,  I recol- 
lect the  following  particulars  of  his  conver- 
sation : 

“lam  always  for  getting  a boy  forward 
in  his  learning;  for  that  is  a sure  good.  I 
would  let  him  at  first  read  any  English 
book  which  happens  to  engage  his  atten- 
tion; because  you  have  done  a great  deal, 
when  you  have  brought  him  to  have  enter- 
tainment from  a book.  He’ll  get  better 
books  afterwards.” 

Hawk.  [“  I would  never,”  said  he,  on 
Apoph.  another  occasion,  “desire  a young 
p’  *04  man  to  neglect  his  business  for  the 
purpose  of  pursuing  his  studies,  because  it 
is  unreasonable;  I would  only  desire  him  to 
read  at  those  hours  when  he  would  other- 
wise be  unemployed.  I will  not  promise 
that  he  will  be  a Bentley;  but  if  he  be  a 
lad  of  any  pants,  he  will  certainly  make  a 
sensible  man.”] 

Pi_  [Dr.  Johnson  had  never,  by  his 
p! 40*41.  own  account,  been  a close  student, 
and  used  to  advise  young  people  ne- 
ver to  be  without  a book  in  their  pocket,  to 
be  read  at  by-times  when  they  had  nothing 
else  to  do.  “ It  has  been  by  that  means,” 
said  he  one  day  to  a boy  at  Mr.  Thrale’s, 
“ that  all  my  knowledge  has  been  gained, 
except  what  I have  picked  up  by  running 

vol.  ii.  27 


about  the  world  with  n.  y wits  ready  to  ob 
serve,  and  my  tongue  ready  to  talk.  A man 
•is  seldom  in  a humour  to  unlock  his  book 
case,  set  his  desk  in  order,  and  betake 
himself  to  serious  study  ; but  a retentive 
memory  will  do  something,  and  a fellow 
shall  have  strange  credit  given  him,  if  he 
can  but  recollect  striking  passages  from  dif- 
ferent books,  keep  the  authors  separate  in 
his  head,  and  bring  his  stock  of  knowledge 
artfully  into  play:  how  else,”  added  he, 
“ do  the  gamesters  manage  when  they  play 
for  more  money  than  they  are  worth?  ” 
His  Dictionary,  however,  could  not,  one 
would  think,  have  been  written  by  running 
up  and  down;  but  he  really  did  not  consid- 
er it  as  a great  performance;  and  used  to 
say,  “ That  he  might  have  done  it  easily 
in  two  years,  had  not  his  health  received 
several  shocks  during  the  time.” 

When  Mr.  Thrale,  in  consequence  of 
this  declaration,  teased  him  in  the  year 
1769  to  give  a new  edition  of  it,  because, 
said  he,  there  are  four  or  five  gross  faults  : 
“Alas,  sir!”  replied  Johnson,  “there  are 
four  or  five  hundred  faults,  instead  of  four 
or  five  ; but  you  do  not  consider  that  it 
would  take  me  up  three  whole  months’  la- 
bour, and  when  the  time  was  expired  the 
work  would  not  be  done.”  When  the 
booksellers  set  him  about  it,  however, 
some  years  after,  he  went  cheerfully  to  the 
business,  said  he  was  well  paid,  and  that 
they  deserved  to  have  it  done  carefully.] 

“ Mallet,  I believe,  never  wrote  a single 
line  of  his  projected  life  of  the  Duke  of 
Marlborough.  He  groped  for  materials, 
and  thought  of  it,  till  he  had  exhausted  his 
mind.  Thus  it  sometimes  happens  that 
men  entangle  themselves  in  their  own 
schemes.” 

“ To  be  contradicted  in  order  to  force 
you  to  talk  is  mighty  unpleasing.  You 
shine , indeed;  but  it  is  by  being  ground .” 
Of  a gentleman  who  made  some  figure 
^mong  the  literati  of  his  time  (Mr.  Fitzher- 
bert1),  he  said,  “What  eminence  he  had 
was  by  a felicity  of  manner  : he  had  no 
more  learning  than  what  he  could  not  help.” 
On  Saturday,  April  24,  I dined  with  him 
at  Mr.  Beauclerk’s,  with  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, Mr.  Jones  (afterwards  Sir  William), 
Mr.  Langton,  Mr.  Steevens,  Mr.  Paradise 
and  Dr.  Higgins.  I mentioned  that  Mr. 
Wilkes  had  attacked  Gaprick  to  me,  as  a 
man  who  had  no  friend.  Johnson.  “ I 
believe  he  is  right,  sir.  o /,  cv  <j>iao{ — He 
had  friends,  but  no  friend2*.  Garrick  was 
so  diffused,  he  had  no  man  to  whom  he  wish- 
ed to  unbosom  himself.  He  found  peoplt 
always  ready  to  applaud  him,  and  that  al 


.*  [See  ante , p.  109. — Ed.1 
2 See  vol.  i.  p.  83.  and  p.  168  of  this  vok 
Boiivell. 


210 


1779.— ,ETAT.  70. 


ways  for  the  same  thing:  so  he  saw  life 
with  great  uniform. ty.”  I took  upon  me, 
for  once,  to  fight  with  Goliath’s  weapons, 
and  play  the  sophist. — “ Garrick  did  not 
need  a friend,  as  he  got  from  every  body  all 
he  wanted.  What  is  a friend?  One  who 
supports  you  and  comforts  you,  while  others 
do  not.  Friendship,  you  know,  sir,  is  t*he 
cordial  drop, c to  make  the  nauseous  draught 
of  life  go  down : ’ but  if  the  draught  be  not 
nauseous,  if  it  be  all  sweet,  there  is  no  oc- 
casion for  that  drop.”  Johnson.  “ Ma- 
ny men  would  not  be  content  to  live  so.  I 
hope  I should  not.  They  would  wish  to 
have  an  intimate  friend,  with  whom  they 
might  compare  minds,  and  cherish  private 
virtues.”  One  of  the  company  mentioned 
Lord  Chesterfield,  as  a man  who  had  no 
friend.  Johnson.  “ There  were  more  ma- 
terials to  make  friendship  in  Garrick,  had 
he  not  been  so  diffused.”  Boswell. 
“ Garrick  was  pure  gold,  but  beat  out  to 
thin  leaf.  Lord  Chesterfield  was  tinsel.” 
Johnson.  “ Garrick  was  a very  good  man, 
the  cheerfulest  man  of  his  age  ; a decent 
liver  in  a profession  which  is  supposed  to 
give  indulgence  to  licentiousness  ; and  a 
man  who  gave  away  freely  money  acquired 
by  himself.  He  began  the  world  with  a 
great  hunger  for  money;  the  son  of  a half- 
pay officer,  bred  in  a family  whose  study 
was  to  make  four-pence  do  as  much  as 
others  made  four-pence-halfpenny  do.  But 
when  he  had  got  money,  he  was  very  libe- 
ral.” I presumed  to  animadvert  on  his 
eulogy  on  Garrick,  in  his  “ Lives  of  the 
Poets.”  “ You  say,  sir,  his  death  eclipsed 
the  gaiety  of  nations.”  Johnson.  “ I 
could  not  have  said  more  nor  less.  It  is 
the  truth;  eclipsed , not  extinguished ; and 
his  death  did  eclipse  ; it  was  like  a storm.” 
Boswell.  “ But  why  nations?  Did  his 
gaiety  extend  further  than  his  own  na- 
tion?” Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  some  ex- 
aggeration must  be  allowed.  Besides,  na- 
tions may  be  said,  if  we  allow  the  Scotch 
to  be  a nation,  and  to  have  gaiety — which 
they  have  not.  You  are  an  exception, 
though.  Come,  gentlemen,  let  us  candidly 
admit  that  there  is  one  Scotchman  who  is 
cheerful.”  Beauclerk.  “ But  he  is  a 
very  unnatural  Scotchman.”  I,  however, 
continued  to  think  the  compliment  to  Gar- 
rick hyperbolically  untrue.  His  acting 

had  ceased  some  time  before  his  death  ; at 
any  rate,  he  had  acted  in  Ireland  but  a 
short  time,  at  an  early  period  of  his  life,  and 
never  in  Scotland.  I objected  also  to  what 
appears  an  anti-climax  of  praise,  when  con- 
trasted with  the  preceding  panegyrick — 
“ and  diminished  the  publick  stock  of  harm- 
less pleasure ! ” “ Is  not  harmless  pleasure 

very  tame?”  Johnson.  “Nay,  sir, 

harmless  pleasure  is  the  highest  praise. 
Pleasure  is  a word  of  dubious  import ; 


pleasure  is  in  general  dangerous,  and  per 
nicious  to  virtue  ; to  be  able  therefore  to 
furnish  pleasure  that  is  harmless,  pleasure 
pure  and  unalloyed,  is  as  great  a power  a« 
man  can  possess.”  This  was,  perhaps,  as 
ingenious  a defence  as  could  be  made;  still, 
however,  I was  not  satisfied  1. 

[To  Sir  J.  Hawkins  he  said,  Hawk. 
“ Garrick,  I hear,  complains  that  I Apoph. 
am  the  only  popular  author  of  his  p>  2l5‘ 
time  who  has  exhibited  no  praise  of  him  in 
print ; but  he  is  mistaken,  Akenside  has 
forborne  to  mention  him.  Some  indeed 
are  lavish  in  their  applause  of  all  who  come 
within  the  compass  of  their  recollection,, 
yet  he  who  praises  every  body  praises  no- 
body; when  both  scales  are  equally  loaded, 
neither  can  preponderate.”] 

A celebrated  wit2  being  mentioned,  he 
said,  “ One  may  say  of  him  as  was  said  of 
a French  wit,  II  n'a  de  V esprit  que  contrc 
Dieu.  I have  been  several  times  in  compa- 
ny with  him,  but  never  perceived  any  strong 
power  of  wit.  He  produces  a general  efi 
feet  by  various  means  ; he  has  a cheerful 
countenance  and  a gay  voice.  Besides, 
his  trade  is  wit.  It  would  be  as  wild  in 
him  to  come  into  company  without  merri 
ment,  as  for  a highwayman  to  take  the  road 
without  his  pistols.” 

Talking  of  the  effects  of  drinking,  he 
said,  “ Drinking  may  be  practised  with 
great  prudence;  a man  who  exposes  him- 
self when  he  is  intoxicated  has  not  the  art 
of  getting  drunk;  a sober  man  who  hap 
pens  occasionally  to  get  drunk,  readily 
enough  goes  into  a new  company,  which  a 
man  who  has  been  drinking  should  nevei 
do.  Such  a man  will  undertake  any  thing; 
he  is  without  skill  in  inebriation.  I used  to 
slink  home  when  I had  drunk  too  much. 
A man  accustomed  to  self-examination  will 
be  conscious  when  he  is  drunk,  though  an 
habitual  drunkard  will  not  be  conscious  ot 
it.  I knew  a physician,  who  for  twenty 
years  was  not  sober;  yet  in  a pamphlet 
which  he  wrote  upon  fevers,  he  appealed 
to  Garrick  and  me  for  his  vindication  from 
a charge  of  drunkenness.  A bookseller3 

1 [Most  readers  will  agree  with  Mr.  Boswell 
that  this  eulogium  is  not  very  happily  expressed  : 
yet  it  appears  to  have  been  satisfactory  to  Gar- 
rick’s immediate  friends,  for  it  is  inscribed  on  the 
cenotaph  erected  by  Mrs.  Garrick  to  his  memory 
in  Lichfield  Cathedral.  Harwood’s  History  of 
Lichfield , p.  86. — Ed.] 

2 [It  has  been  suggested  to  the  editor  that  Mr. 
George  Selwyn  is  here  meant  ; but  he  cannot 
trace  any  acquaintance  between  Selwyn  and  John- 
son.— Ed.] 

3 [This  was  Andrew  Miller,  of  whom,  when 
talking  one  day  of  the  patronage  the  great  some- 
times affect  to  give  to  literature  and  literary  men, 
Johnson  said,  “ Andrew  Miller  is  the  Mcectna « 
of  the  age.” — Hawk.  Apoph.  p.  200. — Ed.] 


1779.— vETAT.  70. 


211 


(naming  him)  who  got  a large  fortune  by 
trade  was  so  habitually  and  equably  drunk, 
that  his  most  intimate  friends  never  perceiv- 
ed that  he  was  more  sober  at  one  time  than 
another.” 

Talking  of  celebrated  and  successful  ir- 
regular practisers  in  physick,  he  said, 
rt  Taylor 1 was  the  most  ignorant  man  I 
ever  knew,  but  sprightly;  Ward,  the  dull- 
est. Taylor  challenged  me  once  to  talk 
fjatin  with  him,”  laughing.  cc  I quoted 
some  of  Horace,  which  he  took  to  be  a part 
of  my  own  speech.  He  said  a few  words 
well  enough.”  Beauclerk.  “ I remem- 
ber, sir,  you  said,  that  Taylor  was  an  in- 
stance how  far  impudence  could  carry  ig- 
norance.” Mr.  Beauclerk  was  very  enter- 
taining this  day,  and  told  us  a number  of 
short  stories  in  a lively  elegant  manner,  and 
with  that  air  of  the  world  which  has  I know 
not  what  impressive  effect,  as  if  there  was 
something  more  than  is  expressed,  or  than 
perhaps  we  could  perfectly  understand. 
As  Johnson  and  I accompanied  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  in  his  coach,  Johnson  said, 
“ There  is  in  Beauclerk  a predominance 
over  his  company,  that  one  does  not  like. 
But  he  is  a man  who  has  lived  so  much  in 
the  world,  that  he  has  a short  story  on  every 
occasion : he  is  always  ready  to  talk,  and  is 
never  exhausted.” 

Johnson  and  I passed  the  evening  at 
Miss  Reynolds’s,  Sir  Joshua’s  sister.  I 
mentioned  that  an  eminent  friend2  of 
ours,  talking  of  the  common  remark,  that 
affection  descends,  said,  that  “ this  was 
wisely3  contrived  for  the  preservation  of 
mankind;  for  which  it  was  not  so  necessary 
that  there  should  be  affection  from  children 
to  parents,  as  from  parents  to  children;  nay, 
there  would  be  no  harm  in  that  view  though 
children  should  at  a certain  age  eat  their 
parents.”  Johnson.  “But,  sir,  if  this 
were  known  generally  to  be  the  case,  parents 
would  not  have  affection  for  children.” 
Boswell.  “ True,  sir;  for  it  is  in  expec- 
tation of  a return  that  parents  are  so  atten- 
tive to  their  children;  and  I know  a very 
pretty  instance  of  a little  girl  of  whom  her 
father  was  very  fond,  who  once,  when  he 
was  in  a melancholy  fit,  and  had  gone  to 
bed,  persuaded  him  to  rise  in  good  humour 
by  saying,  £ My  dear  papa,  please  to  get  up, 
and  let  me  help  you  on  with  your  clothes, 
that  I may  learn  to  do  it  when  you  are  an 
old  man.’  ” 


1 The  Chevalier  Taylor,  the  celebrated  oculist. 
— Malone. 

* [Probably  Mr.  Burke. — Ed.] 

* [Wisely  and  mercifully  ; wisely  to  ensure 
the  preservation  and  education  of  children,  and 
mercifully  to  render  less  afflictive  the  loss  of 
parente,  which,  in  the  course  of  nature,  children 
must  suffer. — Ed.] 


Soon  after  this  t ime  a little  incident  oc- 
curred, which  I will  not  suppress,  because 
I am  desirous  that  my  work  should  be,  as 
much  as  is  consistent  with  the  strictest 
truth,  an  antidote  to  the  false  and  injurious 
notions  of  his  character,  which  have  been 
given  by  others,  and  therefore  I infuse 
every  drop  of  genuine  sweetness  into  my 
biographical  cup. 

“ TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“ £outh-Audley-street 4,  Monday,  26th  April. 

“ My  dear  sir, — I am  in  great  pain  with 
an  inflamed  foot,  and  obliged  to  keep  my 
bed,  so  am  prevented  from  having  the 
pleasure  to  dine  at  Mr.  Ramsay’s  to-day, 
which  is  very  hard;  and  my  spirits  are  sad- 
ly sunk.  Will  you  be  so  friendly  as  to  come 
and  sit  an  hour  with  me  in  the  evening?  I 
am  ever  your  most  faithful  and  affectionate 
humble  servant,  “ James  Boswell.” 

tcTO  MR.  BOSWELL 

“ Harley-street 

“ Mr.  5 Johnson  laments  the  absence 
of  Mr.  Boswell,  and  will  come  to  him.” 

He  came  to  me  in  the  evening,  and 
brought  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  I need 
scarcely  say,  that  their  conversation,  while 
they  sat  by  my  bedside,  was  the  most  pleas- 
ing opiate  to  pain  that  could  have  been  ad 
ministered. 

Johnson  being  now  better  disposed  to 
obtain  information  concerning  Pope  than 
he  was  last  year6,  sent  by  me  to  my  Lord 
Marchmont  a present  of  those  volumes  of 
his  u Lives  of  the  Poets  ” which  were  at 
this  time  published,  with  a request  to  have 
permission  to  wait  on  him;  and  his  lord- 
ship,  who  had  called  on  him  twice,  obliging- 
ly appointed  Saturday,  the  first  of  May,  for 
receiving  us. 

On  that  morning  Johnson  came  to  me 
from  Streatham,  and  after  drinking  choco- 
late at  General  Paoli’s  in  South-Audlev- 
street,  we  proceeded  to  Lord  Marchmont’s 
in  Curzon-street.  His  lordship  met  us  at 
the  door  of  his  library,  and  with  great 
politeness  said  to  Johnson,  “ I am  not  going 
to  make  an  encomium  upon  myself  by  tell- 
ing you  the  high  respect  I have  for  you, 
sir.”  Johnson  was  exceedingly  courteous  ; 
and  the  interview,  which  lasted  about  two 
hours,  during  which  the  earl  communicated 
his  anecdotes  of  Pope,  was  as  agreeable  af 
I could  have  wished.  [His  first  Hawk, 
question,  as  he  told  Sir  J.  Haw-  ApopL 
kins,  was,  “ What  kind  of  a man  p'  200 
was  Mr.  Pope  in  his  conversation  ? ” His 

4 [The  residence  of  General  Paoli. — Ed.] 

5 [See,  as  to  his  calling  himself  Mr.  Johnson, 
ante , vol.  i.  pp.  218,  (w.)  and  513. — Ed.] 

6 See  p.  191  of  this  volume. — Bosweli* 


212 


1779.-  ffi TAT.  70. 


ordship  ansivered,  “ That  if  the  conversa- 
tion did  not  take  something  of  a lively  or 
epigrammatick  turn,  he  fell  asleep,  or,  per- 
haps, pretended  to  be  so.”]  When  we 
came  out,  I said  to  Johnson,  “ that,  consid- 
ering his  lordship’s  civility,  I should  have 
been  vexed  if  he  had  again  failed  to  come.” 
iC  Sir,”  said  he,  “ I would  rather  have  given 
twenty  pounds  than  not  to  have  come.” 
I accompanied  him  to  Streatham,  where  we 
dined,  and  returned  to  town  in  the  even- 
ing. 

On  Monday,  May  3,  I dined  with  him  at 
Mr.  Dilly’s.  I pressed  him  this  day  for 
his  opinion  on  the  passage  in  Parnell,  con- 
cerning which  I had  in  vain  questioned 
him  in  several  letters,  and  at  length  obtain- 
ed it  in  due  form  of  law. 

“ CASE  FOR  DR.  JOHNSON’S  OPINION  ; 

“3d  of  May,  1779. 

“ Parnell,  in  his  ‘ Hermit,’  has  the  fol- 
lowing passage: 

* To  clear  this  doubt,  to  know  the  world  by  sight, 
To  find  if  books  and  swains  report  it  right 
(For  yet  by  swains  alone  the  world  he  knew, 
Whose  feet  came  wand’ring  o’er  the  nightly 
dew).* 

Is  there  not  a contradiction  in  its  bein g first 
supposed  that  the  Hermit  knew  both  what 
books  an<T  swaihs  reported  of  the  world; 
yet  afterwards  said,  that  he  knew  it  by 
swains  alone  ? ” 

“ I think  it  an  inaccuracy.  He  mentions 
two  instructers  in  the  first  line,  and  says  he 
had  only  one  in  the  next1.” 


1 “I  do  not,”  says  Mr.  Malone,  “see  any 
difficulty  in  this  passage,  and  wonder  that  Dr. 
Johnson  should  have  acknowledged  it  to  be  inac- 
curate. The  Hermit,  it  should  be  observed,  had 
no  actual  experience  of  the  world  whatsoever  : all 
his  knowledge  concerning  it  had  been  obtained  in 
two  ways  ; from  books,  and  from  the  relations 
of  those  country  swains  who  had  seen  a little  of 
it.  The  plain  meaning,  therefore,  is,  * To  clear 
his  doubts  concerning  Providence,  and  to  obtain 
some  knowledge  of  the  world  by  actual  experience; 
to  see  whether  the  accounts  furnished  by  books, 
or  by  the  oral  communications  of  swains,  were 
just  representations  of  it;’  [I  say  swains,']  for 
his  oral  or  viva  voce  information  had  been  obtain- 
ed from  that  part  of  mankind  alone,  &c.  The 
word  alone  here  does  not  relate  to  the  whole  of 
the  preceding  line,  as  has  been  supposed,  but,  by 
a common  license,  to  the  words,  of  all  mankind, 
which  are  understood,  and  of  which  it  is  restric- 
tive. ’ ’ Mr.  Malone,  it  must  be  owned,  has  shown 
much  critical  ingenuity  in  his  explanation  of  this 
passage.  His  interpretation,  however,  seems  to 
me  much  too  recondite.  The  meaning  of  the 
passage  may  be  certain  enough  ; but  surely  the 
expression  is  confused,  and  one  part  of  it  contra- 
dictory to  the  other. — Boswell.  But  why  too 
recondite  ? When  a meaning  is  given  ta  a pas- 
sage by  understanding  words  in  an  uncommon 
•cn*^  tha  interpretation  may  be  said  to  be  recon- 


Thia  ivening  I set  out  for  Scotland. 

[“TO  MRS.  ASTON. 

“ 4tli  May,  1779  # 

“ Dear  madam, — When  I sent 
you  the  little  books,  I was  not  sure 
that  you  were  well  enough  to  take 
the  trouble  of  reading  them,  but  have  lately 
heard  from  Mr.  Greeves  that  you  are  much 
recovered.  I hope  you  will  gain  more  and 
more  strength,  and  live  many  and  many 
years,  and  I shall  come  again  to  Stowhill, 
and  live  as  I used  to  do,  with  you  and  dear 
Mrs.  Gastrel. 

“I  am  not  well:  my  nights  are  very 
troublesome,  and  my  breath  is  short ; but  I 
know  not  that  it  grows  much  worse.  I 
wish  to  see  you.  Mrs.  Harvey  has  just 
sent  to  me  to  dine  with  her,  and  I have 
promised  to  wait  on  her  to-morrow 

“Mr.  Green  comes  home  loaded  with 
curiosities2,  and  will  be  able  to  give  his 
friends  new  entertainment.  When  I come, 
it  will  be  great  entertainment  to  me  if  I can 
find  you  and  Mrs.  Gastrel  well,  and  wil- 
ling to  receive  me.  I am,  dearest  madam, 
your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

ct  TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER,  IN  LICHFIELD 
“ 4th  May,  1779 

“ Dear  madam, — Mr.  Green  has 
informed  me  that  you  are  much  ^rson' 
better;  I hope  I need  not  tell  you 
that  I am  glad  of  it.  I cannot  boast  of  be- 
ing much  better;  my  old  nocturnal  com 
plaint  still  pursues  me,  and  my  respiration 
is  difficult,  though  much  easier  than  when 
I left  you  the  summer  before  last.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Thrale  are  well;  miss  hag  been  a 
little  indisposed;  but  she  is  got  well  again. 
They  have,  since  the  loss  of  their  boy,  had 
two  daughters;  but  they  seem  likely  to 
want  a son. 

dite,  and,  however  ingenious,  may  be  suspected 
not  to  be  sound;  but  when  words  are  explained  in 
their  ordinary  acceptation,  and  the  explication 
which  is  fairly  deduced  from  them,  without  any 
force  or  constraint,  is  also  perfectly  justified  by  the 
context,  it  surely  may  be  safely  accepted;  and  the 
calling  such  an  explication  recondite,  when  noth- 
ing else  can  be  said  against  it,  will  not  mak6 
it  the  less  just. — Malone.  [It  is  odd  enough 
that  these  critics  did  not  think  it  worth  their 
while  to  consult  the  original  for  the  exact  words 
on  which  they  wTere  exercising  their  ingenui- 
ty. Parnell’s  words  are  not  “ if  books  and 
sicains,”  but  “ if  books  or  swains ,”  which 
might  mean,  not  that  books  and  swains  agreed , 
but  that  they  differed,  and  that  the  Hermit’s 
doubt  was  excited  by  the  difference  between  his 
authorities.  This,  however,  would  make  no  great 
alteration  in  the  question,  on  which  Dr.  Johnson’s 
decision  seems  just. — Ed.] 

2 [Mr.  Green,  it  will  be  recollected,  fcad  a 
museum  at  Lichfield. — Ed.] 


1779.— YETAT.  70. 


213 


“ I hope  you  had  some  books  which  I 
sent  you.  I was  sorry  for  poor  Mrs.  Adey’s 
death,  and  am  afraid  you  will  be  sometimes 
solitary;  but  endeavour,  whether  alone  or 
in  company,  to  keep  yourself  cheerful.  My 
friends  likewise  die  very  fast;  but  such  is 
the  state  of  man.  I am,  dear  love,  your 
most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

He  had,  before  I left  London,  resumed 
the  conversation  concerning  the  appear- 
ance of  a ghost  at  Newcastle  upon  Tyne, 
which  Mr.  John  Wesley  believed,  but  to 
which  Johnson  did  not  give  credit.  I was, 
nowever,  desirous  to  examine  the  question 
closely,  and  at  the  same  time  wished  to  be 
made  acquainted  with  Mr.  John  Wesley; 
for  though  I differed  from  him  in  some 
points,  I admired  his  various  talents  and 
oved  his  pious  zeal.  At  my  request,  there- 
fore, Dr.  Johnson  gave  me  a letter  of  intro- 
duction to  him. 

“TO  THE  REVEREND  MR.  JOHN  WESLEY. 

“ 3d  May,  1779. 

“ Sir, — Mr.  Boswell,  a gentleman  who 
has  been  long  known  to  me,  is  desirous  of 
being  known  to  you,  and  has  asked  this 
recommendation,  which  I give  him  with 
great  willingness,  because  I think  it  very 
much  to  be  wished  that  worthy  and  re- 
ligious men  should  be  acquainted  with  each 
other.  I am,  sir,  your  most  humble  ser- 
vant, t{  Sam.  Johnson.” 

Mr.  Wesley  being  in  the  course  of  his 
ministry  at  Edinburgh,  I presented  this 
letter  to  him,  and  was  very  politely  received. 
I begged  to  have  it  returned  to  me,  which 
was  accordingly  done.  His  state  of  the 
evidence  as  to  the  ghost  did  not  satisfy 
me. 

Ed  [He  made  this  year  his  usual  ex- 

cursion into  the  midland  counties; 
but  his  visit  was  shortened  by  the  alarming 
illness  of  Mr.  Thrale.] 

“ TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“Lichfield, 29th  May,  1779. 

Letters,  “ I have  now  been  here  a week, 
voi.  ii.  and  will  try  to  give  you  my  jour- 
p*  45,  nal,  or  such  parts  of  it  as  are  fit, 
in  my  mind,  for  communication. 

“ On  Friday,  We  set  out  about  twelve, 
and  lay  at  Daventrv. 

“ On  Saturday,  We  dined  with  Rann  at 
Coventry.  He  intercepted  us  at  the  town’s 
end.  I saw  Tom  Johnson,  who  had  hard- 
ly life  to  know  that  I was  with  him.  I 
hear  he  is  since  dead.  In  the  evening  I 
came  to  Lucy,  and  walked  to  Stowhill. 
Mrs.  Aston  was  gone  or  going  to  bed.  I 
did  not  see  her. 

*•'  Sunday. — After  dinner  I went  to  Stow- 


hill, and  was  very  kindly  received.  At 
night  I saw  my  old  friend  Brodhurst — you 
know  him — the  playfellow  of  my  infancy, 
and  gave  him  a guinea. 

“ Monday. — Dr.  Taylor  came,  and  we 
went  with  Mrs.  Cobb  to  Greenh.ll  Bower. 
I had  not  seen  it,  perhaps,  for  fifty  years. 
It  is  much  degenerated.  Every  thing 
grows  old.  Taylor  is  to  fetch  me  next 
Saturday. 

“ Mr.  Green  came  to  see  us,  and  I order- 
ed some  physick. 

“Tuesday. — Physick,  and  a little  com- 
pany. I dined,  I think,  with  Lucy  both 
Monday  and  Tuesday. 

“Wednesday,  Thursday. — I had  a few 
visits,  from  Peter  Garrick  among  the  rest, 
and  dined  at  Stowhill.  My  breath  very 
short. 

“ Friday. — I dined  at  Stowhill.  I have 
taken  physick  four  days  together. 

“ Saturday. — Mrs.  Aston  took  me  out  in 
her  chaise,  and  was  very  kind.  I dined 
with  Mrs.  Cobb,  and  came  to  Lucy,  with 
whom  I found,  as  I had  done  the  first  day, 
Lady  Smith  and  Miss  Yyse.”] 

[“  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ Ashbourne,  14th  June, 

“ Your  account  of  Mr.  Thrale’s  Letters, 
illness1  is  very  terrible;  but  vol.'i. 
when  I remember  that  he  seems  p'  47’  51,54 
to  have  it  peculiar  to  his  constitution — that 
whatever  distemper  he  has,  he  always  has 
his  head  affected — J am  less  frighted.  The 
seizure  was,  I think,  not  apoplectical,  but 
hysterical,  and  therefore  not  dangerous  to 
life.  I would  have  you,  however,  consult 
such  physicians  as  you  think  you  can  best 
trust.  Bromfield  seems  to  have  done  well, 
and,  by  his  practice,  seems  not  to  suspect 
an  apoplexy.  That  is  a solid  and  funda- 
mental comfort.  I remember  Dr.  Marsigli, 
an  Italian  physician,  whose  seizure  was 
more  violent  than  Mr.  Thrale’s,  for  he  fell 
down  helpless;  but  his  case  was  not  con- 
sidered as  of  much  danger,  and  he  went 
safe  home,  and  is  now  a professor  at  Padua. 
His  fit  was  considered  as  only  hysterical.”] 

[“  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“Ashbourne,  17th  June,  1779 

“ It  is  certain  that  your  first  lettei 
did  not  alarm  me  in  proportion  to  the 
danger,  for  indeed  it  did  not  describe  the 
danger  as  it  was.  I am  glad  that  you 
have  Heberden;  and  hope  his  restoratives 
and  his  preservatives  will  both  be  effectual. 
In  the  preservatives,  dear  Mr.  Thrale  must 
concur;  yet  what  can  he  reform  ? or  whai 


1 [A  serious  apoplectic  attack,  which  was  the 
precursor  of  another  of  the  same  nature  which  ter 
minated  his  existence  in  the  course  of  the  ensuing 
year. — Ed.] 


214 


1779.— ^ET AT.  70. 


can  he  add  ,o  his  regularity  and  temperance  ? 
He  can  on.y  sleep  less.  We  will  do,  how 
ever,  all  we  can.  I go  to  Lichfield  to-mor- 
row, with  intent  to  hasten  to  Streat- 
ham. 

“ Both  Mrs.  Aston  and  Dr.  Taylor  have 
had  strokes  of  the  palsy.  The  lady  was 
sixty-eight,  and  at  that  age  has  gained 
ground  upon  it;  the  doctor  is,  you  know, 
not  young,  and  he  is  quite  well,  only  sus- 
picious of  every  sensation  in  the  peccant 
arm.  I hope  my  dear  master’s  case  is  yet 
slighter,  and  that,  as  his  age  is  less,  his  re- 
covery will  be  more  perfect.  Let  him  keep 
hi3  thoughts  diverted  and  his  mind  easy.”] 

[“to  henry  thrale,  esq. 

“Lichfield,  23d  June,  1779. 

“ Dear  sir, — To  show  you  how  well  I 
.hink  of  your  health,  I have  sent  you  an 
hundred  pounds  to  keep  for  me.  It  will 
come  within  one  day  of  quarter  day,  and 
that  day  you  must  give  me.  I came  by 
it  in  a very  uncommon  manner,  and  would 
not  confound  it  with  the  rest. 

“ My  wicked  mistress  talks  as  if  she 
thought  it  possible  for  me  to  be  indifferent 
or  negligent  about  your  health  or  hers.  If 
I could  have  done  any  good,  I had  not  de- 
layed an  hour  to  come  to  you,  and  I will 
come  very  soon  to  try  if  my  advice  can  be 
of  any  use,  or  my  company  of  any  enter- 
tainment. 

“ What  can  be  done,  you  must  do  for 
yourself.  Do  not  let  any  uneasy  thought 
settle  in  your  mind.  Cheerfulness  and  ex- 
ercise are  your  great  remedies.  Nothing 
is  for  the  present  worth  your  anxiety. 
Vivere  Iceti  is  one  of  the  great  rules  of 
health.  I believe  it  will  be  good  to  ride 
often,  but  never  to  weariness;  for  weariness 
is  itself  a temporary  resolution  of  the  nerves, 
and  is  therefore  to  be  avoided.  Labour  is 
exercise  continued  to  fatigue ; exercise  is 
labour-  used  only  while  it  produces  plea- 
sure. 

“ Above  all,  keep  your  mind  quiet.  Do 
not  think  with  earnestness  even  of  your 
health,  but  think  on  such  things  as  may 
please  without  too  much  agitation;  among 
which,  I hope,  is,  dear  sir,  your,  &c.”] 

[“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“ 27th  July,  1779. 

“ Dear  madam, — I have  sentwhat 
j^n'  I can  for  your  German  friend  L At 
this  time  it  is  very  difficult  to  get 
any  money,  and  1 cannot  give  much.  I 

1 [It  is  due  to  the  memory  of  Dr.  Johnson’s 

inexhaustible  charity  to  insert  this  otherwise  insig- 
nificant note.  When  he  says  that  he  cannot  give 
much,  let  it  be  recollected,  that  his  only  fixed 

income  was  his  pension  of  300/.  a year,  and  that 

he  had  four  or  five  eleemosynary  inmates  in  his 

hiuse.  • -Ed.] 


am,  madam,  your  most  affectionate  ana 
most  humble  servant, 

<c  Sam.  Johnson.’1 * * * 5] 

I did  not  write  to  Johnson,  as  usual,  up- 
on my  return  to  my  family;  but  tried  how 
he  would  be  affected  by  my  silence.  Mr. 
Dilly  sent  me  a copy  of  a note  which  he 
received  from  him  on  the  18th  of  July,  in 
these  words : 

“ TO  MR.  DILLY. 

“ Sir, — Since  Mr.  Boswell’s  departure,  I 
have  never  heard  from  him.  Please  to 
send  word  what  you  know  of  him,  and 
whether  you  have  sent  my  books  to  his  la- 
dy. I am,  &c.  u Sam.  Johnson  ” 

My  readers  will  not  doubt  that  his  solici- 
tude about  me  was  very  flattering. 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ 13th  July,  1779. 

“ Dear  sir, — What  can  possibly  have 
happened,  that  keeps  us  two  such  strangers 
to  each  other?  I expected  to  have  heard 
from  you  when  you  came  home;  I expect 
ed  afterw’ards.  I went  into  the  country 
and  returned ; and  yet  there  is  no  lettei 
from  Mr.  Boswell.  No  ill,  I hope,  has 
happened  ; and  if  ill  should  happen,  why 
should  it  be  concealed  from  him  who  loves 
you?  Is  it  a fit  of  humour,  that  has  dis- 
posed you  to  try  who  can  hold  out  longest 
without  writing?  If  it  be,  you  have  the 
victory.  But  I am  afraid  of  something 
bad;  set  me  free  from  my  suspicions. 

“ My  thoughts  are  at  present  employed 
in  guessing  the  reason  of  your  silence : you 
must  not  expect  that  I should  tell  you  any 
thing,  if  I had  any  thing  to  tell.  Write, 
pray  write  to  me,  and  let  me  know  what 
is  or  what  has  been  the  cause  of  this  long 
interruption.  I am,  dear  sir,  your  most 
affectionate  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“to  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“ Edinburgh,  17th  July,  1779. 

“ My  dear  sir, — What  may  be  justly 
denominated  a supine  indolence  of  mind 
has  been  my  state  of  existence  since  I last 
returned  to  Scotland.  In  a livelier  state  I 
had  often  suffered  severely  from  long  inter- 
vals of  silence  on  your  part;  and  I had  even 
been  chid  by  you  for  expressing  my  uneasi- 
ness. I was  willing  to  take  advantage  of 
my  insensibility,  and  while  I could  bear  the 
experiment,  to  try  whether  your  affection 
for  me  would,  after  an  unusual  silence  on 
my  part,  make  you  write  first.  This  after- 
noon I have  had  a very  high  satisfaction 
by  receiving  your  kind  letter  of  inquiry,  for 
which  I most  gratefully  thank  you.  I am 
doubtful  if  it  was  right  to  make  the  experi- 


1779. — iETAT.  70. 


215 


ment  though  I have  gained  by  it.  1 was 
beginning  to  grow  tender,  and  to  upbraid 
myself,  especially  after  having  dreamt  two 
nights  ago  that  I was  with  you.  I,  and 
my  wife,  and  my  four  children,  are  all  well. 
I would  not  delay  one  post  to  answer  your 
letter ; but  as  it  is  late,  I have  not  time  to 
do  more.  You  shall  soon  hear  from  me, 
upon  many  and  various  particulars ; and  I 
shall  never  again  put  you  to  any  test.  I 
am,  with  veneration,  my  dear  sir,  your 
most  obliged  and  faithful  humble  servant, 
“James  Boswell.” 

On  the  22d  of  July,  I wrote  to  him  again; 
and  gave  him  an  account  of  my  last  inter- 
view with  my  worthy  friend,  Mr.  Edward 
Dilly,  at  his  brother’s  house  at  Southill  in 
Bedfordshire,  where  he  died  soon  after  I 
parted  from  him,  leaving  me  a very  kind 
remembrance  of  his  regard. 

I informed  him  that  Lord  Hailes,  who 
had  promised  to  furnish  him  with  some 
anecdotes  for  his  “ Lives  of  the  Poets,” 
had  sent  me  three  instances  of  Prior’s  bor- 
rowing from  Gombauld,  in  Recueil  des 
Poetes,  tome  3.  Epigram  “ To  John  I owed 
great  obligation,”  p.  25.  “ To  the  Duke 

of  Noailles,”  p.  32.  “ Sauntering  Jack  and 
idle  Joan,”  p.  25. 

My  letter  was  a pretty  long  one,  and 
contained  a variety  of  particulars  ; but  he, 
it  should  seem,  had  not  attended  to  it ; for 
his  next  to  me  was  as  follows : 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“Streatham,  9th  Sept.  1779. 

“ My  dear  sir, — Are  you  playing  the 
same  trick  again,  and  trying  who  can  keep 
silence  longest?  Remember  that  all  tricks 
are  either  knavish  or  childish;  and  that  it 
is  as  foolish  to  make  experiments  upon  the 
constancy  of  a friend,  as  upon  the  chastity 
of  a wife. 

“ What  can  be  the  cause  of  this  second 
fit  of  silence,  I cannot  conjecture;  but  after 
one  trick,  I will  not  be  cheated  by  another, 
nor  will  harass  my  thoughts  with  conjec- 
tures about  the  motives  of  a man  who, 
probably,  acts  only  by  caprice.  I therefore 
suppose  you  are  well,  and  that  Mrs. 
Boswell  is  well  too,  and  that  the  fine 
summer  has  restored  Lord  Auchinleck. 
I am  much  better  than  you  left  me ; I 
think  I am  better  than  when  I was  in 
Scotland. 

“ I forgot  whether  I informed  you  that 
poor  Thrale  has  been  in  great  danger. 
Mrs.  Thrale  likewise  has  miscarried,  and 
been  much  indisposed  b Every  body  else 
is  well.  Langton  is  in  camp.  I intend  to 

1  [The  Editor  suspects  that  the  verses  on  Mrs. 
Thrale’s  thirty-fifth  birthday,  which  he  had  placed 
under  the  year  1777  {ante,  p.  87),  should  rather 
come  in  here,  as  he  finds  in  Johnson’s  letters  to  that 


put  Lord  Hailes’s  descr  ption  of  Dryden^- 
into  another  edition,  and,  as  I know  his  ac- 
curacy, wish  he  would  consider  the  dates, 
which  I could  not  always  settle  to  my  own 
mind. 

“Mr.  Thrale  goes  to  Brighthelmstone, 
about  Michaelmas,  to  be  jolly  and  ride 
a-hunting.  I shall  go  to  town,  or  perhaps 
to  Oxford.  Exercise  and  gaiety,  or  rather 
carelessness,  will,  I hope,  dissipate  all  re- 
mains of  his  malady;  and  I likewise  hope, 
by  the  change  of  place,  to  find  some  oppor- 
tunities of  growing  yet  better  myself.  I 
am,  dear  sir,  your  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

My  readers  will  not  be  displeased  at  be- 
ing told  every  slight  circumstance  of  the 
manner  in  which  Dr.  Johnson  contrived  to 
amuse  his  solitary  hours.  He  sometimes 
employed  himself  in  chymistry,  sometimes 
in  watering  and  pruning  a vine,  sometimes 
in  small  experiments,  at  which  those  who 
may  smile  should  recollect  that  there  are 
moments  which  admit  of  being  soothed 
only  by  trifles * 2  3. 

. [Dj-  Johnson  was  always  exceed- 
ing fond  of  chymistry ; and  they 
made  up  a sort  of  laboratory  at 
Streatham  one  summer,  and  diverted  them 
selves  with  drawing  essences  and  colouring 
liquors.  But  the  danger  in  which  Mr. 
Thrale  found  Dr.  Johnson  one  day  (in 
Mrs.  Thrale’s  absence),  with  the  children 
and  servants  assembled  round  him  to  see 
some  experiments  performed,  put  an  end  .o 
all  that  sort  of  entertainment ; as  Mr 
Thrale  was  persuaded  that  his  short-sign* 
would  have  occasioned  his  destruction  in  a 
moment,  by  bringing  him  close  to  a fieu-e 
and  violent  flame.  Indeed,  it  was  a perpet- 
ual miracle  that  he  did  not  set  himself  -n 
fire  reading  a-bed,  as  was  his  constant  ci  s- 

lady  {post,  14th  August,  1780)  that  her  thir'y- 
fifth  and  his  seventieth  year  coincided. — Ed.] 

2 Which  I communicated  to  him  from  his  lord- 
ship,  but  it  has  not  yet  been  published.  I have  a 
copy  of  it. — Boswell.  The  few  notices  con- 
cerning Dry  den,  which  Lord  Hailes  had  collected, 
the  authour  afterwards  gave  me. — Malone. 

3 In  one  of  his  manuscript  Diaries,  there  is  ihe 
following  entry,  which  marks  his  curious  minute 
attention:  “ July  26,  1768. — I shaved  my  nail  by 
accident  in  whetting  the  knife,  about  an  eighth  of 
an  inch  from  the  bottom,  and  about  a fourth  from 
the  top.  This  I measure  that  I may  know  ihe 
growth  of  nails;  the  whole  is  about  five-eighths  of 
an  inch.”  Another  of  the  same  kind  appe:  rs 
August  7,  1779:  “ Partem  brachii  dextri  cartio 
proximam  et  cutem  pectoris  circa  mamillom 
dextram  rasi,  ut  notum  fieret  quanto  tempoi  is 
pill  renovarentur.”  And,  “Aug.  15,  1783: 
— I cut  from  the  vine  41  leaves,  which 
weighed  five  oz.  and  a half,  and  eight  scruples:  I 
lay  them  upon  my  book-case,  to  see  what  weigh 
they  will  lose  by  drying.” — Boswell. 


216 


1779. — AST  AT.  70. 


tom,  when  quite  unable  even  to  keep  clear 
of  mischief  with  our  best  help;  and  accord- 
ingly the  foretops  of  all  his  wigs  were 
ourned  by  the  candle  down  to  the  very 
network. 

Future  experiments  in  chymistry,  how- 
ever, were  too  dangerous,  and  Mr.  Thrale 
insisted  that  we  should  do  no  more  towards 
finding  the  philosopher’s  stone.] 

On  the  20th  of  September  I defended  my- 
self against  his  suspicion  of  me,  which  I did 
not  deserve;  and  added,  “ Pray  let  us  write 
frequently.  A whim  strikes  me,  that  we 
should  send  off  a sheet  once  a week,  like  a 
stage-coach,  whether  it  be  full  or  not;  nay, 
though  it  should  he  empty.  The  very 
sight  of  your  hand-writing  would  comfort 
me;  and  were  a sheet  to  be  thus  sent  regu- 
larly, we  should  much  oftener  convey  some- 
thing, were  it  only  a few  kind  words.” 

My  friend,  Colonel  James  Stuart1,  sec- 
ond son  of  the  Earl  of  Bute,  who  had  dis- 
tinguished himself  as  a good  officer  of  the 
Bedfordshire  militia,  had  taken  a publick- 
spirited  resolution  to  serve  his  country 
in  its  difficulties,  by  raising  a regular 
regiment,  and  taking  the  command  of  it 
himself.  This,  in  the  heir  of  the  immense 
property  of  Wortley,  was  highly  honoura- 
ble. Having  been  in  Scotland  recruiting, 
he  obligingly  asked  me  to  accompany  him 
to  Leeds,  then  the  head-quarters  of  his 
corps;  from  thence  to  London  for  a short 
time,  and  afterwards  to  other  places  to  which 
the  regiment  might  be  ordered.  Such  an 
offer,  at  a time  of  the  year  when  I had  full 
leisure,  was  very  pleasing;  especially  as  I 
was  to  accompany  a man  of  sterling  good 
sense,  information,  discernment,  and  con- 
viviality, and  was  to  have  a second  crop,  in 
one  year,  of  London  and  Johnson.  Of  this 
I informed  my  illustrious  friend  in  charac- 
teristical  warm  terms,  in  a letter  dated  the 
SOth  of  September,  from  Leeds. 

On  Monday,  October  4,  I called  at  his 
house  before  he  was  up.  He  sent  for  me 
to  his  bedside,  and  expressed  his  satisfac- 
tion at  this  incidental  meeting,  with  as  much 
vivacity  as  if  he  had  been  in  the  gaiety  of 
youth.  He  called  briskly,  “ Frank,  go  and 
get  coffee,  and  let  us  breakfast  in  splen- 
dour .” 

During  this  visit  to  London  I had  seve- 
ral interviews  with  him,  which  it  is  unne- 
cessary to  distinguish  particularly.  I con- 
sulted him  as  to  the  appointment  of  guar- 
dians to  my  children  in  case  of  my  death. 
“ Sir,”  said  he,  “ do  not  appoint  a number 
of  guardians.  When  there  are  many,  they 
trust  one  to  another,  and  the  business  is 


1 [Who  assumed  successively  the  names  of 
Wortley  and  Mackenzie,  but  was  best  known  as 
Mr.  Stuart  Wortley.  He  was  the  father  of  L,  rd 
Wharncliffe,  and  died  in  1814. — Ed.] 


neglected.  I would  advise  you  to  choose 
only  one:  let  him  be  a man  of  respectable 
character,  who,  for  his  own  credit,  will  do 
what  is  right;  let  him  be  a rich  man,  so 
that  he  may  be  under  no  temptation  to  take 
advantage;  and  let  him  be  a man  of  busi- 
ness, who  is  used  to  conduct  affairs  with 
ability  and  expertness,  fo  whom,  therefore, 
the  execution  of  the  trust  will  not  be  bur 
densome.” 

[££  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“5th  Oct.  1779 

“ When  Mr.  Boswell  waited  on  Letters, 
Mr.  Thrale  in  Southwark,  I direct-  v.  ii.  p* 
ed  him  to  wratch  all  appearances  60’ 61  * 

with  close  attention,  and  bring  me  his  ob- 
servations.  At  his  return  he  told  me,  that 
without  previous  intelligence  he  should  not 
have  discovered  that  Mr.  Thrale  had  been 
lately  ill.” 

££  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  8th  Oct.  1779. 

££  On  Sunday  the  gout  left  my  ankles, 
and  I went  very  commodiously  to  church. 
On  Monday  night  I felt  my  feet  uneasy. 
On  Tuesday  I was  quite  lame:  that  night 
I took  an  opiate,  having  first  taken  physick 
and  fasted.  T owards  morning  on  W ednes- 
day  the  pain  remitted.  Bozzy  came  to  me, 
and  much  talk  we  had.  I fasted  another 
day;  and  on  Wednesday  night  could  walk 
tolerably.  On  Thursday,  finding  myself 
mending,  I ventured  on  my  dinner,  which 
I think  has  a little  interrupted  my  convales- 
cence. To-day  I have  again  taken  physick, 
and  eaten  only  some  stewed  apples. — I hope 
to  starve  it  away.  It  is  now  no  worse  than 
it  was  at  Brighthelmstone.”] 

On  Sunday,  October  10,  we  dined  to- 
gether at  Mr.  Strahan’s.  The  conversa- 
tion having  turned  on  the  prevailing  prac- 
tice of  going  to  the  East  Indies  m quest  of 
wealth; — Johnson.  “ A man  had  better 
have  ten  thousand  pounds  at  the  end  of  ten 
years  passed  in  England,  than  twenty  thou- 
sand pounds  at  the  end  of  ten  years  passed 
in  India,  because  you  must  compute  what 
you  give  for  money;  and  the  man  who  has 
lived  ten  years  in  India  has  given  up  ten 
years  of  social  comfort,  and  all  those  advan- 
tages which  arise  from  living  in  England 
The  ingenious  Mr.  Brown,  distinguished 
by  the  name  of  Capability  Brown,  told  me, 
that  he  was  once  at  the  seat  of  Lord  Clive, 
who  had  returned  from  India  with  great 
wealth ; and  that  he  showed  him  at  the  door 
of  his  bed-chamber  a large  chest,  which  he 
said  he  had  once  had  full  :>f  gold;  upon 
which  Brown  observed, £ I am  glad  you  can 
bear  it  so  near  your  bed-chamber.’  ” 

We  talked  of  the  state  of  the  poor  in 
London.  Iohnson.  “Saunders  Welch, 


1779.— /ETAT.  70. 


217 


the  justice,  who  was  once  high-constable  of 
Hoib  orn,  and  had  the  best  opportunities  of 
knowing  the  stale  of  the  poor,  told  me,  that 
I under-rated  the  number,  when  I comput- 
ed that  twenty  a week,  that  is,  above  a thou- 
sand a year,  died  of  hunger;  not  absolutely 
of  immediate  hunger;  but  of  the  wasting 
and  other  diseases  which  are  the  conse- 
quences of  hunger.  This  happens  only  in 
so  large  a place  as  London,  where  people 
are  not  known.  What  we  are  told  about 
the  great  sums  got  by  begging  is  not  true: 
the  trade  is  overstocked.  And,  you  may 
depend  upon  it,  there  are  many  who  cannot 
get  work.  A particular  kind  of  manufac- 
ture fails:  those  who  have  been  used  to 
work  at  it  can,  for  some  time,  work  at  no- 
thing else.  You  meet  a man  begging;  you 
charge  him  with  idleness : he  says, 4 I am 
willing  to  labour.  Will  you  give  me  work  ? 3 
— 4 I cannot.’ — 4 Why,  then,  you  have  no 
right  to  charge  me  with  idleness.3  33 

We  left  Mr.  Strahan’s  at  seven,  as  John- 
son had  said  he  intended  to  go  to  evening 
prayers.  As  we  walked  alone,  he  complain- 
ed of  a little  gout  in  his  toe,  and  said,  44  I 
sha’nt  go  to  prayers  to  night:  I shall  go  to- 
morrow : whenever  I miss  church  on  a Sun- 
day, I resolve  to  go  another  day.  But  I do 
not  always  do  it.33  This  was  a fair  exhibi- 
tion of  that  vibration  between  pious  resolu- 
tions and  indolence,  which  many  of  us  have 
too  often  experienced. 

I went  home  with  him,  and  we  had  a long 
quiet  conversation. 

I read  him  a letter  from  Dr.  Hugh  Blair 
concerning  Pope  (in  writing  whose  life  he* 
was  now  employed),  which  I shall  insert  as 
a literary  curiosity 1. 

44  TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“ Broughton-park,  21st  Sept.  1779. 

<c  Dear  sir, — In  the  year  1763,  being  at 
London,  I was  carried  by  Dr.  John  Blair, 

1 The  Rev.  Dr.  Law,  Bishop  of  Carlisle,  in  the 
preface  to  his  valuable  edition  of  Archbishop 
King’s  “ Essay  on  the  Origin  of  Evil,”  mentions 
that  the  principles  maintained  in  it  had  been 
adopted  by  Pope  in  his  “ Essay  on  Man;”  and 
adds,  “ The  fact,  notwithstanding  such  denial 
(Bishop  Warburton’s),  might  have  been  strictly 
verified  by  an  unexceptionable  testimony,  viz.  that 
of  the  late  Lord  Bathurst,  who  saw  the  very  same 
system  of  the  to  fitKnev  (taken  from  the  arch- 
bishop) in  Lord  Bolingbroke’s  own  hand,  lying 
before  Mr  Pope,  while  he  was  composing  his 
Essay.”  This  is  respectable  evidence:  but  that 
of  Dr.  Blair  is  more  direct  frpm  the  fountain-head, 
as  well  as  more  full.  Let  me  add  to  it  that  of 
Dr.  Joseph  Warton  : “ The  late  Lord  Bathurst 
repeatedly  assured  me  that  he  had  read  he  whole 
scheme  of  ‘ the  Essay  on  Man,’  in  the  hand- 
writing of  Bolingbroke,  and  drawn  up  in  a series 
of  propositions,  which  Pope  was  to  versify  and 
illustrate.” — Essay  on  the  Genius  and.  Wri- 
tings of  Pope,  vol.  ii.  p.  62. — Boswell. 

vol.  ii.  28 


Prebendary  of  Westminster,  to  dine  at  old 
Lord  Bathurst’s,  where  we  found  the  late 
Mr.  Mallet,  Sir  James  Porter,  who  had 
been  ambassador  at  Constantinople,  the  late 
Dr.  Macaulay,  and  two  or  three  more. 
The  conversation  turning  on  Mr.  Pope, 
Lord  Bathurst  told  us,  that 4 The  Essay  on 
Man  3 was  originally  composed  by  Lord  Bo- 
lingbioke  in  prose,  and  that  Mr.  Pope  did  no 
more  than  put  it  into  verse:  that  he  had 
read  Lord  Bolingbroke’s  manuscript  in  his 
own  hand-writing;  and  remembered  well, 
that  he  was  at  a loss  whether  most  to  ad- 
mire the  elegance  of  Lord  Bolingbroke’s 
prose,  or  the  beauty  of  Mr.  Pope’s  verse. 
When  Lord  Bathurst  told  this,  Mr.  Mallet 
bade  me  attend,  and  remember  this  remark- 
able piece  of  information;  as,  by  the  course 
of  Nature,  I might  survive  his  lordship,  and 
be  a witness  of  his  having  said  so.  The 
conversation  was  indeed  too  remarkable  to 
be  forgotten.  A few  days  after,  meeting 
with  you,  who  were  then  also  at  London, 
you  will  remember  that  I mentioned  to  you 
what  had  passed  on  this  subject,  as  I was 
much  struck  with  this  anecdote.  But  what 
ascertains  my  recollection  of  it,  beyond 
doubt,  is,  that  being  accustomed  to  keep  a 
journal  of  what  passed  when  I was  at  Lon- 
don, which  I wrote  out  every  evening,  I 
find  the  particulars  of  the  above  information, 
just  as  I have  now  given  them,  distinctly 
marked;  and  am  thence  enabled  to  fix  this 
conversation  to  have  passed  on  Friday,  the 
22d  of  April,  1763. 

44  I remember  also  distinctly,  (though  I 
have  not  for  this  the  authority  of  my  jour- 
nal), that  the  conversation  going  on  con- 
cerning Mr.  Pope,  I took  notice  of  a report 
which  had  been  sometimes  propagated  that 
he  did  not  understand  Greek.  Lord  Ba- 
thurst said  to  me  that  he  knew  that  to  be 
false;  for  that  part  of  the  Iliad  was  translat- 
ed by  Mr.  Pope  in  his  house  in  the  country; 
and  that  in  the  morning  when  they  assem- 
bled at  breakfast,  Mr.  Pope  used  frequently 
to  repeat,  with  great  rapture,  the  Greek 
lines  which  he  had  been  translating,  and 
then  to  give  them  his  version  of  them,  and 
to  compare  them  together. 

44  If  these  circumstances  can  be  of  any 
use  to  Dr.  Johnson,  you  have  my  full  liber- 
ty to  give  them  to  him.  I beg  you  will,  at 
the  same  time,  present  to  him  my  most  re- 
spectful compliments,  with  best  wishes  for 
his  success  and  fame  in  all  his  literary  un- 
dertakings. I am,  with  great  respect,  my 
dearest  sir,  your  most  affectionate,  and 
obliged  humble  servant, 

“ Hugh  Blair.33 

Johnson.  44  Depend  upon  it,  sir,  this  is 
too  strongly  stated.  Pope  may  have  had 
from  Bolingbroke  the  philosophick  stamina 
of  his  Essay;  and  admitting  this  to  be  true, 
Lord  Bathurst  did  not  intentionally  falsify 


218 


1779. — /ETAT.  70 


But  the  tiling  is  not  true  in  the  latitude  that 
Blair  .seems  to  imagine;  we  are  sure  that 
the  poetical  imagery,  which  makes  a great 
part  of  the  poem,  was  Pope’s  own.  It  is 
amazing,  sir,  what  deviations  there  are  from 
precise  truth,  in  the  account  which  is  given 
of  almost  every  thing.  I told  Mrs.  Thrale, 

£ You  have  so  little  anxiety  about  truth,  that 
you  never  tax  your  memory  with  the  exact 
thing.’  Now  what  is  the  use  of  the  memo- 
ry to  truth,  if  one  is  careless  of  exactness  ? 
Lord  Hailes’s  ‘Annals  of  Scotland  ’ are  very 
exact;  but  they  contain  mere  dry  particu- 
lars. They  are  to  be  considered  as  a Dic- 
tionary. You  know  such  things  are  there; 
and  may  be  looked  at  when  you  please. 
Robertson  paints;  but  the  misfortune  is, 
you  are  sure  he  does  not  know  the  people 
whom  he  paints;  so  you  cannot  suppose  a 
likeness.  Characters  should  never  be  given 
by  an  historian,  unless  he  knew  the  people 
whom  he  describes,  or  copies  from  those 
who  knew  them.” 

Boswell.  “ Why,  sir,  do  people  play 
this  trick  which  I observe  now,  when  I look 
at  your  grate,  putting  the  shovel  against  it 
to  make  the  fire  burn?”  Johnson.  “They 
play  the  trick,  but  it  does  not  make  the  fire 
burn  t.  There  is  a better  (setting  the  po- 
ker perpendicularly  up  at  right  angles  with 
the  grate).  In  days  of  superstition  they 
thought,  as  it  made  a cross  with  the  bars,  it 
would  drive  away  the  witch.” 

Boswell.  “ By  associating  with  you, 
sir,  I am  always  getting  an  accession  of  wis- 
dom. But  perhaps  a man,  after  knowing 
his  own  character — the  limited  strength  of 
his  own  mind — should  not  be  desirous  of 
having  too  much  wisdom,  considering,  quid 
valeant  humeri , how  little  he  can  carry.” 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  be  as  wise  as  you  can;  let 
a man  be  aliis  Icetus , sapiens  sihi: 

‘Though  pleased  to  see  the  dolphins  play, 

I mind  my  compass  and  my  way  2.  ’ 

You  may  be  wise  in  your  study  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  gay  in  company  at  a tavern  in  the 
evening.  Every  man  is  to  take  care  of  his 
own  wisdom  and  his  own  virtue,  without 
minding  too  much  what  others  think.” 

He  said  “ Dodsley  first  mentioned  to  me 


1 It  certainly  dees  make  the  fire  burn  : by 
repelling  the  air,  it  throws  a blast  on  the  fire,  and 
so  performs  the  part  in  some  degree  of  a blower 
or  bellows. — Kearney.  [Dr.  Kearney’s  ob- 
servation applies  only  to  the  shovel;  but  by  those 
who  have  faith  in  the  experiment,  the  poker  is 
supposed  to  be  equally  elhcacious.  After  all,  it 
is  possible  that,  in  old  times,  a large  shovel  used 
io  be  applied  to  obstruct  the  upper  orifice,  and  so 
fcrce  the  air  through  the  grate,  and  the  practice 
may  have  outlived  the  instrument  which  gave  rise 
to  it. — Ed.] 

2 “ The  Spleen,”  a poem,  [by  Mr.  Matthew 
Green.]  —Boswell. 


the  scheme  of  anEngjsh  D:ciionary;  but 
I had  long  thought  of  it.”  Boswell. 
“You  did  not  know  what  you  were  under- 
taking.” Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir,  I knew  very 
well  what  I was  undertaking,  and  very  well 
how  to  do  it,  and  have  done  it  very  well.” 
Boswell.  “An  excellent  climax!  and  it 
has  availed  you.  In  your  preface  you  say, 
c What  would  it  avail  me  in  this  gloom  of 
solitude?’  You  have  been  agreeably  mis- 
taken.” 

In  his  life  of  Milton,  he  observes,  “ I can- 
not but  remark  a kind  of  respect,  perhaps 
unconsciously,  paid  to  this  great  man  by  his 
biographers : every  house  in  which  he  resid- 
ed is  historically  mentioned,  as  if  it  were  an 
injury  to  neglect  naming  any  place  that  he 
honoured  by  his  presence.”  I had,  before  I 
read  this  observation,  been  desirous  of  show- 
ing that  respect  to  Johnson,  by  various  in- 
quiries. Finding  him  this  evening  in  a very 
good  humour,  I prevailed  on  him  to  give 
me  an  exact  list  of  his  places  of  residence, 
since  he  entered  the  metropolis  as  an  au 
thour,  which  I subjoin  in  a note  3. 

I mentioned  to  him  a dispute  between  a 
friend  of  mine  and  his  lady,  concerning 
conjugal  infidelity,  which  my  friend  had 
maintained  was  by  no  means  so  bad  in  the 
husband  as  in  the  wife.  Johnson..  “ Your 
friend  was  in  the  right,  sir.  Between  a 
man  and  his  Maker  it  is  a different  ques- 
tion: but  between  a man  and  his  wife,  a 
husband’s  infidelity  is  nothing.  They  are 
connected  by  children,  by  fortune,  by  serious 
considerations  of  community.  Wise  mar- 
ried women  do  n’t  trouble  themselves  about 
infidelity  in  their  husbands.”  Boswell. 
“ To  be  sure  there  is  a great  difference  be- 
tween the  offence  of  infidelity  in  a man  and 
that  of  his  wife.”  Johnson.  “ The  differ- 
ence is  boundless.  The  man  imposes  no 
bastards  upon  his  wife4.” 

3 [Here  followed  the  list  of  residences,  which 
will  be  found  ante , v.  i.  p.  42. — Ed.] 

4 [This  seems  too  narrow  an  illustration  of  a 
“ boundless  difference.”  The  introduction  of  a 
bastard  into  a family,  though  a great  injustice  and 
a great  crime,  is  only  one  consequence  (and  that 
an  occasional  and  accidental  one)  of  a greater 
crime  and  a more  afflicting  injustice.  The  pre- 
caution of  Julia,  alluded  to  ante , p.  58,  did 
not  render  her  innocent.  In  a moral  and  in  a 
religious  view,  the  guilt  is  no  doubt  equal  in  man 
or  woman;  but  have  not  both  Dr.  Johnson  and 
Mr.  Boswell  overlooked  a social  view  of  this  sub- 
ject ? which  is  perhaps  the  true  reason  of  the 
greater  indulgence  which  is  generally  afforded  to 
the  infidelity  of  the  man — I mean  the  effect  on 
the  personal  character  of  the  different  sexes.  The 
crime  does  not  seem  to  alter  or  debase  the  quali- 
ties of  the  man,  in  any  essential  degree;  but 
when  the  superiour  purity  and  delicacy  of  the 
woman  is  once  contaminated  it  is  destroyed — 
facilis  de census  Averni — she  generally  falls  into 
utter  degradation,  and  thence,  probably,  it  is  that 


1779. — /ETAT.  70. 


219 


Here  it  may  „ be  questioned,  whether 
Johnson  was  entirely  in  the  right.  I sup- 
pose it  will  not  be  controverted,  that  the 
difference  in  the  degree  of  criminality  is 
very  great,  on  account  of  consequences: 
but  still  it  may  he  maintained,  that,  inde- 
pendent of  moral  obligation,  infidelity  is  by 
no  means  a light  offence  in  a husband;  be- 
cause it  must  hurt  a delicate  attachment;  in 
which  a mutual  constancy  is  implied,  with 
such  refined  sentiments  as  Massinger  has 
exhibited  in  his  play  of  “ The  Picture.” 
Johnson  probably  at  another  time  would 
have  admitted  this  opinion.  And  let  it  be 
kept  in  remembrance,  that  he  was  very 
careful  not  to  give  any  encouragement  to 
irregular  conduct.  A gentleman,  not  ad- 
verting to  the  distinction  made  by  him  upon 
this  subject,  supposed  a case  of  singular 
perverseness  in  a wife,  and  heedlessly  said, 
“ That  then  he  thought  a husband  might 
do  as  he  pleased  with  a safe  conscience.” 
Johnson.  ££  Nay,  sir,  this  is  wild  indeed 
(smiling);  you  must  consider  that  fornica- 
tion is  a crime  in  a single  man,  and  you 
cannot  have  more  liberty  by  being  married.” 
Ed  [On  all  occasions  he  was  inclined 
D'  to  attribute  to  the  marital  character 
. great  exemption  and  authority.] 
piozzi,  [When  any  disputes  arose  between 
pur  married  acquaintance,  how- 
ever, Dr.  Johnson  always  sided  with  the 
husband,  ££  whom,”  he  said,  tc  the  woman 
had  probably  provoked  so  often,  she  scarce 
knew  when  or  how  she  had  disobliged  him 
first.  Women,”  said  Dr.  Johnson,  ££  give 
great  offence  by  a contemptuous  spirit  of 
non-compliance  on  petty  occasions.  The 
Piozzi  man  ca^s  t0  walk  with  him 

p.  in’,  in  the  shade,  and  she  feels  a strange 
desire  just  at  that  moment  to  sit  in 


society  makes  a distinction  conformable  to  his 
own  interests — it  connives  at  the  offence  of  men, 
because  men  are  not  much  deteriorated  as  mem- 
bers of  general  society  by  the  offence,  and  it  is 
severe  againt  the  offence  of  women,  because 
women,  as  members  of  society,  are  utterly  de- 
graded by  it.  This  view  of  the  subject  will  be 
illustrated  by  a converse  proposition — for  instance: 
The  world  thinks  not  the  worse,  nay  rather  the 
better,  of  a woman  for  wanting  courage;  but 
such  a defect  in  a man  is  wholly  unpardonable, 
because,  as  Johnson  wisely  and  wittily  said,  “ he 
who  has  not  the  virtue  of  courage  has  no  security 
for  any  other  virtue.”  Society,  therefore,  re- 
quires chastity  from  women  as  it  does  courage 
from  men . The  Editor,  in  suggesting  this  mere- 
ly-wotldly  consideration,  hopes  not  to  be  mis- 
understood as  offering  any  defence  of  a breach, 
on  the  part  of  a man,  of  divine  and  human  laws; 
he  by  no  means  goes  so  far  as  Dr.  Johnson  does  in 
the  text,  but  he  has  thought  it  right  to  suggest  a 
difference  on  a most  important  subject,  which  had 
been  overlooked  by  that  great  moralist,  or  is,  at 
least,  not  stated  by  Mr.  Boswell. — Ed.] 


the  sun;  he  offeis  to  read  her  a r ay,  o* 
sing  her  a song,  and  she  calls  the  children 
in  to  disturb  them,  or  advises  him  to  seize 
that  opportunity  of  settling  the  family  ac- 
counts. Twenty  such  tricks  will  the  faith 
fulest  wife  in  the  world  not  refuse  to  play, 
and  then  look  astonished  when  the  fellow 
fetches  in  a mistress.  Boarding-schools 
were  established,”  continued  he,  “for  the 
conjugal  quiet  of  the  parents:  the  two 
partners  cannot  agree  which  child  to  fondle, 
nor  how  to  fondle  them,  so  they  put  the 
young  ones  to  school,  and  remove  the  cause 
of  contention.  The  little  girl  pokes  her 
head,  the  mother  reproves  her  sharply: 
‘ Do  not  mind  your  mamma,5  says  the  fa- 
ther, £ my  dear,  but  do  your  own  way.-’ 
The  mother  complains  to  me  of  this: 
c Madam,5  said  I,  £ your  husband  is  right 
all  the  while;  he  is  with  you  but  two  hours 
of  the  day  perhaps,  and  then  you  tease  him 
by  making  the  child  cry.  Are  not  ten 
hours  enough  for  tuition?  And  are  the 
hours  of  pleasure  so  frequent  in  life,  that 
when  a man  gets  a couple  of  quiet  ones  to 
spend  in  familiar  chat  with  his  wife,  they 
must  be  poisoned  by  petty  mortifications  r 
Put  Missey  to  school;  she  will  learn  to  hold 
her  head  like  her  neighbours,  and  you  will 
no  longer  torment  your  family  for  want  of 
other  talk.5  ”] 

[To  the  same  effect,  Hawkins  Hawk 
relates  that  he  used  to  say,  that  in  Apoph 
all  family  disputes  the  odds  were  p'  21°* 
in  favour  of  the  husband,  from  his  superior 
knowledge  of  life  and  manners:  he  was, 
nevertheless,  extremely  fond  of  the  compa- 
ny and  coversation  of  women,  and  had  cer- 
tainly very  correct  notions  as  to  the  basis 
on  which  matrimonial  connexions  should 
be  formed.  He  always  advised  his  friends, 
when  they  were  about  to  marry,  to  unite 
themselves  to  a woman  of  a pious  and  re- 
ligious frame  of  mind.  “ Fear  of  Hawk, 
the  world,  and  a sense  of  honour,”  Apoph. 
said  he,  ££  may  have  an  effect  upon  p'  202‘ 
a man’s  conduct  and  behaviour;  a woman 
without  religion  is  without  the  only  mo- 
tive that  in  general  can  incite  her  to  do 
well.” 

When  some  one  asked  him  for  what  he 
should  marry,  he  replied,  ££  First,  for  virtue; 
secondly,  for  wit;  thirdly,  for  beauty;  and 
fourthly,  for  money.”]  [He  occa- 
sionally said  very  contemptuous  p1^™’ 
things  of  the  sex;  but  was  exceed- 
ingly angry  when  Mrs.  Thrale  told  Miss 
Reynolds  that  he  said,  ££  It  was  well  man- 
aged of  some  one  to  leave  his  affairs  in  the 
hands  of  his  wife,  because,  in  matters  of 
business,55  said  he,  tc  no  woman  stops  at 
integrity.”  t£  This  was,  I think,”  added 
Mrs.  Thrale,  ££  the  only  sentence  5 ever 
observed  him  solicitous  to  explain  awa 
after  he  had  uttered  it.”] 


22C 


1779. — J5TAT.  70. 


He  this  evening1  expressed  himself  strong- 
ly against  the  Roman  Catholics,  observing, 
“ In  every  thing  in  which  they  differ  from 
ns,  they  are  wrong.”  He  was  even  against 
the  invocation  of  saints:  in  short,  he  was 
in  the  humour  of  opposition. 

Having  regretted  to  him  that  I had 
earnt  little  Greek,  as  is  too  generally  the 
case  in  Scotland;  that  I had  for  a long  time 
hardly  applied  at  all  to  the  study  of  that 
noble  language,  and  that  I was  desirous  of 
being  told  by  him  what  method  to  follow; 
he  recommended  as  easy  helps,  Sylvanus’s 
“First  Book  of  the  Iliad;”  Dawson’s 
“ Lexicon  to  the  Greek  New  Testament;  ” 
and  “ Hesiod,”  with  “ Pasoris  Lexicon  ” 
at  the  end  of  it. 


Letters, 
vol.  ii. 
p.  63. 


[c<TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“London,  11th  Oct.  1779. 

“ I do  not  see  why  you  should 
trouble  yourself  with  physicians 
while  Mr.  Thrale  grows  better. 
Company  and  bustle  will,  I hope,  complete 
his  cure.  Let  him  gallop  over  the  Downs 
in  the  morning,  call  his  friends  about  him 
to  dinner,  and  frisk  in  the  rooms  at  night, 
and  outrun  time  and  outface  misfortune. 

. “ Notwithstanding  all  authorities  against 
bleeding,  Mr.  Thrale  bled  himself  well  ten 
days  ago. 

“You  will  lead  a jolly  life,  and  perhaps 
think  little  of  me;  but  I have  been  invited 
twice  to  Mrs.  Vesey’s  conversation , but 
have  not  gone.  The  gout  that  was  in  my 
ankles,  when  Queeney  criticised  my  gait, 
passed  into  my  toe,  but  I have  hunted  it, 
and  starved  it,  and  it  makes  no  figure.  It 
has  drawn  some  attention,  for  Lord  and 
Lady  Lucan  sent  to  inquire  after  me. 
This  is  all  the  news  that  I have  to  tell  you. 
Yesterday  I dined  with  Mr.  Strahan,  and 
Boswell  was  there.  We  shall  be  both  to- 
morrow at  Mr.  Ramsay’s.] 


On  Tuesday,  October  12,  I dined  with 
him  at  Mr  Ramsay’s,  with  Lord  Newha- 
ven1,  and  some  other  company,  none  of 
whom  I recollect,  but  a beautiful  Miss 
Graham2,  a relation  [niece]  of  his  lord- 
ship’s, who  asked  Dr.  Johnson  to  hob  or 
nob  with  her.  He  was  flattered  by  such 
pleasing  attention,  and  politely  told  her,  he 
never  drank  wine;  but  if  she  would  drink  a 
glass  of  water,  he  was  much  at  her  service. 
She  accepted.  “Oho,  sir!”  said  Lord 
Newhaven,  “you  are  caught.”  Johnson. 

1 [William  Mayne,  Esq.  was  created  a baronet 
in  1763;  a privy-counsellor  in  Ireland  in  1766; 
and  in  1776  advanced  to  the  Irish  peerage  by  the 
title  of  Baron  Newhaven.  lie  took  an  active 
part  in  the  intrigues,  jobs,  and  squabbles,  which 
constituted  the  Irish  politics  of  his  day. — Ed.] 

2 Now  the  lady  of  Sir  Henry  Dashwood,  bart 
—Boswell.. 


“Nay,  I do  not  see  how  I am  caught;  but 
if  I am  caught,  I don’t  want  to  get  free 
again.  If  I am  caught,  I hope  to  be  kept.” 
Then  when  the  two  glasses  of  water  were 
brought,  smiling  placidly  to  the  young 
lady,  he  said,  “Madam,  let  us  reciprocate .” 

Lord  Newhaven  and  Johnson  carried  on 
an  argument  for  some  time  concerning  the 
Middlesex  election.  Johnson  said,  “ Parli- 
ament may  be  considered  as  bound  by  law,  as 
a man  is  bound  when  there  is  nobody  to  tie 
the  knot.  As  it  is  clear  that  the  house  of 
commons  may  expel,  and  expel  again  and 
again j why  not  allow  of  the  power  to  inca- 
pacitate for  that  parliament,  rather  than 
have  a perpetual  contest  kept  up  between 
parliament  and  the  people.”  Lord  New- 
haven took  the  opposite  side;  but  respect- 
fully said,  “ I speak  with  great  deference  to 
you,  Dr.  Johnson ; I speak  to  be  in- 
structed.” This  had  its  full  effect  on  my 
friend.  He  bowed  his  head  almost  as  low 
as  the  table  to  a complimenting  nobleman, 
and  called  out,  “ My  lord,  my  lord,  I do  not 
desire  all  this  ceremony;  let  us  tell  our 
minds  to  one  another  quietly.”  After  the 
debate  was  over,  he  said,  “ I have  got 
lights  on  the  subject  to-day,  which  I had 
not  before.”  This  was  a great  deal  from 
him,  especially  as  he  had  written  a pamphlet 
upon  it. 

He  observed,  “ The  house  of  commons 
was  originally  not  a privilege  of  the  people, 
but  a check,  for  the  crown,  on  the  house  of 
lords.  I remember,  Henry  the  Eighth 
wanted  them  to  do  something;  they  hesita- 
ted in  the  morning,  but  did  it  in  the  after- 
noon. He  told  them,  1 It  is  well  you  did; 
or  half  your  heads  should  have  been  upon 
Temple-bar.’  But  the  house  of  commons 
is  now  no  longer  under  the  power  of  the 
crown,  and  therefore  must  be  bribed.”  He 
added,  “ I have  no  delight  in  talking  of 
publick  affairs.” 

Of  his  fellow-collegian 3,  the  celebrated 
Mr.  George  Whitefield,  he  said,  “White- 
field  never  drew  as  much  attention  as  a 
mountebank  does:  he  did  not  draw  atten- 
tion by  doing  better  than  others,  but  by 
doing  what  was  strange.  Were  Astley  4 to 


3 [George  Whitfield,  or  Whitefield,  did  not 
enter  at  Pembroke  College  before  November, 
1732,  more  than  twelve  months  after  Johnson's 
name  was  off  the  books,  and  nearly  three  years 
after  he  had  ceased  to  be  resident  at  Oxford;  so 
that,  strictly  speaking,  they  were  not  fellow-col- 
legians, though  they  were  both  of  the  same 
college. — Hall.] 

4 [Philip  Astley,  a celebrated  horse-rider,  who 
first  exhibited  equestrian  pantomimes,  in  which  his 
son  (who  survived  his  father  but  a short  time) 
rode  with  great  grace  and  agility.  Astley  had  at 
once  theatres  in  Paris,  London,  and  Dublin,  and 
migrated  with  his  actors,  biped  and  quadruped, 
from  one  to  the  other. — Ed.] 


1779.— AETAT.  70. 


221 


preach  a sermon  standing  upon  his  head  on 
a horse’s  back,  he  would  collect  a multitude 
to  hear  him;  but  nowise  man  would  say 
he  had  made  a better  sermon  for  that.  I 
never  treated  Whitefield’s  ministry  with 
contempt;  I believe  he  did  good.  He  had 
devoted  himself  to  the  lower  classes  of  man- 
kind, and  among  them  he  was  of  use.  But 
when  familiarity  and  noise  claim  the  praise 
due  to  knowledge,  art,  and  elegance,  we 
must  beat  down  such  pretensions.” 

What  I have  preserved  of  his  conversa- 
tion during  the  remainder  of  my  stay  in 
London  at  this  time  is  only  what  follows : 

I told  him  that  when  I objected  to  keeping 
company  with  a notorious  infidel,  a cele- 
brated friend  of  ours  said  to  me,  “ I do  not 
think  that  men  who  live  laxly  in  the  world, 
as  you  and  I do,  can  with  propriety  assume 
such  an  authority:  Dr.  Johnson  may,  who 
is  uniformly  exemplary  in  his  conduct.  But 
it  is  not  very  consistent  to  shun  an  infidel 
to-day,  and  get  drunk  to-morrow.”  John- 
son. “ Nay,  sir,  this  is  sad  reasoning. 
Because  a man  cannot  be  right  in  all  things, 
is  he  to  be  right  in  nothing  ? Because  a 
man  sometimes  gets  drunk,  is  he  therefore 
to  steal  ? This  doctrine  would  very  soon 
bring  a man  to  the  gallows.” 

After  all,  however,  it  is  a difficult  ques- 
tion how  far  sincere  Christians  should  asso- 
ciate with  the  avowed  enemies  of  religion; 
for  in  the  first  place,  almost  every  man’s 
mind  may  be  more  or  less  “ corrupted  by 
evil  communications;  ” secondly,  the  world 
may  very  naturally  suppose  that  they  are 
not  really  in  earnest  in  religion,  who  can 
easily  bear  its  opponents ; and  thirdly,  if 
the  profane  find  themselves  quite  well  re- 
ceived by  the  pious,  one  of  the  checks  upon 
an  open  declaration  of  their  infidelity,  and 
one  of  the  probable  chances  of  obliging 
them  seriously  to  reflect,  which  their  being 
shunned  would  do,  is  removed. 

He,  I know  not  why,  showed  upon  all 
occasions  an  aversion  to  go  to  Ireland, 
where  I proposed  to  him  that  we  should 
make  a tour.  Johnson.  “ It  is  the  last 
place  that  I should  wish  to  travel.”  Bos- 
well. “ Should  you  not  like  to  see  Dub- 
lin, sir  ? ” Johnson.  “No,  sir;  Dublin 
is  only  a worse  capital.”  Boswell.  “ Is 
not  the  Giant’s-causevvay  worth  seeing  ? ” 
Johnson.  “ Worth  seeing  ? yes  ; but  not 
worth  going  to  see.” 

Yet  he  had  a kindness  for  the  Irish  na- 
tion; and  thus  generously  expressed  him- 
self to  a gentleman  from  that  country,  on 
the  subject  of  an  Union  which  artful  politi- 
cians have  often  had  in  view : u Do  not 
make  an  union  with  us,  sir.  We  should 
unite  with  you  only  to  rob  you.  We  should 
have  robbed  the  Scotch,  if  they  had  had 
any  thing  of  which  we  could  have  robbed 
them  ” 


Of  an  acquaintance  of  ours,  whose  man* 
ners  and  every  thing  about  him,  though  ex 
pensive,  were  coarse,  he  said,  “ Sir,  you 
see  in  him  vulgar  prosperity.” 

A foreign  minister  of  no  very  high  talents, 
who  had  been  in  his  company  for  a consid- 
erable time  quite  overlooked,  happened  luck- 
ily to  mention  that  he  had  read  some  of  his 
“ Rambler  ” in  Italian,  and  admired  it  much. 
This  pleased  him  greatly;  he  observed  that 
the  title  had  been  translated  II  Genio 
errante , though  I have  been  told  it  was 
rendered  more  ludicrously  II  Vagabondo ; 
and  finding  that  this  minister  gave  such  a 
proof  of  his  taste,  he  was  all  attention  to 
him,  and  on  the  first  remark  which  he  made, 
however  simple,  exclaimed,  “ The  ambassa- 
dour  says  well;  His  excellency  observes — ; ” 
and  then  he  expanded  and  enriched  the 
little  that  had  been  said  in  so  strong  a 
manner,  that  it  appeared  something  of  con- 
sequence. This  was  exceedingly  entertain- 
ing to  the  company  who  were  present,  and 
many  a time  afterwards  it  furnished  a pleas- 
ant topick  of  merriment.  “ The  ambassa - 
dour  says  well  ” became  a laughable  term 
of  applause  when  no  mighty  matter  had 
been  expressed. 

[“  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ 16th  October,  1779. 

“ My  foot  gives  me  very  little  Letters, 
trouble;  but  it  is  not  yet  well.  I voi.  ii. 

have  dined,  since  you  saw  me,  not  p'  65' 

so  often  as  once  in  two  days.  But  I am 
told,  how  well  I look;  and  I really  think  I 
get  more  mobility.  I dined  on  Tuesday 
with  Ramsay,  and  on  Thursday  with  Paoli, 
who  talked  of  coming  to  see  you,  till  I told 
him  of  your  migration. 

“ Mrs.  Williams  is  not  yet  returned;  but 
discord  and  discontent  reign  in  my  humble 
habitation  as  in  the  palaces  of  monarchs. 
Mr.  Levet  and  Mrs.  Desmoulins  have  vow 
ed  eternal  hate.  Levet  is  the  more  insidi 
ous,  and  wants  me  to  turn  her  out.  Poor 
Williams  writes  word  that  she  is  no  better, 
and  has  left  off  her  physick.  Mr.  Levet 
has  seen  Dr.  Lewis,  who  declares  himself 
hopeless  of  doing  her  any  good.  Lawrence 
desponded  some  time  ago. 

“ I thought  I had  a little  fever  some  time, 
but  it  seems  to  be  starved  away.  Bozzv 
says,  he  never  saw  me  so  well.”] 

[“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“ 19ih  October,  1779. 

fC  Dearest  madam, — You  are  ex- 
tremely kind  in  taking  so  much 
trouble.  My  foot  is  almost  well; 
and  one  of  my  first  visits  will  certainly  be 
to  D over-street  K 

“ You  will  do  me  a great  favour  if  you 


i 


[Where  Mias  Reynolds  lived. — Ed.] 


1.779.— iETAT.  70. 


will  buy  for  me  the  prints  of  Mr.  Burke, 
Mr.  Dyer,  and  Dr.  Goldsmith,  as  you  know 
good  impressions. 

If  any  of  your  own  pictures  are  engrav- 
ed, buy  them  for  me.  I am  fitting  up  a 
little  room  with  prints  1 am,  dear  madam, 
vour  most  humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.55] 

I left  London  on  Monday,  October  18, 
and  accompanied  Colonel  Stuart  to  Chester, 
where  his  regiment  was  to  lie  for  some  time. 

“MR.  BOSWELL  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“ Chester,  22d  October,  1779. 

“ My  dear  sir, — It  was  not  till  one 
o’clock  on  Monday  morning  that  Colonel 
Stuart  and  I left  London;  for  we  chose  to 
bid  a cordial  adieu  to  Lord  Mountstuart,who 
was  to  set  out  on  that  day  on  his  embas- 
sy to  Turin.  We  drove  on  excellently,  and 
reached  Lichfield  in  good  time  enough  that 
night.  The  colonel  had  heard  so  prefera- 
ble a character  of  the  George,  that  he  would 
not  put  up  at  the  Three  Crowns,  so  that  I 
did  not  see  our  host,  Whkins.  We  found 
at  the  George  as  good  accommodation  as 
we  could  wish  to  have,  and  I fully  enjoyed 
the  comfortable  thought  that  I was  in 
Lichfield  again.  Next  morning  it  rained 
very  hard;  and  as  I had  much  to  do  in  a 
little  time,  I ordered  a post-chaise,  and  be- 
tween eight  and  nine  sallied  forth  to  make 
a round  of  visits.  I first  went  to  Mr.  Green, 
hoping  to  have  had  him  to  accompany  me 
to  all  my  other  friends;  but  he  was  engaged 
to  attend  the  Bishop  of  Sodor  and  Man, 
who  was  then  lying  at  Lichfield  very  ill  of 
the  gout.  Having  taken  a hasty  glance  at 
the  additions  to  Green’s  museum 1,  from 
which  it  was  not  easy  to  break  away,  I 
next  went  to  the  Friary,  where  I at  first 
occasioned  some  tumult  in  the  ladies,  who 
were  not  prepared  to  receive  company  so 
early;  but  my  name , which  has  by  wonder- 
ful felicity  come  to  be  closely  associated 
with  yours,  soon  made  all  easy;  and  Mrs. 
Cobb2  and  Miss  Adey  re-assumed  their 
seats  at  the  breakfast-table,  which  they 
had  quitted  with  some  precipitation.  They 
received  me  with  the  kindness  of  an  old  ac- 
quaintance; and,  after  we  had  joined  in  a 
cordial  chorus  to  your  praise,  Mrs.  Cobb 
gave  me  the  high  satisfaction  of  hearing 
that  you  said,  c Boswell  is  a man  who  I be- 
lieve never  left  a house  without  leaving  a 

1 [See  ante,  p.  44. — Ed.] 

2 [Mrs.  Cobb  was  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Ham- 
mond, an  apothecary  {ante,  v.  i.  p.  13),  and  the 

widow  of  a mercer,  who  had  retired  from  business, 
and  resided  at  the  Friary.  Miss  Adey  was  her 
niece,  daughter  of  the  town-clerk  of  Lichfield: 
she  married  William  Sneyd,  Esq.  of  Belmort- 

nouse,  near  Cheadle,  and  died  1829,  set.  87. — 

Harwood.] 


wish  for  his  return.5  And  she  afterwa.ds 
added,  that  she  bid  you  tell  me,  that  if  ever 
I came  to  Lichfield,  she  hoped  I would  take 
a bed  at  the  Friary.  From  thence  I drove 
to  Peter  Garrick’s3 *,  where  I also  found  a 
very  flattering  welcome.  He  appeared  to 
me  to  enjoy  his  usual  cheerfulness;  and  he 
very  kindly  asked  me  to  come  when  I could, 
and  pass  a week  with  him.  From  Mr. 
Garrick’s  I went  to  the  Palace  to  wait  on  Mr. 
Seward.  I was  first  entertained  by  his 
lady  and  daughter,  he  himself’being  in  bed 
with  a cold,  according  to  his  valetudinary 
custom.  But  he  desired  to  see  me:  and  I 
found  him  dressed  in  his  black  gown,  with 
a white  flannel  night-gown  above  it;  so 
that  he  looked  like  a Dominican  friar.  He 
was  good-humoured  and  polite;  and  under 
his  roof  too  my  reception  was  very  pleasing. 
I then  proceeded  to  Stowhill,  and  first  paid 
my  respects  to  Mrs.  Gastrell,  whose  con- 
versation I was  not  willing  to  quit.  But 
my  sand-glass  was  now  beginning  to  run 
low,  as  I could  not  trespass  too  long  on  the 
colonel’s  kindness,  who  obligingly  waited 
for  me ; so  I hastened  to  Mrs.  Aston’s, 
whom  I found  much  better  than  I feared  I 
should;  and  there  I met  a brother-in-law  of 
these  ladies,  who  talked  much  of  you,  and 
very  well  too,  as  it  appeared  to  me.  It 
then  only  remained  to  visit  Mrs.  Lucy  Por- 
ter, which  I did,  I really  believe,  with  sin- 
cere satisfaction  on  both  sides.  I am  sure 
I was  glad  to  see  her  again;  and  as  I take 
her  to  be  very  honest,  I trust  she  was  glad 
to  see  me  again,  for  she  expressed  herself  so 
that  I could  not  doubt  of  her  being  in  ear- 
nest. What  a great  keystone  of  kindness, 
my  dear  sir,  were  you  that  morning;  for  we 
were  all  held  together  by  our  common  at- 
tachment to  you  ! I cannot  say  that  I ever 
passed  two  hours  with  more  self-compla- 
cency than  I did  those  two  at  Lichfield, 
Let  me  not  entertain  any  suspicion  that 
this  is  idle  vanity.  Will  not  you  confirm 
me  in  my  persuasion,  that  he  who  finds  him- 
self so  regarded  has  just  reason  to  be  hap- 

py-? 

“"We  got  to  Chester  about  midnight  on 
Tuesday;  and  here  again  I am  in  a state  of 
much  enjoyment.  Colonel  Stuart  and  his 
officers  treat  me  with  all  the  civility  I couiu 
wish;  and  I play  my  part  admirably.  Lce- 
lus  aliis,  sapiens  sibi,  the  classical  sentence 
which  you,  I imagine,  invented  the  other 
day,  is  exemplified  in  my  present  existence. 
The  bishop,  to  whom  1 had  the  honour  to 
be  known  several  years  ago,  shows  me  much 
attention;  and  I am  edified  by  his  conver- 
sation. I must  not  omit  to  tell  you,  that 
his  lordship  admires,  very  highly,  your 
prefaces  to  the  Poets.  I am  daily  obtain- 
ing an  extension  of  agreeable  acquaintance, 


3 [Seevol.  i.  p.479.  n.  and  ante  p 43  - Ed  * 


1779. — AST  AT.  70 - 


223 


bo  that  I am  kept  m animated  variety;  and 
the  study  of  the  place  itself,  by  the  assist- 
ance of  books  and  of  the  bishop,  is  sufficient 
occupation.  'Chester  pleases  my  fancy  more 
than  any  town  I ever  saw.  But  I will  not 
enter  upon  it  at  all  in  this  letter. 

“ How  long-  I shall  stay  here  I cannot  yet 
say.  I told  a very  pieasing  young  lady  *, 
niece  to  one  of  the  prebendaries,  at  whose 
house  I saw  her,  ‘ I have  come  to  Chester, 
madam,  I cannot  tell  how;  and  far  less  can 
I tell  how  I am  to  get  away  from  it.’  Do 
not  think  me  too  juvenile.  I beg  it  of  you, 
my  dear  sir,  to  favour  me  with  a letter 
while  I am  here,  and  add  to  the  happiness 
of  a happy  friend,  who  is  ever,  with  affec- 
tionate veneration,  most  sincerely  yours, 
“ James  Boswell. 

“If  you  do  not  write  directly,  so  as  to 
catch  me  here,  I shall  be  disappointed. 
Two  lines  from  you  will  keep  my  lamp 
burning  bright.” 

[“  TO  MRS.  ASTON. 

“Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  25th  Oct.  1779. 

“ Dearest  madam, — Mrs.  Gas- 
Mssb*  tre^  80  kind  as  t0  write  to  me,  and 
yet  I always  write  to  you  ; but  I 
consider  what  is  written  to  either  as  writ- 
ten to  both. 

“ Publick  affairs  do  not  seem  to  promise 
much  amendment,  and  the  nation  is  now 
full  of  distress.  What  will  be  the  event  of 
things  none  can  tell.  We  may  still  hope 
for  better  times. 

“ My  health,  which  I began  to  recover 
when  I was  in  the  country,  continues  still  in 
a good  state  : it  costs  me,  indeed,  some 
physick,  and  something  of  abstinence,  but 
it  pays  the  cost.  I wish,  dear  madam,  I 
could  hear  a little  of  your  improvements. 

“ Here  is  no  news.  The  talk  of  the  in- 
vasion seems  to  be  over.  But  a very  tur- 
bulent session  of  parliament  is  expected  ; 
though  turbulence  is  not  likely  to  do  any 
good.  Those  are  happiest  who  are  out  of 
the  noise  and  tumult.  There  will  be  no 
great  violence  of  faction  at  Stownill ; and 
that  it  may  be  free  from  that  and  all  other 
inconvenience  and  disturbance  is  the  sin- 
cere wish  of  all  your  friends.  I am,  dear 
madam,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“ London,  27th  Oct.  1779. 

((  Dear  sir, — Why  should  you  impor- 
tune me  so  earnestly  to  write?  Of  what 
importance  can  it  be  to  hear  of  distant 
friends,  to  a man  who  finds  himself  welcome 
wherever  he  goes,  and  makes  new  friends 
faster  than  he  can  want  them?  If  to  the 
delight  of  such  universal  kindness  of  recep- 


tion any  thing  can  be  added  by  knowing 
that  you  retain  my  good-will,  you  may  in 
dulge  yourself  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  that 
small  addition. 

“Iam  glad  that  you  made  the  round  of 
Lichfield  with  so  much  success.  The  oft- 
ener  you  are  seen,  the  more  you  will  be 
liked.  It  was  pleasing  to  me  to  read  that 
Mrs.  Aston  was  so  well,  and  that  Lucy 
Porter  was  so  glad  to  see  you. 

“ In  the  plaoe  where  you  now  are,  there 
is  much  to  be  observed ; and  you  will  easily 
procure  yourself  skilful  directors.  But  what 
will  you  do  to  keep  away  the  black  dog% 
that  worries  you  at  home?  If  you  would, 
in  compliance  with  your  father’s  advice, 
inquire  into  the  old  tenures  and  old  charters 
of  Scotland,  you  would  certainly  open  to 
yourself  many  striking  scenes  of  the  man- 
ners of  the  middle  ages.  The  feudal  sys- 
tem, in  a country  half-barbarous,  is  natu- 
rally productive  of  great  anomalies  in  civil 
life.  The  knowledge  of  past  times  is  natu- 
rally growing  less  in  all  cases  not  of  pub 
lick  record;  and  the  past  time  of  Scotland 
is  so  unlike  the  present,  that  it  is  already 
difficult  for  a Scotchman  to  image  the 
economy  of  his  grandfather.  Do  not  be 
tardy  nor  negligent;  but  gather  up  eagerly 
what  can  yet  be  found  3. 

“We  have,  I think,  once  talked  of 
another  project,  a history  of  the  late  insur- 
rection in  Scotland,  with  all  its  incidents. 
Many  falsehoods  are  passing  into  uncon 
tradicted  history.  Voltaire,  who  loved  a 
striking  story,  has  told  what  he  could  not 
find  to  be  true. 

“ You  may  make  collections  for  either  of 
these  projects,  or  for  both,  as  opportunities 
occur,  and  digest  your  materials  at  leisure. 
The  great  direction  which  Burton  has  left 
to  men  disordered  like  you  is  this,  Be  not 
solitary , be  not  idle ; which  I would  thus 
modify: — If  you  are  idle,  be  not  solitary  ; 
if  you  are  solitary,  be  not  idle. 

“ There  is  a letter  for  you,  from  your 
humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.55 

[“  TO  MRS.  ASTON. 

“ Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  5th  Nov.  1779. 

“ Dearest  madam, — Having  had 
the  pleasure  of  hearing  from  Mr.  £,e™b* 
Boswell  that  he  found  you  better 

2 [This  was  a phrase  in  the  familiar  society  at 
Streatham  to  express  hypochondriacal  anxieties  of 
mind.  It  is  frequently  used  in  the  correspondence 
between  Johnson  and  Mrs.  Thrale,  and  is  equiva- 
lent to  the  “ dragons  ” of  Madame  de  Sevigne 
—Ed.] 

I have  a valuable  collection  made  by  my 
father,  which,  with  some  additions  and  illustra- 
tions of  my  own,  I intend  to  publish.  I have 
some  hereditary  claim  to  be  an  antiquary ; not  on- 
ly from  my  father,  but  as  being  descended,  by 


1 Mis9  J-etitia  Barnston. — Boswell. 


22  4 


1775. — JETAT.  70 


than  he  expected,  1 will  not  forbear  to  tell 
you  how  much  I was  delighted  with  the 
news.  May  your  health  increase  and  in 
crease  till  you  are  as  well  as  you  can  wish 
yourself,  or  I can  wisn  you ! 

“ My  friends  tell  me  that  my  health  im- 
proves too.  It  is  certain  that  I use  both 
physick  and  abstinence ; and  my  endeav- 
ours have  been  blessed  with  more  success 
than  at  my  age  I could  reasonably  hope. 
I please  myself  with  the  thoughts  of  visiting 
you  next  year  in  so  robust  a state,  that  I 
shall  not  be  afraid  of  the  hill  between  Mrs. 
Gastrell’s  house  and  yours,  nor  think  it  ne- 
cessary to  rest  myself  between  Stowhill 
and  Lucy  Porter’s. 

“ Of  publick  affairs  I can  give  you  no 
very  comfortable  account.  The  invasion 
has  vanished  for  the  present,  as  I expected. 
I never  believed  that  any  invasion  was  in- 
tended. 

“But  whatever  we  have  escaped,  we 
have  done  nothing,  nor  are  likely  to  do 
better  another  year.  We,  however,  who 
have  no  part  of  the  nation’s  welfare  intrust- 
ed to  our  management,  have  nothing  to 
do  but  to  serve  God,  and  leave  the  world 
submissively  in  his  hands. 

“ All  trade  is  dead,  and  pleasure  is  scarce 
alive.  Nothing  almost  is  purchased  but 
such  things  as  the  buyer  cannot  do  without, 
so  that  a general  sluggishness  and  general 
discontent  are  spread  over  the  town.  All 
the  trades  of  luxury  and  elegance  are  near- 
ly at  a stand.  What  the  parliament,  when 
it  meets,  wif  do,  and  indeed  what  it  ought 
to  do,  is  very  difficult  to  say. 

“ Pray  set  Mrs.  Gastrell,  who  is  a dear 
good  lady,  to  write  to  me  from  time  to 
time  ; for  I have  great  delight  in  hearing 
from  you,  especially  when  I hear  any  good 
news  of  your  health.  I am,  dear  madam, 
your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.”J 

<c  TO  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“ Carlisle,  7th  Nov.  1779. 

“ My  dear  sir, — That  I should  impor- 
tune you  to  write  to  me  at  Chester  is  not 
wonderful,  when  you  consider  what  an 
avidity  I have  for  delight ; and  that  the 
amor  of  pleasure,  like  the  amor  nummi,  in- 
creases in  proportion  with  the  quantity 
which  we  possess  of  it.  Your  letter,  so  full 
of  polite  kindness  and  masterly  counsel, 
came  like  a large  treasure  upon  me,  while 
already  glittering  with  riches.  I was  quite 
enchanted  at  Chester,  so  that  I could  with 
difficulty  quit  it.  But  the  enchantment 
was  the  reverse  of  that  of  Circ6  ; for  so  far 


the  mother’s  side,  from  the  able  and  learned  Sir 
John  Skene,  whose  merit  bids  defiance  to  all  the 
attempts  which  have  been  made  to  lessen  his 
fame. — Bos'vjcll. 


was  there  from  being  any  thing  sensual  in 
it,  that  I was  all  mind  1 do  not  mean  al 
reason  only;  for  my  fancy  was  kept  fineh 
m play.  Anid  why  not?  If.  you  please,  j 
will  send  you  a copy  or  an  abridgement  of 
my  Chester  journal,  which  is  truly  a log 
book  of  felicity. 

“The  bishop1  treated  me  with  a kind- 
ness which  was  veiy  flattering.  I told  him 
that  you  regretted  you  bad  seen  so  little  of 
Chester.  His  lordship  bade  me  tell  you, 
that  he  should  be  glad  to  show  you  more 
of  it.  I am  proud  to  find  the  friendship 
with  which  you  honour  me  is  known  in  so 
many  places. 

“ I arrived  here  late  last  night.  Our 
friend  the  dean  2 has  been  gone  from  hence 
some  months  ; but  I am  told  at  my  inn, 
that  he  is  very  populous  (popular).  How- 
ever, I found  Mr.  Law,  the  archdeacon, 
son  to  the  bishop 3 4,  and  with  him  I have 
breakfasted  and  dined  very  agreeably.  I 
got  acquainted  with  him  at  the  assizes  here, 
about  a year  and  a half  ago.  He  is  a man 
of  great  variety  of  knowledge,  uncommon 
genius,  and,  I believe,  sincere  religion.  I 
received  the  holy  sacrament  in  the  cathe- 
dral in  the  morning,  this  being  the  first 
Sunday  in  the  month;  and  was  at  prayers 
there  in  the  morning.  It  is  divinely  cheer- 
ing to  me  to  think  that  there  is  a cathedral 
so  near  Auchinleck ; and  I now  leave  Ola 
England  in  such  a state  of  mind  as  I am 
thankful  to  God  for  granting  me. 

“The  black  dog 4 that  worries  me  at 
home  I cannot  but  dread;  yet  as  I have 
been  for  some  time  past  in  a military  train, 
I trust  I shall  repulse  him.  To  hear  from 
you  will  animate  me' like  the  sound  of  a 
trumpet;  I therefore  hope,  that  soon  after 
my  return  to  the  northern  field,  I shall  re- 
ceive a few  lines  from  you. 

“ Colonel  Stuart  did  me  the  honour  to 
escort  me  in  his  carriage  to  show  me  Liver- 
pool, and  from  thence  back  again  to  War- 
rington, where  we  parted5.  In  justice  to 
my  valuable  wife,  I must  inform  you  she 
wrote  to  me,  that  as  I was  so  happy,  she 
would  not  be  so  selfish  as  to  wish  me  to  re- 
turn sooner  than  business  absolutely  re- 
quired my  presence.  She  made  my  clerk 
write  to  me  a post  or  two  after  to  the  same 

1 [Doctor  Porteus,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Lon- 
don, in  which  see  he  died. — Ed.] 

2 [Dr.  Percy. — Ed.] 

3 [Dr.  Edmond  Law,  master  of  St.  Peter’s  Col- 
lege, Cambridge,  Bishop  of  Carlisle,  in  which  sec 
he  died  in  1787. — Ed.] 

4 [See  ante,  p.  223. — Ed.] 

0 His  regiment  was  afterwards  ordered  to  Ja 
maica,  where  he  accompanied  it,  and  almost  lost 
his  life  by  the  climate.  This  impartial  order  I 
should  think  a sufficient  refutation  of  the  idle  ru- 
mour that  “ there  was  still  something  behind  the 
throne  greater  than  the  throne  itself.  ’ ’ — Boswjcm. 


1779.— iETAT.  70. 


225 


purpose,  by  commission  from  her;  and  this 
day  a kind  letter  from  her  met  me  at  the 
post-office  here,  acquainting  me  that  she 
and  the  little  ones  were  well,  and  express- 
ing all  their  wishes  for  my  return  home. 
I am,  more  and  more,  my  dear  sir,  your  af- 
fectionate and  obliged  humble  servant, 

“James  Boswell.” 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“ London,  13th  Nov.  1779. 

“Dear  sir, — Your  last  letter  was  not 
only  kind  but  fond.  But  I wish  you  to  get 
rid  of  all  intellectual  excesses,  and  neither 
to  exalt  your  pleasures,  nor  aggravate  your 
vexations,  beyond  their  real  and  natural 
state.  Why  should  you  not  be  as  happy 
at  Edinburgh  as  at  Chester?  In  culpa  est 
animus,  qui  se  non  effugil  usquam.  Please 
yourself  with  your  wife  and  children,  and 
studies,  and  practice.  * 

“ I have  sent  a petition  1 from  Lucy  Por- 
ter, with  which  I leave  it  to  your  discretion 
whether  it  is  proper  to  comply.  Return 
me  her  letter,  which  I have  sent,  that  you 
may  know  the  whole  case,  and  not  be  se- 
duced to  any  thing  that  you  may  afterwards 
repent.  Miss  Doxy  perhaps  you  know  to 
be  Mr.  Garrick’s  niece. 

“ If  Dean  Percy  can  be  popular  at  Car- 
lisle, he  may  be  very  happy.  He  has  in  his 
disposal  two  livings,  each  equal  or  almost 
equal  in  value  to  the  deanery;  he  may  take 
one  himself,  and  give  the  other  to  his  son. 

“ How  near  is  the  cathedral  to  Auchin- 
leck,  that  you  are  so  much  delighted  with 
it  r It  is,  I suppose,  at  least  an  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  off.  However,  if  you  are  pleas- 
ed, it  is  so  far  well. 

“ Let  me  know  what  reception  you  have 
from  your  father,  and  the  state  of  his  health. 
Please  him  as  much  as  you  can,  and  add  no 
pain  to  his  last  years. 

“ Of  our  friends  here  lean  recollect  no- 
thing to  tell  you.  I have  neither  seen  nor 
heard  of  Langton.  Beauclerk  is  just  re- 
turned from  Brighthelmstone,  I am  told, 
much  better.  Mr.  Thrale  and  his  family 
are  still  there;  and  his  health  is  said  to  be 
visibly  improved.  He  has  not  bathed,  but 
hunted. 

“ At  Bolt-court  there  is  much  malignity, 
but  of  late  little  open  hostility  2.  I have  had 
a cold,  but  it  is  gone. 

“ Make  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Boswell, 
&c.  I am,  sir,  your  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

On  November  22,  and  December  21,  I 
wrote  to  him  from  Edinburgh,  giving  a 


1 Requesting  me  to  inquire  concerning  the  fam- 

ly  of  a gentleman  who  was  then  paying  his  ad- 
dif'ases  to  Miss  Doxy. — Boswell. 

3 See  ante,  page  199. — Boswell. 

vol.  ii.  29 


very  favourable  report  of  the  family  of  Misi 
Doxy’s  lover; — that  after  a good  deal  of  in- 
quiry I had  discovered  the  sister  of  Mr. 
Francis  Stewart,  one  of  his  amanuenses 
when  writing  his  Dictionary; — that  I had, 
as  desired  by  him,  paid  her  a guinea  lor  an 
old  pocket  book  of  her  brother’s,  which  he 
had  retained;  and  that  the  good  woman, 
who  was  in  very  moderate  circumstances, 
but  contented  and  placid,  wondered  at  his 
scrupulous  and  liberal  honesty,  and  received 
the  guinea  as  if  sent  her  by  Providence; — 
that  I had  repeatedly  begged  of  him  to  keep 
his  promise  to  send  me  his  letter  to  Lord 
Chesterfield;  and  that  this  memento , like 
Delenda  est  Carthago , must  be  in  every 
letter  that  I should  write  to  him,  till  I had 
obtained  my  object. 

[“TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“London,  25th  Oct.  1779. 

“ On  Saturday  I walked  to  Do-  Letters, 
ver-street  and  back.  Yesterday  I voi.  ii. 
dined  with  Sir  Joshua.  There  p‘ 70, 
was  Mr.  Elliot3  of  Cornwall,  who  inquired 
after  my  master.  At  night  I was  bespoken 
by  Lady  Lucan;  but  she  was  taken  ill,  and 
the  assembly  was  put  off’.  I am  to  dine 
with  Renny  to-morrow. 

“ Some  old  gentlewomen  at  the  next  door 
are  in  very  great  distress.  Their  little  an- 
nuity comes  from  Jamaica,  and  is  therefore 
uncertain;  and  one  of  them  has  had  a fall, 
and  both  are  very  helpless;  and  the  poor 
have  you  to  help  them.  Persuade  my  mas« 
ter  to  let  me  give  them  something  for  him. 
It  will  be  bestowed  upon  real  want.”] 

In  1780,  the  world  was  kept  in  impatience 
for  the  completion  of  his  “ Lives  of  the  Po- 
ets,” upon  which  he  was  employed  so  far 
as  his  indolence  allowed  him  to  labour. 

I wrote  to  him  on  January  1 and  March 
13,  sending  him  my  notes  of  Lord  March- 
mont’s  information  concerning  Pope; — 
complaining  that  I had  not  heard  from  him 
for  almost  four  months,  though  he  was  two 
letters  in  my  debt;  that  I had  suffered  again 
from  melancholy; — hoping  that  he  had  been 
in  so  much  better  company  (the  Poets), 
that  he  had  not  time  to  think  of  his  distant 
friends;  for  if  that  were  the  case,  I should 
have  some  recompense  for  my  uneasiness, 
— that  the  slate  of  my  affairs  did  not  admit 
of  my  coming  to  London  this  year;  and 
begging  he  would  return  me  Goldsmith’s 
two  poems,  with  his  lines  marked. 

His  friend  Dr  Lawrence  having  now  suf- 
fered the  greatest  affliction  to  which  a man 
is  liable,  and  which  Johnson  himself  had 
felt  in  the  most  severe  manner,  Johnson 


* [First  Lord  Elliot.  See  post,  sub  30th  March 
1781.— Ed.] 


226 


1780.— AST  AT.  71. 


wrote  to  him  m an  admirable  strain  of  sym- 
pathy and  pious  consolation. 

“ TO  DR.  LAWRENCE. 

“ 20th  January,  1780. 

‘‘  Dear  sir, — At  a time  when  all  your 
friends  ought  to  show  their  kindness,  and 
with  a character  which  ought  to  make  all 
that  know  you  your  friends,  you  may  won- 
der that  you  have  yet  heard  nothing  from 
me. 

“ I have  been  hindered  by  a vexatious 
and  incessant  cough,  for  which  within  these 
ten  days  I have  been  bled  once,  fasted  four 
or  five  times,  taken  physick  five  times,  and 
opiates,  I think,  six.  This  day  it  seems  to 
remit. 

“ The  loss,  dear  sir,  which  you  have  late- 
ly suffered,  I felt  many  years  ago,  and  know 
therefore  how  much  has  been  taken  from 
you,  and  how  little  help  can  be  had  from 
consolation.  He  that  outlives  a wife  whom 
he  has  long  loved,  sees  himself  disjoined 
from  the  only  mind  that  has  the  same  hopes, 
and  fears,  and  interest;  from  the  only  com- 
panion with  whom  he  has  shared  much 
good  or  evil;  and  with  whom  he  could  set 
his  mind  at  liberty,  to  retrace  the  past  or 
anticipate  the  future.  The  continuity  of 
being  is  lacerated;  the  settled  course  of 
sentiment  and  action  is  stopped;  and  life 
stands  suspended  and  motionless,  till  it  is 
driven  by  external  causes  into  a new  chan- 
nel. But  the  time  of  suspense  is  dreadful. 

“ Our  first  recourse  in  this  distressed  so- 
litude is,  perhaps  for  want  of  habitual  piety, 
to  a gloomy  acquiescence  in  necessity.  Of 
two  mortal  beings,  one  must  lose  the  other. 
But  surely  there  is  a higher  and  better  com- 
fort to  be  drawn  from  the  consideration  of 
that  Providence  which  watches  over  all, 
and  a belief  that  the  living  and  the  dead  are 
equally  in  the  hands  of  God,  who  will  re- 
unite those  whom  he  has  separated,  or  who 
sees  that  it  is  best  not  to  reunite.  I am, 
dear  sir,  your  most  affectionate  and  most 
humble  servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

Ed  [In  the  spring  of  this  year  Dr. 

Johnson’s  society  lost  one  of  its 
brightest  ornaments  by  the  death  of  Mr. 
Beauclerk 1.  The  charms  of  conversation 
— like  those  of  acting — are  transient;  and 
of  the  social  talents  of  Beauclerk,  as  of  the 
dramatic  powers  of  Garrick,  little  can  re- 
main, but  the  general  testimony  of  cotem- 
poraries to  their  excellence.  Mr.  Hardy 
has  preserved  Lord  Charlemont’s  opinion 
Life  of  ^r*  Beauclel'kj  with  whom  he 

charie-  was  much  connected.  “ His 

moot,  conversation,”  said  his  lordship, 

p? 344,  S47.  “ could  scarcely  be  equalled.  He 
possessed  an  exquisite  taste,  vari- 

1  [He  died  11th  March  n his  forty -first  year. 
—Ed.] 


ous  accomplishments,  and  the  most  perfect 
good  breeding.  He  was  eccentric — often 
querulous — entertaining  a contempt  for  the 
generality  of  the  world,  which  the  polite- 
ness of  his  manners  could  not  always  con 
ceal;  but  to  those  whom  he  liked  most  ge- 
nerous and  friendly.  Devoted  at  one  mo- 
ment to  pleasure,  and  at  another  to  litera- 
ture, sometimes  absorbed  in  play,  and  some- 
times in  books,  he  was,  altogether,  one  of 
the  most  accomplished  and,  when  in  good 
humour,  and  surrounded  by  those  who  suit- 
ed his  fancy,  one  of  the  most  agreeable 
men  that  could  possibly  exist.”  Mr.  Har- 
dy has  preserved  a few  of  Mr.  Beauclerk’a 
letters  to  Lord  Charlemont,  which  are  pro- 
bably characteristic  of  his  style,  and  one  or 
two  which  touch  on  Johnson  and  his  society 
the  reader  will  perhaps  not  think  misplaced 
here. 

“MR.  BEAWLERK  TO  THE  EARL  OF 
CHARLEMONT. 

“Adelphi,  20th  Nov.  1773.' 

“ My  dear  lord, — I delayed  writing  to 
you,  as  I had  flattered  myself  that  I should 
have  been  able  to  have  paid  you  a visit  at 
Dublin  before  this  time;  but  I have  been 
prevented,  not  by  my  own  negligence  and 
indolence,  but  by  various  matters.  I am 
rejoiced  to  find  by  your  letter  that  Lady 
Charlemont  is  as  you  wish.  I have  yet  re- 
maining so  much  benevolence  towards 
mankind,  as  to  wish  that  there  may  be  a 
son  of  yours  educated  by  you  as  a specimen 
of  what  mankind  ought  to  be. 

“ Goldsmith  the  other  day  put  a para- 
graph into  the  newspapers  in  praise  of 
Lord  Mayor  Townshend.  The  same 
night  he  happened  to  sit  next  to  Sord  Shel- 
burne, at  Drury-lane;  I mentioned  the  cir- 
cumstance of  the  paragraph  to  him,  and  he 
said  to  Goldsmith  that  he  hoped  he  had 
mentioned  nothing  about  Malagrida  in  it. 
‘ Do  you  know,’  answered  Goldsmith, 
‘ that  I never  could  conceive  the  reason 
why  they  call  you  Malagrida,  for  Malagri- 
da was  a very  good  sort  of  man2.5  You 
see  plainly  what  he  meant  to  say,  but  that 
happy  turn  of  expression  is  peculiar  to  him- 
self. Mr.  Walpole  says  that  this  story  is  a 
pi’Cture  of  Goldsmith’s  whole  life. 

“Johnson  has  been  confined  for  some 
weeks  in  the  Isle  of  Sky;  we  hear  that  he 
was  obliged  to  swim  over  to  the  main  lanu 
taking  hold  of  a cow’s  tail.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  Lady  Di3 *  has  promised  to  make  a 
drawing  of  it. 

2 [See  post,  23d  March,  1783. — Ed.] 

3 [jfnte,  vol.  i.  p.  316.  Lady  Di’s  pencil 
was  much  celebrated,  and  Mr.  Walpole  built  a 
room  for  the  reception  of  some  of  her  drawings, 
which  he  called  the  Beauclerk  closet:  but  the  ed- 
itor has  never  seen  any  of  her  ladyship’s  works 

which  seemed  to  him  to  merit,  as  mere  work*  of 

‘ art,  such  high  reputation. — Ed.] 


1780.— ^ETAT.  71. 


tc  Our  poor  club  is  in  a miserable  state 
of  decay;  unless  you  come  and  relieve  it,  it 
will  certainly  expire.  Would  you  imagine 
that  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  is  extremely 
anxious  to  be  a member  at  Almack’s1  ? 
You  see  what  noble  ambition  will  make  a 
man  attempt.  That  den  is  not  yet  opened, 
consequently  I have  not  been  there;  so,  for 
the  present,  I am  clear  upon  that  score.  I 
suppose  your  confounded  Irish  politics  take 
up  your  whole  attention  at  present.  If 
they  could  but  have  obtained  the  absentee 
tax,  the  Irish  parliament  would  have  been 
perfect.  They  would  have  voted  them- 
selves out  of  parliament,  and  lessened  their 
estates  one  half  of  the  value.  This  is  pat- 
riotism with  a vengeance ! There  is  no- 
thing new  at  present  in  the  literary  world. 
Mr.  Jones2,  of  our  club , is  going  to  publish 
an  account,  in  Latin,  of  the  eastern  poetry, 
with  extracts  translated  verbatim  in  verse. 
I will  order  Elmsly 3 to  send  it  to  you, 
when  it  comes  out ; I fancy  it  will  be  a very 
pretty  book.  Goldsmith  has  written  a 
prologue  for  Mrs.  Yates,  which  she  spoke 
this  evening  before  the  Opera.  It  is  very 
good.  You  will  see  it  soon  in  all  the  news- 
papers, otherwise  I would  send  it  to  you. 
I hope  to  hear  in  your  next  letter  that  you 
have  fixed  your  time  for  returning  to  Eng- 
land. We  cannot  do  without  you.  If  you 
do  not  come  here,  I will  bring  all  the  club 
over  to  Ireland,  to  live  with  you,  and  that 
will  drive  you  here  in  your  own  defence. 
Johnson  shall  spoil  your  books,  Goldsmith 
pull  your  flowers,  and  Boswell  talk 4 to  you : 
stay  then  if  you  can.  Adieu,  my  dear 
lord.  Pray  make  my  compliments  to  Lady 
Charlemont,  and  believe  me  to  be  very 
sincerely  and  affectionately  yours, 

“ T.  Beauclerk.” 

“MR.  BEAUCLERK  TO  LORD  CHARLE- 
MONT. 

“ Adelphi,  24th  Dec.  1773. 

“ My  dear  lord, — I hope  you  received 
a letter  from  me  some  time  ago;  I men- 
tion this  that  I may  not  appear  worse  than 
I am,  and  likewise  to  hint  to  you  that,  when 
you  receive  this,  you  will  be  two  letters  in 
my  debt.  I hope  your  parliament  has  fin- 
ished all  its  absurdities,  and  that  you  will 
be  at  leisure  to  come  over  here  to  attend 
your  club,  where  you  will  do  much  more 
good  than  all  the  patriots  in  the  world  ever 
did  to  any  body,  viz.  you  will  make  very 
many  of  your  friends  extremely  happy;  and 
you  know  Goldsmith  has  informed  us  that 
no  form  of  government  ever  contributed 


1 [At  this  period  a gaming  club. — Ed.] 

* [Sir  William  Jones. — Ed.] 

3 [The  bookseller. — Ed.] 

4 [The  reader  will  observe  Mr.  Beauclerk’s  es- 
timate of  Boswell’s  conversation. — Ed.] 


227 

either  to  the  happiness  or  misery  of  any 
one. 

“ I saw  a letter  from  Foote,  with  an  ac- 
count of  an  Irish  tragedy;  the  subject  is 
Manlius,  and  the  last  speech  which  he 
makes,  when  he  is  pushed  off  from  the 
Tarpeian  rock,  is,  { Sweet  Jesus,  where  am 
I going  ? 3 Pray  send  me  word  if  this  is  true 
We  have  a good  comedy5  here  which  is 
good  for  nothing;  bad  as  it  is,  however,  it 
succeeds  very  well,  and  has  almost  killed 
Goldsmith  with  envy. 

“ I have  no  news  either  literary  or  politi- 
cal to  send  you.  Every  body,  except  my- 
self and  about  a million  of  vulgars,  are  in 
the  country.  I am  closely  confined,  as 
Lady  Di  expects  to  be  every  hour.  I am, 
my  dear  lord,  very  sincerely  and  affection- 
ately yours,  “T.  Beauclerk.”] 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“ 8th  April,  1780. 

“ Dear  sir, — Well,  I had  resolved  to 
send  you  the  Chesterfield  letter6,  but  I will 
write  once  again  without  it.  Never  im- 
pose tasks  upon  mortals.  To  require  two 
things  is  the  way  to  have  them  both  un- 
done. 

“ For  the  difficulties  which  you  mention 
in  your  affairs,  I am  sorry;  but  difficulty  is 
now  very  general:  it  is  not  therefore  less 
grievous,  for  there  is  less  hope  of  help.  I 
pretend  not  to  give  you  advice,  not  know- 
ing the  state  of  your  affairs;  and  general 
counsels  about  prudence  and  frugality 
would  do  you  little  good.  You  are,  how- 
ever, in  the  right  not  to  increase  your  own 
perplexity  by  a journey  hither;  and  I hope 
that  by  staying  at  home  you  will  please 
your  father. 

“ Poor  dear  Beauclerk — nec , ut  soles, 
dabis  joca.  His  wit  and  his  folly,  his 
acuteness  and  maliciousness,  his  merriment 
and  reasoning,  are  now  over.  Such  anoth- 
er will  not  often  be  found  among  mankind. 
He  directed  himself  to  be  buried  by  the 
side  of  his  mother,  an  instance  of  tender- 
ness which  1 hardly  expected.  He  has  left 
his  children  to  the  care  of  Lady  Di,  and 
if  she  dies,  of  Mr.  Langton,  and  of  Mr. 
Leicester  his  relation,  and  a man  of  good 
character.  His  library  has  been  offered  to 
sale  to  the  Russian  ambassador  7. 

“ Dr.  Percy,  notwithstanding  all  the 
noise  of  the  newspapers,  has  had  no  litera- 
ry loss8.  Clothes  and  moveables  were 


6  [Probably  “ The  School  for  Wives.” — Ed.] 

6 [See  it  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  112. — Ed.] 

7 His  library  was  sold  by  publick  auction  in 
April  and  May,  1781,  for  £5011. — Malone. 

8 By  a fire  in  Northumberland-house,  where 
he  had  an  apartment  in  which  I have  passed 
many  an  agreeable  hour. — Boswell.  [“  It  has 
been  asserted  that  Dr.  Percy  sustained  gres  !*wsa» 


228 


1780.— iETAT.  71 


burnt  to  the  value  of  about  one  hundred 
ounds ; but  his  papers,  and  I think  his 
ooks,  were  all  preserved. 

“ Poor  Mr.  Thrale  has  been  in  extreme 
danger  from  an  apoplectical  disorder,  and 
recovered,  beyond  the  expectation  of  his 
physicians:  he  is  now  at  Bath,  that  his 
mind  may  be  quiet,  and  Mrs.  Thrale  and 
Miss  are  with  him. 

“ Having  told  you  what  has  happened  to 
your  friends,  let  me  say  something  to  you 
of  yourself.  You  are  always  complaining 
of  melancholy,  and  I conclude  from  those 
complaints  that  you  are  fond  of  it.  No 
man  talks  of  that  which  he  is  desirous  to 
conceal,  and  every  man  desires  to  conceal 
that  of  which  he  is  ashamed.  Do  not  pre- 
tend to  deny  it;  manifestum  habemus  fu- 
rem.  Make  it  an  invariable  and  obligatory 
law  to  yourself,  never  to  mention  your  own 
mental  diseases.  If  you  are  never  to  speak 
of  them,  you  will  think  on  them  but  little; 
and  if  you  think  little  of  them,  they  will 
molest  you  rarely.  When  you  talk  of 
them,  it  is  plain  that  you  want  either  praise 
or  pity : for  praise  there  is  no  room,  and 
pity  will  do  you  no  good;  therefore,  from 
this  hour  speak  no  more,  think  no  more, 
about  them. 

“ Your  transaction  with  Mrs.  Stewart 1 
gave  me  great  satisfaction.  I am  much 
obliged  to  you  for  your  attention.  Do  not 
lose  sight  of  her.  Your  countenance  may 
be  of  great  credit,  and  of  consequence  of 
great  advantage  to  her.  The  memory  of 
her  brother  is  yet  fresh  in  my  mind:  he  was 
an  ingenious  and  worthy  man. 

“ Please  to  make  my  compliments  to  your 
lady  and  to  the  young  ladies.  I should 
like  to  see  them,  pretty  loves ! I am,  dear 
sir,  yours  affectionately, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

Mrs.  Thrale  being  now  at  Bath  with  her 
husband,  the  correspondence  between  John- 
son and  her  was  carried  on  briskly,  * * * 2 3 
[and  affords  us  all  the  information 
D‘  which  we  have  of  this  portion  of  his 
domestic  life.] 


at  the  fire  at  Northumberland-house;  but  I was 
present  when  his  apartments  were  in  flames, 
and  can  explicitly  declare  that  all  his  books  and 
papers  were  safely  removed.” — Cradock*s  Me- 
moirs, p.  43. — Ei>.] 

1 [See  ante , p.  225. — Ed.] 

2 [Here  Mr.  Boswell  had  prefaced  the  intro- 
duction of  the  letter  of  the  28th  April  by  the  fol- 
lowing words:  “ I shall  present  my  readers  with 
one  of  her  original  letters  to  him  at  this  time, 
which  will  amuse  them  probably  more  than  those 
well-written,  but  studied  epistles  which  she  has 
inserted  in  her  collection,  because  it  exhibits  the 
easy  vivacity  of  their  literary  intercourse.  It  is 
also  of  value  as  a key  to  Johnson’s  answer,  which 
■lie  has  printed  bv  itself,  and  of  which  I shall  sub- 


[£C  DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  6th  April,  1780  J. 

“ I have  not  quite  neglected  my  Letters, 
Lives.  Addison  is  a long  one,  voi.  a. 
but  it  is  done.  Prior  is  not  short,  p*  96, 
and  that  is  done  too.  I am  upon  Rowe , 
which  cannot  fill  much  paper. 

“ Seward  (Mr.  William)  called  on  me 
one  day  and  read  Spence  4.  I dined  yester- 
day at  Mr.  Jodrell’s  in  a great  deal  of  com- 
pany. On  Sunday  I dine  with  Dr.  Law- 
rence, and  at  night  go  to  Mrs.  Vesey.  I 
have  had  a little  cold,  or  two,  or  three;  but 
I did  not  much  mind  them,  for  they  were 
not  very  bad.”] 

[“  DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER. 

“ London,  8th  April,  1780. 

“ Dear  madam, — I am  indeed 
but  a sluggish  correspondent,  and  ms”00 
know  not  whether  I shall  much 
mend : however,  I will  try. 

“ I am  glad  that  your  oysters  proved  good, 
for  I would  have  every  thing  good  that  be- 
longs to  you;  and  would  have  your  health 
good,  that  you  may  enjoy  the  rest.  My 
health  is  better  than  it  has  been  for  some 
years  past;  and,  if  I see  Lichfield  again,  I 
hope  to  walk  about  it. 

“ Your  brother’s  request  I have  not  for- 
gotten. I have  bought  as  many  volumes 
as  contain  about  an  hundred  and  fifty  ser- 
mons, which  I will  put  in  a box,  and  get 
Mr.  Mathias  to  send  him.  I shall  add  a 
letter. 

“We  have  been  lately  much  alarmed  at 
Mr.  Thrale’s.  He  has  had  a stroke,  like 
that  of  an  apoplexy;  but  he  has  at  last  got 
so  well  as  to  be  at  Bath,  out  of  the  way  of 
trouble  and  business,  and  is  likely  to  be  in 
a short  time  quite  well. 

cc  I hope  all  the  Lichfield  ladies  are  quite 
well,  and  that  every  thing  is  prosperous 
among  them. 

“A  few  weeks  ago  1 sent  you  a little  stuff- 
gown,  such  as  is  all  the  fashion  at  this  time. 
Yours  is  the  same  with  Mrs.  Thrale’s,  and 
Miss  bought  it  for  us.  These  stuffs  are 
very  cheap,  and  are  thought  very  pretty. 

tc  Pray  give  my  compliments  to  Mr. 
Pearson,  and  to  every  body,  if  any  such 
body  there  be,  that  cares  about  me. 

“Iam  now  engaged  about  the  rest  of  the 

join  extracts.”  This  insinuation  against  Mrs. 
Thrale  is  quite  unfounded:  her  letters  are  certainly 

any  thing  but  studied  epistles ; and  that  one 
which  Mr.  Boswell  has  published  is  not  more  ea- 
sy and  unaffected,  nor  in  any  respect  of  a differ- 
ent character  from  those  she  herself  has  given. — 
Ed.] 

3 [Dated  in  Mrs.  Thrale’s  volume  1779  by 
mistake. — Ed.] 

4 [Spence’s  very  amusing  anecdotes,  which  had 
been  lent  Johnson  in  manuscript:  they  were  not 
printed  till  1820. — Ed.] 


#780. — A5TAT.  71. 


Lives,  which  1 am  afraid  will  take  some 
time,  though  I purpose  to  use  despatch; 
but  something  or  other  always  hinders.  I 
have  a great  number  to  do,  but  many  of 
them  will  be  short. 

£ I have  lately  had  colds : the  first  was 
pretty  bad,  with  a very  troublesome  and 
frequent  cough;  but  by  bleeding  and  phy- 
sick  it  was  sent  away.  I have  a cold  now, 
but  not  bad  enough  for  bleeding. 

tc  For  some  time  past,  and  indeed  ever 
since  I left  Lichfield  last  year,  I have  abated 
much  of  my  diet,  and  am,  I think,  the  bet- 
ter for  abstinence.  I can  breathe  and  move 
with  less  difficulty;  and  I am  as  well  as 
people  of  my  age  commonly  are.  I hope 
we  shall  see  one  another  again  some  time 
this  year.  I am,  dear  love,  your  humble 
servant,  ££  Sam.  Johnson.55] 

[££  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“l  1th  April,  1780. 

Letters,  “ On  Sunday  I dined  with  poor 
voi.  ii.  Lawrence,  who  is  deafer  than 
p.  99-126.  ever>  When  he  was  told  that 
Dr.  Moisy  visited  Mr.  Thrale,  he  inquired 
for  what,  and  said  that  there  was  nothing 
to  be  done  which  Nature  would  not  do 
for  herself.  On  Sunday  evening  I was  at 
Mr.  Yesey’s,  and  there  was  inquiry  about 
my  master ; but  I told  them  all  good. 
There  was  Dr.  Barnard  of  Eton,  and  we 
made  a noise  all  the  evening:  and  there 
was  Pepys,  and  Wraxal  till  I drove  him 
away. 

££  [Miss]  Burney  said  she  would  write — 
she  told  you  a fib.  She  writes  nothing  to  me. 
She  can  write  home  fast  enough.  I have 
a good  mind  not  to  let  her  know  that  Dr. 
Barnard,  to  whom  I had  recommended  her 
novel  t,  speaks  of  it  with  great  commenda- 
tion; and  that  the  copy  which  she  lent  me 
has  been  read  by  Dr.  Lawrence  three  times 
over.  And  yet  what  a gipsy  it  is  ! She 
no  more  minds  me  than  if  I were  a Brangton. 
##*##*•* 

££  You  are  at  all  places  of  high  resort,  and 
bring  home  hearts  by  dozens;  while  I am 
seeking  for  something  to  say  of  men  about 
whom  I know  nothing  but  their  verses, 
<ind  sometimes  very  little  of  them.  Now  I 
nave  begun,  however,  I do  not  despair  of 
making  an  end.  Mr.  Nicholls  holds  that 
Addison  is  the  most  taking  of  all  that  I 
have  done.  I doubt  they  will  not  be  done 
before  you  come  away. 

££  Now  you  think  yourself  the  first  writer 
in  the  world  for  a letter  about  nothing. 
Can  you  write  such  a letter  as  this?  so  mis- 
cellaneous, with  such  noble  disdain  of  regu- 
larity, like  Shakspeare’s  works  ? such  grace- 
ful negligence  of  transition,  like  the  ancient 


enthusiast  ? The  pure  voice  of  nature  ana 
of  friendship.  Now  of  whom  shall  I pro- 
ceed to  speak  ? Of  whom  but  Mrs.  Mon- 
tagu ? Having  mentioned  Shakspeare  and 
Nature  does  not  the  name  of  Montagu  force 
itself  upon  me 2 ? Such  were  the  tran- 
sitions of  the  ancients,  which  now  seem 
abrupt  because  the  intermediate  idea  is 
lost  to  modern  understandings.” 

“ 15th  April,  1780. 

£C  I thought  to  have  finished  Rowe’s  Life 
to-day,  but  I have  had  five  or  six  visiters 
who  hindered  me;  and  I have  not  been 
quite  well.  Next  week  I hope  to  despatch 
four  or  five  of  them.55 

• “ 18th  April,  1780. 

££  You  make  verses,  and  they  are  read  in 
publick,  and  I know  nothing  about  them. 
This  very  crime,  I think,  broke  the  litik 
of  amity  between  Richardson  and  Miss 

M 3,  after  a tenderness  and  confidence 

of  many  years.55 

“ London,  25th  April,  1780. 

££  How  do  you  think  I live  ? On  Thurs- 
day I dined  with  Hamilton 4,  and  went 
thence  to  Mrs.  Ord5.  On  Friday,  with 
much  company,  at  Mrs.  Reynolds’s.  On 
Saturday  at  Dr.  Bell’s.  On  Sunday  at  Dr. 
Burney’s,  with  your  two  sweets  from  Ken- 
nington,  who  are  both  well:  at  night  came 
Mrs.  Ord,  Mr.  Harris,  and  Mr.  Greville, 
&c.  On  Monday  with  Reynolds;  at  night 
with  Lady  Lucan;  to-day  with  Mr.  Lang- 
ton;  to-morrow  with  the  Bishop  of  St. 
Asaph;  on  Thursday  with  Mr.  Bowles ; 
Friday ; Saturday  at  the  acade- 

my6 ; Sunday  with  Mr.  Ramsay. 

££  I told  Lady  Lucan  how  long  it  was  since 
she  sent  to  me;  but  she  said  I must  consider 
how  the  world  rolls  about  her. 

££  I not  only  scour  the  town  from  day  to 
day,  but  many  visiters  come  to  me  in  the 
morning,  so  that  my  work  makes  no  great 

2 [Compare  this  with  two  former  phrases,  in 
which  Shakspeare  and  Mrs.  Montagu  are  men- 
tioned (ante,  vol.  i.  p.  260),  and  wonder  at  the 
inconsistencies  to  which  the  greatest  genius  and  the 
highest  spirit  may  be  reduced! — Ed.] 

3 [Probably  Miss  Mulso,  afterwards  Mrs.  C ha- 
pone,  one  of  Richardson’s  female  coterie. — Ed.] 

4 [Probably  the  Right  Honourable  W.  G. 
Hamilton. — Ed.] 

5 [This  lady  (a  celebrated  blue  stocking  of 
her  day)  was  Miss  Anne  Dillingham,  the  only 
daughter  of  Mr.  Dillingham,  an  eminent  surgeon. 
She  was  early  married  to  Mr.  Ord,  of  Northum- 
berland, who,  on  his  decease,  left  her  a very  large 
property.  She  died  in  May,  1808,  at  the  age  of 
82.  See  Gent.  Mag.  for  July,  1808. — Ed.] 

6 [The  annual  dinner  on  opening  the  Exhibi 
tion. — Ed.] 


1 [Evelina. — Ed.] 


1780.— iETAT.  71. 


230 


progress,  but  I will  try  to  quicken  it.  I 
should  certainly  like  to  bustle  a little  among 
you,  but  I am  unwilling  to  quit  my  post  till 
I have  made  an  end.”] 

* MRS.  THRALE  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“ Bath,  Friday,  28th  April. 

“ I had  a very  kind  letter  from  you  yester- 
day, dear  sir,  with  a most  circumstantial 
date !. 

“ Yesterday’s  evening  was  passed  at  Mrs. 
Montagu’s.  There  was  Mr.  Melmoth1 2. 
I do  not  like  him  though , nor  he  me.  It 
was  expected  we  should  have  pleased  each 
other : he  is,  however,  just  tory  enough  to 
hate  the  Bishop  of  Peterborough  3 for  whig- 
gism,  and  whig  enough  to  abhor  you  for 
toryism. 

“ Mrs.  Montagu  flattered  him  finely;  so 
he  had  a good  afternoon  on ’t.  This  even- 
ing we  spend  at  a concert.  Poor  Queeney’s 
sore  eyes  have  just  released  her:  she  had  a 
long  confinement,  and  could  neither  read 
nor  write,  so  my  master  treated  her,  very 
good-naturedly,  with  the  visits  of  a young 
woman  in  this  town,  a tailor’s  daughter, 
who  professes  musick,  and  teaches  so  as  to 
give  six  lessons  a day  to  ladies,  at  five  and 
threepence  a lesson.  Miss  Burney  says 
she  is  a great  performer;  and  I respect  the 
wench  for  getting  her  living  so  prettily. 
She  is  very  modest  and  pretty-mannered, 
and  not  seventeen  years  old. 

<£  You  live  in  a fine  whirl  indeed.  If  I 
did  not  write  regularly,  you  would  half  for- 
get me,  and  that  would  be  very  wrong,  for 
I felt  my  regard  for  you  in  my  face  last 
night,  when  the  criticisms  were  going  on. 

££  This  morning  it  was  ail  connoisseur- 
ship.  We  went  to  see  some  pictures  paint- 
ed by  a gentleman-artist,  Mr.  Taylor,  of 
this  place.  My  master  makes  one  every 
where,  and  has  got  a good  dawdling  com- 
panion to  ride  with  him  now.  * * * * He 
looks  well  enough,  but  I have  no  notion 
of  health  for  a man  whose  mouth  cannot 
be  sewed  up.  Burney  and  I and  Queeney 
tease  him  every  meal  he  eats,  and  Mrs. 
Montagu  is  quite  serious  with  him;  but 
what  can  one  do  ? He  will  eat,  I think; 
and  if  he  does  eat,  I know  he  will  not  live. 
It  makes  me  very  unhappy,  but  I must  bear 
it.  Let  me  always  have  your  friendship. 
I am,  most  sincerely,  dear  sir,  your  faithful 
servant,  <£  H.  L.  T.” 

1 [This  alludes  to  Johnson’s  frequent  advice  to 
her  and  MissThrale  to  date  their  letters;  a lauda- 
ble habit,  which,  however,  he  himself  did  not  al- 
ways practise. — Ed.] 

2 [William  Melmoth,  the  author  of  Fitzos- 
bome’s  Letters,  and  the  translator  of  the  Letters 
of  Pliny  and  Cicero,  and  some  of’  the  minor  works 
of  the  latter.  He  was  about  Johnson’s  age,  but 
ong  suivived  him,  dying  in  1799,  ajtat.  89. — Ed.] 

3 Dr  John  Hinchcliffe — Boswell. 


t(  DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  THR4.LE. 

“London,  1st  May,  1780. 

“ Dearest  madam, — Mr.  Thrale  never 
will  live  abstinently,  till  he  can  persuade 
himself  to  live  by  rule  4.  * * * * Encour- 

age, as  you  can,  the  musical  girl. 

“ Nothing  is  more  common  than  mutual 
dislike,  where  mutual  approbation  is  par- 
ticularly expected.  There  is  often  on  both 
sides  a vigilance  not  over-benevolent;  and 
as  attention  is  strongly  excited,  so  that 
nothing  drops  unheeded,  any  difference  in 
taste  or  opinion,  and  some  difference  where 
there  is  no  restraint  will  commonly  appear, 
immediately  generates  dislike. 

££  Never  let  criticisms  operate  on  your  face 
or  your  mind;  it  is  very  rarely  that  an 
authour  is  hurt  by  his  criticks.  The  blaze 
of  reputation  cannot  be  blown  out,  but  it 
often  dies  in  the  socket.  A very  few  names 
may  be  considered  as  perpetual  lamps  that 
shine  unconsumed.  From  the  authour  of 
£ Fitzosborne’s  Letters  ’ I cannot  think  my- 
self in  much  danger.  I met  him  only  once 
about  thirty  years  ago,  and  in  some  small 
dispute  reduced  him  to  whistle.  Having 
not  seen  him  since,  that  is  the  last  impres- 
sion. Poor  Moore,  the  fabulist,  was  one 
of  the  company. 

“ Mrs.  Montagu’s  long  stay,  against  hei 
own  inclination,  is  very  convenient.  Ybu 
would,  by  your  own  confession,  want  a 
companion;  and  she  is  par  pluribus.  Con- 
versing with  her  you  may  find  variety  in  one. 

[C£  At  Mrs.  Ord’s  I met  one  Mrs.  B 5 

a travelled  lady,  of  great  spirit,  and  some 
consciousness  of  her  own  abilities.  We 
had  a contest  of  gallantry  an  hour  long, 
so  much  to  the  diversion  of  the  company, 
that,  at  Ramsay’s,  last  night,  in  a crowded 
room,  they  would  have  pitted  us  again 
There  were  Smelt  and  the  Bishop  of  St. 
Asaph,  who  comes  to  every  place;  and  Lord 
Monboddo,  and  Sir  Joshua,  and  ladies  out 
of  tale. 

C£  The  exhibition,  how  will  you  do,  either 
to  see  or  not  to  see  ! The  exhibition  is 
eminently  splendid.  There  is  contour,  and 
keeping,  and  grace , and  expression,  and  all 
the  varieties  of  artificial  excellence.  The 
apartments  were  truly  very  noble.  The 
pictures,  for  the  sake  of  a skylight,  are  at 
the  top  of  the  house:  there  we  dined,  and 
I sat  over  against  the  Archbishop  of  York.” 

“ Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  7th  May,  1780. 

££I  dined  on  Wednesday  with  Mr.  Fitz- 
maurice,  who  almost  made  me  promise  to 
pass  part  of  the  summer  at  Llewenny 

4 I have  taken  the  liberty  to  leave  out  a few 
lines. — Boswell. 

5 [The  editor  would  have  supposed  this  to  have 
been  Mrs.  Boscawen,  but  that  Johnson  appears  t« 
have  met  this  lady  two  years  before.  See  ante , 
p.  191. — Ed.] 


1780.— ^ETAT.  71. 


231 


To-morrow  I ime  with  Mrs.  Southwel; 
and  on  Thursday  with  Lord  Lucan.  To- 
night I go  to  Miss  Monkton’s1.  Then  I 
scramble,  when  you  do  not  quite  shut  me 
up;  but  I am  miserably  under  petticoat 
government,  and  yet  am  not  very  weary, 
nor  much  ashamed.” 

“ Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  8th  May,  1780. 

“ I dine  on  Thursday  at  Lord  Lucan’s, 
and  on  Saturday  at  Lady  Craven’s  ; and  I 
dined  yesterday  with  Mrs.  South wel. 

£C  As  to  my  looks  at  the  Academy,  I was 
not  told  of  them;  and  as  I remember,  I was 
very  well,  and  I am  well  enough  now.” 

“MRS.  THRALE  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

« 9th  May,  1780. 

t{  When  did  I ever  plague  you  about  con- 
tour, and  grace,  and  expression  7 I have 
dreaded  them  all  three  since  that  hapless 
day  at  Compeigne,  when  you  teased  me  so, 
and  Mr.  Thrale  made  what  I hoped  would 
have  proved  a lasting  peace;  but  French 
ground  is  unfavourable  to  fidelity  perhaps, 
and  so  now  you  begin  again:  after  having 
taken  five  years’  breath,  you  might  have 
done  more  than  this.  Say  another  word, 
'and  I will  bring  up  afresh  the  history  of 
your  exploits  at  St.  Denys,  and  how  cross 
you  were  for  nothing — but  somehow  or 
other,  our  travels  never  make  any  part 
either  of  our  conversation  or  correspon- 
dence. * * * 

“ Mr.  Fitzmaurice  is  always  civiller  both 
to  you  and  me  than  either  of  us  deserve. 
I wonder  (as  the  phrase  is)  what  he  sees 
in  us  ? Not  much  politeness  surely. 

u Shall  we  have  some  chat  about  the 
Lives  now?  That  of  Blackmore  will  be  very 
entertaining,  I dare  say,  and  he  will  be  res- 
cued from  the  old  wits  who  worried  him, 
much  to  your  disliking:  so  a little  for  love  of 
his  Christianity,  a little  for  love  of  his  phy- 
sick,  a little  for  love  of  his  courage,  and  a 


1  [The  Honourable  Mary  Monkton,  daughter 
of  the  first  Viscount  Galway,  married  in  1786  to 
Edmund,  7th  Earl  of  Corke  and  Orrery.  Some 
peerages  state  her  to  have  been  born  in  April, 
1747,  and  her  ladyship  still  mixes  in  society  with 
health  and  spirits  very  extraordinary  at  the  age  of 
eighty-three;  but  Lodge’s  “ Peerage  of  Ireland  ” 
makes  her  still  older,  stating  her  birth  to  have 
been  in  April , 1737.  The  dates,  even  in  the 
best  peerages,  are  so  liable  to  errour,  that  the  Edi- 
tor would  not  have  paid  much  attention  to  this 
one,  but  that  he  has  found  it  corroborated  by  an 
announcement  in  the  Gentleman' s Magazine 
for  April , 1737,  that  Lady  Galway  was  delivered 
of  a daughter , and  it  does  not  any  where  appear 
that  there  was  any  other  daughter.  If  Lady 
Corke  was  the  only  daughter,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  on  the  subject,  for  the  statement  in  the  Mag- 
azine, published  at  the  very  time,  cannot  be  erro- 
neous in  point  of  date. — Ed.] 


little  for  love  of  contradiction,  you  will 
save  him  from  his  malevolent  criticks,  and, 
perhaps,  do  him  the  honour  to  devour  him 
yourself — as  a lion  is  said  to  take  a great 
bull  now  and  then  from  the  wolves  which 
had  fallen  upon  him  in  the  desert,  and  grave- 
ly eat  him  up  for  his  own  dinner.” 

“dr.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  London,  9th  May,  1780. 

“ My  Lives  creep  on.  I have  done  Ad- 
dison, Prior,  Rowe,  Granville,  Sheffield, 
Collins,  Pitt,  and  almost  Fenton.  I design 
to  take  Congreve  next  into  my  hand.  I 
hope  to  have  done  before  you  can  come 
home,  and  then  whither  shall  I go  ? 

“ Did  I tell  you  that  Scot  and  Jones2 
both  offer  themselves  to  represent  the  uni- 
versity in  the  place  of  Sir  Roger  Newdi- 
gate?  They  are  struggling  hard  for  what 
others  think  neither  of  them  will  obtain.”] 

On  the  2d  of  May  I wrote  to  him,  and 
requested  that  we  might  have  another 
meeting  somewhere  in  the  north  of  Eng 
land  in  the  autumn  of  this  year. 

From  Mr.  Langton  I received  soon  after 
this  time  a letter,  of  which  I extract  a pas- 
sage, relative  both  to  Mr.  Beauclerk  and 
Dr.  Johnson. 

“The  melancholy  information 
you  have  received  concerning  Mr.  ang  on‘ 
Beauclerk’s  death  is  true.  Had  his  talents 
been  directed  in  any  sufficient  degree  as 
they  ought,  I have  always  been  strongly  of 
opinion  that  they  were  calculated  to  make 
an  illustrious  figure;  and  that  opinion,  as  it 
had  been  in  part  formed  upon  Dr.  John- 
son’s judgment,  receives  more  and  more 
confirmation  by  hearing  what,  since  his 
death,  Dr.  Johnson  has  said  concerning 
tfyem.  A few  evenings  ago  he  was  at  Mr. 
Vesey’s,  where  Lord  Althorpe  3,  who  was 
one  of  a numerous  company  there,  addressed 
Dr.  Johnson  on  the  subject  of  Mr.  Beau- 
clerk’s  death,  saying, c Our  Club  has  had  a 
great  loss  since  we  met  last.’  He  replied 
£ A loss  that  perhaps  the  whole  nation  coula 
not  repair!  ’ The  Doctor  then  went  on  to 
speak  of  his  endowments,  and  particularly 
extolled  the  wonderful  ease  with  which  he 
uttered  what  was  highly  excellent.  He 
said,  c that  no  man  ever  was  so  free,  when 
he  was  going  to  say  a good  thing,  from 
a look  that  expressed  that  it  was  coming; 

2 [Lord  Stowell  and  Sir  William  Jones.  Lord 
Stowell  was  elected  for  the  University  of  Oxford  in 
1801,  and  represented  it  till  his  promotion  to  the 
peerage  in  1821. — Ed.] 

3 [John-George,  second  Earl  Spencer,  who  has 
been  so  kind  as  to  answer  some  of  the  Editor’s  in- 
quiries relative  to  the  society , of  which  he  and 
Lord  Stowell  are  now  almost  the  only  survivors 
—Ed.] 


232 


1780. — AST  AT.  71. 


or,  when  he  had  said  it,  from  a look  that 
expressed  that  it  had  come.’  At  Mr. 
Thrale’s,  some  days  before,  when  we  were 
talking  on  the  same  subject,  he  said,  refer- 
ring to  the  same  idea  of  his  wonderful  facil- 
ity, ‘that  Beauclerk’s  talents  were  those 
which  he  had  felt  himself  more  disposed  to 
envy,  than  those  of  any  whom  he  bad 
known.’ 

“ On  the  evening  I have  spoken  of  above, 
at  Mr.  Vesey’s,  you  would  have  been  much 
gratified,  as  it  exhibited  an  instance  of  the 
high  importance  in  which  Dr.  Johnson’s 
character  is  held,  I think  even  beyond  any 
I ever  before  was  witness  to.  The  com- 
pany consisted  chiefly  of  ladies ; among 
whom  were  the  Duchess  Dowager  of  Port- 
land !,  the  Duchess  of  Beaufort,  whom,  I 
suppose  from  her  rank,  I must  name  before 
her  mother,  Mrs.  Boscawen 1  2,  and  her  eld- 
est sister,  Mrs.  Lewson,  who  was  likewise 
there;  Lady  Lucan3,  Lady  Clermont4, 
and  others  of  note  both  for  their  station 
and  understandings.  Among  other  gentle- 
men were  Lord  Althorpe,  whom  I have 
before  named,  Lord  Macartney,  Sir  Josh- 
ua Reynolds,  Lord  Lucan,  Mr.  Wraxal, 
whose  book  you  have  probably  seen,  ‘ The 
Tour  to  the  Northern  Parts  of  Europe,’  a 
very  agreeable,  ingenious  man,  Dr.  War- 
ren, Mr.  Pepys,  the  master  in  chancery, 
whom,  I believe,  you  know,  and  Dr.  Bar- 
nard, the  provost  of  Eton5.  As  soon  as 
Dr.  Johnson  was  come  in,  and  had  taken 

1 [Lady  Margaret  Cavendish  Harley,  only  child 
of  the  second  Earl  of  Oxford  and  Mortimer  ; mar- 
ried in  1734  to  the  second  Duke  of  Portland.  She 
was  the  heiress  of  three  great  families:  herself  of 
the  Harleys  ; her  mother  (the  Lady  Harriet  of 
Prior)  was  the  heiress  of  John  Holies,  Duke  of 
Newcastle  ; and  her  mother  again,  the  heiress  of 
Henry  Cavendish,  Duke  of  Newcastle.  “ The 
Duchess  of  Portland  inherited,”  says  the  peerage, 
“ the  spirit  of  her  ancestors  in  her  patronage  of 
literature  and  the  arts.”  Her  birth  was  congratu- 
lated by  Swift,  and  her  childhood  celebrated  by 
Prior  in  the  well-known  nursery  lines  beginning 

“ My  noble,  lovely,  little  Peggy.” 

The  duchess  died  in  1785. — Ed.] 

2 [See  ante,  p.  184.  Mrs.  Boscawen  and  her 
daughters,  Mrs.  Leveson  Gower  and  the  Duchess 
of  Beaufort,  are  celebrated  in  Miss  Hannah  More’s 
poem  entitled  “ Sensibility,”  who,  speaking  of 
Mrs.  Boscawen,  says  that  she 

“ views,  enamoured,  in  her  beauteous  race, 

All  Leveson’s  sweetness  and  all  Beaufort’s  grace.” — Ed.] 

3 [Margaret  Smith  ; married  in  1760  the  first 
Loid  Lucan. — Ed.] 

4 [Frances  Murray;  married  in  1752  to  the  first 
Lord  Clermont. — Ed.] 

s [See,  ante,  p.  229,  Johnson’s  own  account  of 

this  evening.  The  gentle  and  good-natured  Lang- 
ton  does  not  hint  at  his  having  driven  away  “ the 
very  agreeable  and  ingenious  Mr.  Wraxal.” — 

Ed.] 


the  chair , the  company  began  to  collect 
round  him  till  they  became  not  less  than 
four,  if  not  five  deep;  those  behind  stand- 
ing, and  listening  over  the  heads  of  those 
that  were  sitting  near  him.  The  conversa 
tion  for  some  time  was  chiefly  between  Dr 
Johnson  and  the  provost  of  Eton,  while 
the  others  contributed  occasionally  their 
remarks.  Without  attempting  to  detail 
the  particulars  of  the  conversation,  which, 
perhaps,  if  I did,  I should  spin  my  account 
out  to  a tedious  length,  I thought,  my  dear 
sir,  this  general  account  of  the  respect 
with  which  our  valued  friend  was  attended 
to  might  be  acceptable.” 

[The  formal  style  of  the  following  Ed 
letter 6,  compared  with  that  of  his 
former  correspondence  with  Mr.  Thomas 
Warton,  plainly  proves  that  a coolness  or 
misunderstanding  had  taken  place  between 
them.  The  reader  will  not  have  forgotten 
the  ridicule  with  which  Johnson  had  lately 
treated  Warton’s  poems  7. 

“ DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MR.  THOMAS  WARTON. 

“ Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  9th  May,  1780. 

“ Sir, — I have  your  pardon  to  ask  Mg 
for  an  involuntary  fault.  In  a parcel 
sent  from  Mr.  Boswell  I found  the  enclosed* 
letter,  which,  without  looking  on  the  direc- 
tion, I broke  open;  but,  finding  I did  not 
understand  it,  soon  saw  it  belonged  to  you. 
I am  sorry  for  this  appearance  of  a fault, 
but  believe  me  it  is  only  the  appearance. 
I did  not  read  enough  of  the  letter  to  know 
its  purport.  I am,  sir,  your  most  humble 
servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

In  Dr.  Wood’s  Memoirs  of  Dr. 
Warton  we  find  the  following  state-  D' 
ment  : “ The  disagreement  which  took 
place  after  a long  and  warm  WooirsLife 
friendship  between  Johnson  and  of  Warton, 
[Joseph]  Warton  is  much  to  be  p’98’ 
lamented:  it  occurred  at  the  house  of  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  as  I am  told  by  one  of 
the  company,  who  only  overheard  the  fol- 
lowing conclusion  of  the  dispute:  Johnson. 
‘ Sir,  I am  not  used  to  be  contradicted.’ 
Warton.  ‘ Better  for  yourself  and  friends, 
sir,  if  you  were : our  admiration  could  not 
be  increased,  but  our  love  might.’  The 
party  interfered,  and  the  conversation  was 
stopped.  A coolness,  however,  from  that 
time  took  place,  and  was  increased  by  ma- 
ny trifling  circumstances,  which,  before 
this  dispute,  would,  perhaps,  have  not  been 
attended  to.”  The  style,  however,  of  Eb 
the  following  letter  to  Dr.  Warton,  b' 
written  so  late  in  Dr.  Johnson’s  life,  leads 


6 [From  the  MS.  which  has  been  communica- 
ted to  the  Editor. — Ed.] 

7 [Ante,  d.  113  —Ed.] 


1780. — iETAT.  71. 


233 


us  to  hope  that  the  difference  recorded  by 
Dr.  Wooll  was  transient. 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  DR.WARTON. 

« 23d  May,  1780. 

“Dear  sir, — It  is  unnecessary  to 
MS*  tell  you  how  much  I was  obliged  by 
your  useful  memorials.  The  shares  of  Fen- 
ton and  Broome  in  the  Odyssey  I had  be- 
fore from  Mr.  Spence.  Dr.  Warburton 
did  not  know  them.  I wish  to  be  told,  as 
the  question  is  of  great  importance  in  the 
poetical  world,  whence  you  had  your  intel- 
ligence ; if  from  Spence,  it  shows  at  least 
his  consistency : if  from  any  other,  it  con- 
fers corroboration.  If  any  thing  useful  to 
me  should  occur,  I depend  upon  your  friend- 
ship. 

“ Be  pleased  to  make  my  compliments  to 
the  ladies  of  your  house,  and  to  the  gentle- 
man that  honoured  me  with  the  Greek 
Epigrams,  when  I had,  what  I hope  some 
time  to  have  again,  the  pleasure  of  spending 
a little  time  with  you  at  Winchester.  I am, 
dear  sir,  your  most  obliged  and  most  hum- 
ble servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

[“  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ 23d  May,  1780. 

Letters,  “ But  [Mrs.  Montagu]  and  you 
P?i27,  137.  have  had,  with  all  your  adulation* 
nothing  finer  said  of  you  than 
was  said  last  Saturday  night  of  Burke  and 

me.  We  were  at  the  Bishop  of ’s  l, 

(a  bishop  little  better  than  your  bishop), 
and  towards  twelve  we  fell  into  talk,  to 
which  the  ladies  listened,  just  as  they  do  to 
you  ; and  said,  as  I heard,  there  is  no  rising 
unless  somebody  will  cry  Fire  ! 

“I  was  last  night  at  Miss  Monkton’s ; 
and  there  were  Lady  Craven,  and  Lady 
Cranburne,  and  many  ladies  and  few  men. 
Next  Saturday  I am  to  be  at  Mr.  Pepys’s, 
and  in  the  intermediate  time  am  to  provide 
for  myself  as  I can.” 

“ 25th  May. 

“ Congreve,  whom  I despatched  at  the 
Borough  while  I was  attending  the  election, 
is  one  of  the  best  of  the  little  Lives ; but 
then  I had  your  conversation.35] 

“ DR.  JOHNSON  TO  THE  REV.  DR.  FARMER. 

“ 25 til  May,  1780. 

“ Sir, — I know  your  disposition  to  se- 
cond any  literary  attempt,  and  therefore 
venture  upon  the  liberty  of  entreating  you 
to  procure  from  college  or  university  regis- 
ters all  the  dates  or  other  informations 
which  they  can  supply  relating  to  Ambrose 
Philips,  Broome,  and  Gray,  who  were  all  of 
Cambridge,  and  of  whose  lives  I am  to  give 


1 [The  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph’s,  of  whose  too 
constant  appearance  in  general  society  Dr  John 
son  disapproved. — Ed.] 

VOL.  II.  30 


such  accounts  as  I can  gather.  Be  pleased 
to  forgive  this  trouble  From,  sir,  your  mo.it 
humble  servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.33 

While  Johnson  was  thus  engaged  in 
preparing  a delightful  literary  entertain 
ment  for  the  world,  the  tranquillity  of  the 
metropolis  of  Great  Britain  was  unexpect- 
edly disturbed  by  the  most  horrid  series  of 
outrage  that  ever  disgraced  a civilized 
country.  A relaxation  of  some  of  the  se- 
vere penal  provisions  against  our  fellow- 
subjects  of  the  Catholick  communion  had 
been  granted  by  the  legislature,  with  an 
opposition  so  inconsiderable,  that  the  genu- 
ine mildness  of  Christianity,  united  with 
liberal  policy,  seemed  to  have  become  gen- 
eral in  this  island.  But  a dark  and  malig- 
nant spirit  of  persecution  soon  showed 
itself,  in  an  unworthy  petition  for  the  re- 
peal of  the  wise  and  humane  statute 
That  petition  was  brought  forward  by  a 
mob,  with  the  evident  purpose  of  intimida- 
tion, and  was  justly  rejected.  But  the  at- 
tempt was  accompanied  and  followed  by 
such  daring  violence  as  is  unexampled  in 
history.  Of  this  extraordinary  tumult,  Dr. 
Johnson  has  given  the  following  concise, 
lively,  and  just  account  in  his  “ Letters  to 
Mrs.  Thrale2 3 4  : 33 

“ 9th  June,  1780. 

“On  Friday  3,  the  good  pro-  Letters,  voi. 
testants  met  in  Saint  George’s  ».  pp-  *43, 
Fields,  at  the  summons  of  14<M52-8. 
Lord  George  Gordon;  and  marching  to 
Westminster,  insulted  the  lords  and  com- 
mons, who  all  bore  it  with  great  tame- 
ness. At  night  the  outrages  began  by  the 
demolition  of  the  mass-house  by  Lincoln’s 
Inn. 

“ An  exact  journal  of  a week’s  defiance 
of  government  I cannot  give  you.  On 
Monday  Mr.  Strahan,  who  had  been  insult- 
ed, spoke  to  Lord  Mansfield,  who  had  I 
think  been  insulted  too,  of  the  licentiousness 
of  the  populace;  and  his  lordship  treated  it 
as  a very  slight  irregularity.  On  Tuesday 
night  they  pulled  down  Fielding’s  house  4, 
and  burnt  his  goods  in  the  street.  They 
had  gutted  on  Monday  Sir  George  Savile’s 
house,  but  the  building  was  saved.  On 
Tuesday  evening,  leaving  Fielding’s  ruins, 
they  went  to  Newgate  to  demand  their 

2 Vol.  i.  p.  282.  I have  selected  passages  from 
several  letters,  without  mentioning  dates. — Bos- 
well. [The  Editor  has  restored  the  dates  and 
remarkable  omission. — Ed.] 

3 June  2. — Boswell. 

4 This  is  not  quite  correct.  Sir  John  Fielding 
was,  I think,  then  dead.  It  was  Justice  Hyde’s 
house,  in  St.  Martin’s-street,  Leicester-fields,  that 
was  gutted,  and  his  goods  burnt  in  the  street. — 
Blakeway.  [Sir  John  Fielding  did  not  die 
till  the  following  September,  and  his  house  wa» 

certainly  attacked  and  olundered. — Ed.] 


234 


1780. — /ETAT.  71. 


companions,  who  had  been  seized  demolish- 
ing the  chapel.  The  keeper  could  not  re- 
lease them  but  by  the  mayor’s  permission, 
which  he  went  to  ask.  at  his  return  he 
found  all  the  prisoners  released,  and  New- 
gate in  a blaze.  They  then  went  to 
Bloomsbury,  and  fastened  upon  Lord  Mans- 
field’s house,  which  they  pulled  down;  and 
as  for  his  goods,  they  totally  burnt  them. 
They  have  since  gone  to  Caen-wood,  but 
a guard  was  there  before  them.  They 
plundered  some  papists,  I think,  and  burnt 
a mass-house,  in  Moorfields,  the  same 
night. 

“ On  Wednesday  I walked  with  Dr. 
Scot 1 to  look  at  Newgate,  and  found  it  in 
ruins,  with  the  fire  yet  glowing.  As  I 
went  by,  the  protestants  were  plundering 
the  sessions-house  at  the  Old  Bailey. 
There  were  not,  I.  believe,  a hundred;  but 
they  did  their  work  at  leisure,  in  full  se- 
curity, without  sentinels,  without  trepida- 
tion, as  men  lawfully  employed  in  full  day. 
Such  is  the  cowardice  of  a commercial 
place.  On  Wednesday  they  broke  open 
the  Fleet,  and  the  King’s  Bench,  and  the 
Marshalsea,  and  Wood  street  Compter,  and 
Clerkenwell  Bridewell,  and  released  all  the 
prisoners. 

££  At  night  they  set  fire  to  the  Fleet,  and 
to  the  King’s  Bench,  and  I know  not  how 
many  other  places  ; and  one  might  see  the 
glare  of  conflagration  fill  the  sky  from  many 
parts.  The  sightwas  dreadful.  Some  peo- 
ple were  threatened:  Mr.  Strahan  advised 
me  to  take  care  of  myself.  Such  a time  of 
terror  you  have  been  happy  in  not  seeing. 

“ The  king  said  in  council,  ‘ That  the 
magistrates  had  not  done  their  duty,  but 
that  he  would  do  his  own;’  and  a proclama- 
tion was  published,  directing  us  to  keep  our 
servants  within  doors,  as  the  peace  was  now 
to  be  preserved  by  force.  The  soldiers 
were  sent  out  to  different  parts,  and  the 
town  is  now  at  quiet. 

££  [What  has  happened  at  your  house  you 
will  know;  the  harm  is  only  a few  butts  of 
beer;  and,  I think,  you  may  be  sure  that 
the  danger  is  over.  There  is  a body  of  sol- 
diers at  St.  Margaret’s  Hill.”] 

“ 10th  June,  1780. 

C£  The  soldiers  are  stationed  so  as  to  be 
every  where  within  call.  There  is  no  long- 
er any  body  of  rioters,  and  the  individuals 
are  hunted  to  the  holes,  and  led  to  prison. 
Lord  George  was  last  night  sent  to  the 
Tower.  Mr.  John  Wilkes  was  this  day  in 
my  neighbourhood,  to  seize  the  publisher  of 
& seditious  paper. 

££  Several  chapels  have  been  destroyed, 
and  several  inoffensive  papists  have  been 
plundered;  but  the  high  sport  was  to  burn 


1  [Lord  Stowell. — Ed.] 


the  gaols.  This  was  a good  ’•abble  trick. 
The  debtors  and  the  criminals  were  all  set 
at  liberty;  but  of  the  criminals,  as  has  al- 
ways happened,  many  are  already  retaken; 
and  two  pirates  have  surrendered  them- 
selves, and  it  is  expected  that  they  will  be 
pardoned. 

££  Government  now  acts  again  with  its 
proper  force;  and  we  are  all  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  king  and  the  law.  I thought 
that  it  would  be  agreable  to  you  and  my 
master  to  have  my  testimony  to  the  public 
security;  and  that  you  would  sleep  more 
quietly  when  I told  you  that  you  are  safe.” 

12th  June,  1780. 

££  The  public  has  escaped  a very  heavy 
calamity.  The  rioters  attempted  the  Bank 
on  Wednesday  night,  but  in  no  great  num- 
ber; and  like  other  thieves,  with  no  great 
resolution.  Jack  Wilkes  headed  the  party 
that  drove  them  away.  It  is  agreed,  that 
if  they  had  seized  the  Bank  on  Tuesday,  at 
the  height  of  the  panick,  when  no  resist- 
ance had  been  prepared,  they  might  have 
carried  irrecoverably  away  whatever  they 
had  found.  Jack,  who  was  always  zealous 
for  order  and  decency  2,  declares,  that  if  he 
be  trusted  with  power,  he  wih  not  leave  a 
rioter  alive.  There  is,  however,  now  no 
longer  any  need  of  heroism  or  bloodshed; 
no  blue  riband  3 is  any  longer  worn. 

[££  All  danger  here  is  apparently  over: 
but  a little  agitation  still  continues.  We 
frighten  one  another  with  seventy  thousand 
Scots4  to  come  hither  with  the  Dukes  of 
Gordon  and  Argyll,  and  eat  us,  and  hang 
us,  or  drown  us;  but  we  are  all  at  quiet.”] 

“ 14th  June,  1780. 

££  There  has,  indeed,  been  an  universal 
panick,  from  which  the  king  was  the  first 
that  recovered.  Without  the  concurrence 
of  his  ministers,  or  the  assistance  of  the  ci- 
vil magistrates,  he  put  the  soldiers  in  mo- 
tion, and  saved  the  town  from  calamities, 
such  as  a rabble’s  government  must  natural- 
ly produce.” 

Such  was  the  end  of  this  miserable  sedi- 
tion, from  which  London  was  delivered  by 
the  magnanimity  of  the  sovereign  himself. 
Whatever  some  may  maintain,  I am  satis- 


2 [At  this  ironical  allusion  to  Mr.  Wilkes’s  own 
proceedings  in  former  times,  he  would  have  been 
the  first  to  »mile.  To  a gentleman  who,  at  a 
still  later  period,  was  alluding  to  the  turbulent 
days  of  Wilkes  and  liberty,  and  appealed  for 
confirmation  of  some  opinion  to  Mr.  Wilkes,  the 
latter,  with  a serious  pleasantry,  replied,  *»  My 
dear  sir,  I never  was  a Wilkite .” — Ed.] 

3 Lord  George  Gordon  and  his  followers,  during 
these  outrages,  wore  blue  ribands  in  their  ha  is. — 

| Malone. 

; 4 [Mr.  Bosw  ell  had  omitted  this  passage.—  Ed.] 


1780. — iETAT.  71. 


235 


lied  that  there  was  no  combination  or  plan, 
either  domestic  or  foreign;  but  that  the 
mischief  spread  by  a gradual  contagion  of 
frenzy,  augmented  by  the  quantities  of  fer- 
mented liquors  of  which  the  deluded  popu- 
lace possessed  themselves  in  the  course  of 
their  depredations. 

I should  think  myself  very  much  to  blame, 
did  1 here  neglect  to  do  justice  to  my  es- 
teemed friend 1 Mr.  Akerman,  the  keeper 
of  Newgate,  who  long  discharged  a very 
important  trust  with  an  uniform  intrepid 
firmness,  and  at  the  same  time  a tenderness 
and  a liberal  charity  which  entitle  him  to  be 
recorded  with  distinguished  honour. 

Upon  this  occasion,  from  the  timidity  and 
negligence  of  magistracy  on  the  one  hand, 
and  the  almost  incredible  exertions  of  the 
mob  on  the  other,  the  first  prison  of  this 
great  country  was  laid  open,  and  the  prison- 
ers set  free;  but  that  Mr.  Akerman,  whose 
house  was  burnt,  would  have  prevented  all 
this,  had  proper  aid  been  sent  him  in  due 
-time,  there  can  be  no  doubt. 

Many  years  ago,  a fire  broke  out  in  the 
Drick  part  which  was  built  as  an  addition  to 
the  old  gaol  of  Newgate.  The  prisoners 
were  in  consternation  and  tumult,  calling 
out,  “ We  shall  be  burnt,  we  shall  be  burnt! 
Down  with  the  gate ! — down  with  the  gate !” 
Mr.  Akerman  hastened  to  them,  showed 
himself  at  the  gate,  and  having,  after  some 
confused  vociferation  of  “Hear  him!  hear 
him  ! 55  obtained  a silent  attention,  he  then 
calmly  told  them,  that  the  gate  must  not  go 
down;  that  they  were  under  his  care,  and 
that  they  should  not  be  permitted  to  escape; 
but  that  he  could  assure  them  they  need 
not  be  afraid  of  being  burnt,  for  that  the 
fire  was  not  in  the  prison,  properly  so  called, 
which  was  strongly  built  with  stone;  and 
that  if  they  would  engage  to  be  quiet,  he 
himself  would  come  in  to  them,  and  con- 
duct them  to  the  further  end  of  the  building, 
and  would  not  go  out  till  they  gave  him 
leave.  To  this  proposal  they  agreed;  upon 
which  Mr.  Akerman,  having  first  made 
them  fall  back  from  the  gate,  went  in,  and 
with  a determined  resolution  ordered  the 
outer  turnkey  upon  no  account  to  open  the 
gate,  even  though  the  prisoners  (though 
he  trusted  they  would  not)  should  break 
their  word,  and  by  force  bring  himself  to 
order  it.  “ Never  mind  me,”  said  he, 
“ should  that  happen.”  The  prisoners 
peaceably  followed  him,  while  he  conducted 
them  through  passages  of  which  he  had  the 


1  [Why  Mr.  Boswell  should  call  the  keeper  of 
Newgate  his  “ esteemed  friend  ” has  puzzled 
many  readers;  but  besides  his  natural  desire  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  every  body  who  was 
eminent  or  remarkable,  or  even  notorious , his 
strange  propensity  for  witnessing  executions  prob- 
ably brought  him  into  more  immediate  intercourse 
with  the  keepei  of  Newgate. — Ed.] 


keys  to  the  extremity  of  the  gaol,  which 
was  most  distant  from  the  fire.  Having  by 
this  very  judicious  conduct  fully  satisfied 
them  that  there  was  no  immediate  risk,  if 
any  at  all,  he  then  addressed  them  thus: 
“ Gentlemen,  you  are  now  convinced  that 
I told  you  true.  I have  no  doubt  that 
the  engines  will  soon  extinguish  this  fire:  if 
they  should  not,  a sufficient  guard  will  come, 
and  you  shall  be  all  taken  out  and  lodged  in 
the  compters.  I assure  you,  upon  my  word 
and  honour,  that  I have  not  a farthing  in 
sured.  I have  left  my  house  that  I might 
take  care  of  you.  I will  keep  my  promise, 
and  stay  with  you  if  you  insist  upon  it;  but 
if  you  will  allow  me  to  go  out  and  look  after 
my  family  and  property,  I shall  be  obliged 
to  you.”  Struck  with  his  behaviour,  they 
called  out,  “ Master  Akerman,  you  have 
done  bravely;  it  was  very  kind  in  you:  by 
all  means  go  and  take  care  of  your  own  con- 
cerns.” He  did  so  accordingly,  while  they 
remained,  and  were  all  preserved. 

Johnson  has  been  heard  to  relate  the  sub- 
stance of  this  story  with  high  praise,  in 
which  he  was  joined  by  Mr.  Burke.  My 
illustrious  friend,  speaking  of  Mr.  Akerman’s 
kindness  to  his  prisoners,  pronounced  this 
eulogy  upon  his  character: — “ He  who  has 
long  had  constantly  in  his  view  the  worst  of 
mankind,  and  is  yet  eminent  for  the  human- 
ity of  his  disposition,  must  have  had  it  origi- 
nally in  a great  degree,  and  continued  to 
cultivate  it  very  carefully.” 

[“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“London,  15th  June,  1780. 
u I was  last  week  at  Renny’ s 2 con-  Letters, 
versatione , and  Renny  got  her  voi.  ii. 
room  pretty  well  filled;  and  there  p-16I>165* 
were  Mrs.  Ord,  and  Mrs.  Horneck,  and 
Mrs.  Bunbury  3,  and  other  illustrious  names, 
and  much  would  poor  Renny  have  given  to 
have  had  Mrs.  Thrale  too,  and  Queeny, 
and  Burney4;  but  human  happiness  is  nev- 
er perfect;  there  is  always  une  vuide  af- 
freuse,  as  Maintenon  complained,  there  is 
some  craving  void  left  aching  in  the  breast. 
Renny  is  going  to  Ramsgate;  and  thus  the 
world  drops  away,  and  I am  left  in  the  sul- 
try town,  to  see  the  sun  in  the  Crab , and 
perhaps  in  the  Lion , while  you  are  paddling 
with  the  Nereids5.” 

“ London,  4th  July,  1780. 

“ I have  not  seen  or  done  much  since  I 
had  the  misfortune  of  seeing  you  go  away. 
I was  one  night  at  Burney’s.  There  were 
Pepys,  and  Mrs.  Ord,  and  Paradise  6,  and 

2 [Miss  Reynolds. — Ed.] 

3 [See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  186. — Ed.] 

4 [Miss  Fanny  Burney,  the  authour  of  Evelina, 
now  Madame  D’Arblay. — Ed.] 

5 [Mrs.  Thrale  was  at  Brighton. — Ed.] 

6 [See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  22. — Ed.] 


236 


1780. — iETAT.  71. 


Hoole,  and  Dr.  Dunbar  of  Aberdeen,  and  I 
know  not  how  many  more;  and  Pepvs  and 
i had  all  the  talk.55] 

[“  DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“ Bolt-court,  16th  June,  1780. 

« Dear  madam, — I answer  your 
letter  as  soon  as  I can,  for  I have 
just  received  it.  I am  very  willing 
to  wait  on  you  at  all  times,  and  will  sit  for 
the  picture,  and,  if  it  be  necessary,  will  sit 
again,  for  whenever  I sit  I shall  be  always 
with  you. 

“ Do  not,  my  love,  burn  your  papers.  I 
have  mended  little  but  some  bad  rhymes  1. 
I thought  them  very  pretty,  and  was  much 
moved  in  reading  them.  The  red  ink  is 
only  lake  and  gum,  and  with  a moist  sponge 
will  be  washed  off. 

“ I have  been  out  of  order,  but  by  bleeding 
and  other  means,  am  now  better.  Let  me 
know  on  which  day  I shall  come  to  you.  I 
am,  dear  madam,  your  most  humble  servant, 
“ Sam.  Johnson. 

“ To-day  I am  engaged,  and  only  to- 
day.55] 

[<CDR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“London,  10th  July,  1780. 

Letters  “ Last  week  I saw  flesh  but 

rei.  ii.  * twice,  and  I think  fish  once : the 
p.  166-173,  rest  Was  pease. 

*'c  You  are  afraid,  you  say,  lest  I extenu- 
ate myself  too  fast,  and  are  an  enemy  to  vio- 
lence: but  did  you  never  hear  nor  read,  dear 
madam,  that  every  man  has  his  genius; 
and  that  the  great  rule  by  which  all  ex- 
cellence is  attained,  and  all  success  procur- 
ed, is  to  follow  genius;  and  have  you  not 
observed  in  all  our  conversation  that  my 
genius  is  always  in  extremes — that  I am 
very  noisy  or  very  silent,  very  gloomy  or 
very  merry,  very  sour  or  very  kind?  And 
would  you  have  me  cross  my  genius , 
when  it  leads  me  sometimes  to  voracity, 
and  sometimes  to  abstinence?  You  know 
that  the  oracle  said,  Follow  your  genius. 
When  we  get  together  again  (but  when, 
alas!  will  that  be?)  you  can  manage  me, 
and  spare  me  the  solicitude  of  managing 
myself. 

“ 1 stay  at  home  to  work,  and  yet  do 
not  work  diligently;  nor  can  tell  when  I 
shall  have  done,  nor  perhaps  does  any 
body  but  myself  wish  me  to  have  done; 
for  what  can  they  hope  I shall  do  better? 
Yet  I wish  the  work  was  over,  and  I was 
at  liberty.  Would  I go  to  Mrs.  Aston  and 
Mrs.  Porter,  and  see  the  old  places,  and 
sigh  to  find  that  my  old  friends  are  gone? 


1  [Of  a poem  now  (by  the  favour  of  Mr.  Pal- 

mer) before  the  Editor.  Johnson  read  it  atten- 

tively, and  made  numerous  corrections,  but  after 

all  it  is  not  worth  much. — Ed.] 


Would  I recall  plans  of  life  which  1 never 
brought  into  practice,  and  hopes  of  excel- 
lence which  I once  presumed,  and  never 
have  attained?  Would  I compare  what  I 
now  am,  with  what  I once  expected  to  have 
been?  Is  it  reasonable  to  wish  for  sugges- 
tions of  shame,  and  opportunities  of  sor 
row?  ” 

“ London,  27th  July,  1780. 

“ I dined  yesterday  at  Sir  Joshua’s  with 
Mrs.  Cholmondeley,  and  she  told  me  I 
was  the  best  critick  in  the  world,  and 
I told  her  that  nobody  in  the  world  could 
judge  like  her  of  the  merit  of  a critick. 

“ On  Sunday  I was  with  Dr.  Lawrence 
and  his  two  sisters-in-law,  to  dine  with  Mr. 

G , at  Putney.  The  doctor  cannot 

hear  in  a coach  better  than  in  a room,  and 
it  was  but  a dull  day.” 

“ London,  1st  August,  1780. 

“ I sent  to  Lord  Westcote 2 about  his 
brother’s  life:  but  he  says  he  knows  not 
whom  to  employ,  and  is  sure  I shall  do  him" 
no  injury.  There  is  an  ingenious  scheme 
to  save  a day’s  work,  or  part  of  a day, 
utterly  defeated.  Then  what  avails  it  to 
be  wise?  The  plain  and  the  artful  man 
must  both  do  their  own  work.  But  I 
think  I have  got  a life  of  Dr.  Young3.”] 

In  the  course  of  this  month  my  brother 
David  4 waited  upon  Dr.  Johnson,  with  the 
following  letter  of  introduction,  which  I had 
taken  care  should  be  lying  ready  on  his  ar 
rival  in  London. 

“ TO  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“ Edinburgh,  29th  April,  1780. 

C£  My  dear  sir, — This  will  be  delivered 
to  you  by  my  brother  David  on  his  return 
from  Spain.  You  will  be  glad  to  see  the 
man  who  vowed  to  c stand  by  the  old  castle 
of  Auchinleck  with  heart,  purse,  and  sword;’ 
that  romantick  family  solemnity  devised  by 
me,  of  which  you  and  I talked  with  compla- 
cency upon  the  spot.  I trust  that  twelve 
years  of  absence  have  not  lessened  his 
feudal  attachment,  and  that  you  will  find 
him  worthy  of  being  introduced  to  your  ac- 
quaintance. I have  the  honour  to  be,  with 
affectionate  veneration,  my  dear  sir,  your 
most  faithful  humble  servant, 

“ James  Boswell.” 

Johnson  received  him  very  politely,  and 

2 [Brother  to  the  first  Lord  Lyttelton,  by  which 
title  he  was  afterwards  himself  created  an  English 
peer.  See  antet  vol.  i.  p.  491.  n. — Ed.] 

3 [From  Mr.  (afterwards  Sir)  Herbert  Croft 
lie  died  in  1816.— Ed.] 

4 Now  settled  in  London. — Boswell.  [As 
Inspector  of  Seamen’s  Wills  in  the  Navy  Pay 
Office,  from  which  situation  he  retired  in  1823. 
and  died  1826,  retat.  76. — Ed.] 


1730.— JETAT.  71. 


237 


has  thus  mentioned  him  in  a letter  to  Mrs. 
Thra.e  1 : 

“21st  June,  1780. 

Letters,  cc  I have  had  with  me  a brother 
voi.  ii.  of  Boswell’s,  a Spanish  merchant, 
r'  163‘  whom  the  war  has  driven  from 
his  residence  at  Valencia.  He  is  gone  to 
see  his  friends,  and  will  find  Scotland  but  a 
sorry  place  after  twelve  years’  residence  in 
a happier  climate.  He  is  a very  agreeable 
man,  and  speaks  no  Scotch.” 

En  [Dr.  Johnson  had,  for  the  last 

D'  year,  felt  some  alleviation  of  a trou- 
blesome disease  which  had  long  affected 
him;  this  relief  he  thus  gratefully  and  de- 
voutly acknowledged: 

Sunday,  June  18. — In  the  morning  of 
this  day  last  year,  I perceived  the  remis- 
sion of  those  convulsions  in  my  breast  which 
had  distressed  me  for  more  than  twen- 
ty years.  I returned  thanks  at  church,  for 
the  mercy  granted  me,  which  has  now  con- 
tinued a year.”] 

[<CDR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ 14th  August,  1780. 

Letters,  “ I hope  you  have  no  design  of 
voi.  ii  stealing  away  to  Italy  before  the 

p m'  election,  nor  of  leaving  me  behind 

you;  though  I am  not  only  seventy  but 
seventy-one.  Could  not  you  let  me  lose  a 
year  in  round  numbers?  Sweetly,  sweetly, 
sings  Dr.  Swift, 

* Some  dire  misfortune  to  portend, 

No  enemy  can  match  a friend.’ 

But  what  if  I am  seventy-two ? I remem- 
ber Sulpitius  says  of  Saint  Martin — (now 
that’s  above  your  reading) — Est  animus 
victor  annorum , et  senectuti  cedere  nescius. 
Match  me  that  among  your  own  folks.  If 
you  try  to  plague  me,  I shall  tell  you  that, 
according  to  Galen,  life  begins  to  decline 
from  thirty-five2.”] 

“ TO  DR.  BEATTIE,  AT  ABERDEEN. 

“ Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  21st  August,  1780. 

“ Sir, — More  years  3 than  I have  any  de- 
light to  reckon  have  past  since  you  and  I 
saw  one  another : of  this,  however,  there  is 

1 Mrs.  Piozzi  has  omitted  the  name,  she  best 
knows  why. — Boswell.  [Mrs.  Piozzi  (acting 
with  more  delicacy,  both  to  him  and  others,  than 
Mr.  Boswell  himself  showed),  has  almost  every 
where  omitted  names:  she  feared,  perhaps,  that 
Mr.  Boswell  might  not  like  to  see  his  name  coup- 
led with  the  designation  of  Scotland  as  a “ sorry 
place.” — Ed.] 

2 [It  may  be  surmised  that  Mrs.  Thrale,  at  her 
/ast  birth-day,  was  thirty-five:  see  ante,  pp.  87 
and  215. — Ed.] 

3 I had  been  five  years  absent  from  London. — 
Beattie. 


no  reason  for  making  any  reprehensory 
complaint : — Sic  fata  ferunt.  But  methinka 
there  might  pass  some  small  interchange 
of  regard  between  us.  If  you  say  that  I 
ought  to  have  written,  I now  write:  and  I 
write  to  tell  you,  that  I have  much  kind- 
ness for  you  and  Mrs.  Beattie;  and  that  1 
wish  your  health  better,  and  your  life  long. 
Try  change  of  air,  and  come  a few  degrees 
southwards.  A softer  climate  may  do  you 
both  good.  Winter  is  coming  in;  and 
London  will  be  warmer,  and  gayer,  and 
busier,  and  more  fertile  of  amusement  than 
Aberdeen. 

“ My  health  is  better,  but  that  will  be 
little  in  the  balance  when  I tell  you  that 
Mrs.  Montagu  has  been  very  ill,  and  is,  I 
doubt,  now  but  weakly.  Mr.  Thrale  has 
been  very  dangerously  disordered;  but  is 
much  better,  and  I hope  will  totally  recov- 
er. He  has  withdrawn  himself  from  busi- 
ness the  whole  summer.  Sir  Joshua  and 
his  sister  are  well;  and  Mr.  Davies  has  got 
great  success  as  an  authour  4,  generated  by 
the  corruption  of  a bookseller5.  More 
news  I have  not  to  tell  you,  and  therefore 
you  must  be  contented  with  hearing,  what 
I know  not  whether  you  much  wish  to 
hear6,  that  I am,  sir,  your  most  humble 
servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO,  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ London,  21st  August,  1780 

c‘  Dear  sir, — I find  you  have  taken  one 
of  your  fits  of  taciturnity,  and  have  resolved 
not  to  write  till  you  are  written  to:  it  is  but 
a peevish  humour,  but  you  shall  have  your 
way. 

“ I have  sat  at  home  in  Bolt-couit  all  the 
summer,  thinking  to  write  the  Lives , and  a 
great  part  of  the  time  only  thinking.  Sev- 
eral of  them,  however,  are  done,  and  I still 
think  to  do  the  rest. 

4 Meaning  his  entertaining  “ Memoirs  of  Da- 
vid Garrick,  Esq.,”  of  which  Johnson  (as  Davies 
informed  me)  wrote  the  first  sentence;  thus  giv- 
ing, as  it  were,  the  key-note  to  the  performance. 
It  is,  indeed,  very  characteristical  of  its  authour, 
beginning  with  a maxim,  and  proceeding  to  illus- 
rate.  “ All  excellence  has  a right  to  be  recorded. 
I shall,  therefore,  think  it  superfluous  to  apologize 
for  writing  the  life  of  a man,  who,  by  an  uncom- 
mon assemblage  of  private  virtues,  auorned  the 
highest  eminence  in  a publick  profession.” — Bos- 
well. 

5 [What  the  expression  “ generated  by  the  cor- 
ruption of  a bookseller  ” means  seems  not  quite 
clear;  perhaps  it  is  an  allusion  to  the  generation 
of  a class  of  insects,  as  if  Davies,  from  his  adver- 
sity as  a bookseller,  had  burst  into  new  and  gau 
dier  life  as  an  authour. — Ed.] 

6 I wish  he  had  omitted  „the  suspicion  expressed 
here,  though  I believe  he  meant  nothing  but  joc- 
ularity; for,  though  he  and  I differed  sometimes 
in  opinion,  he  well  knew  how  much  I loved  and 
revered  him. — Beattie. 


238 


1780. — AST  AT.  71. 


“M..  Thrale  and  his  family  have,  since 
his  illness,  passed  their  time  first  at  Bath, 
and  then  at  Brighthelmstone  ; but  I have 
been  at  neither  place.  I would  have  gone 
to  Lichfield  if  I could  have  had  time,  and  I 
might  have  had  time  if  I had  been  active; 
but  I have  missed  much,  and  done  little. 

“ In  the  late  disturbances,  Mr.  Thrale’s 
house  and  stock  were  in  great  danger.  The 
mob  was  pacified  at  their  first  invasion 
with  about  fifty  pounds  in  drink  and  meat; 
and  at  their  second,  were  driven  away  by 
the  soldiers.  Mr.  Strahan  got  a garrison 
into  his  house,  and  maintained  them  a 
fortnight:  he  was  so  frighted,  that  he  re- 
moved part  of  his  goods.  Mrs.  Williams 
took  shelter  in  the  country. 

“ I know  not  whether  I shall  get  a ram- 
ble this  autumn.  It  is  now  about  the  time 
when  we  were  travelling.  I have,  how- 
ever, better  health  than  I had  then,  and 
hope  you  and  I may  yet  show  ourselves  on 
some  part  of  Europe,  Asia,  or  Africa 1.  In 
the  mean  time  let  us  play  no  trick,  but  keep 
each  other’s  kindness  by  all  means  in  our 
power. 

“ The  bearer  of  this  is  Dr.  Dunbar  of 
Aberdeen,  who  has  written  and  published  a 
very  ingenious  book  2,  and  who  I think  has 
a kindness  for  me,  and  will,  when  he  knows 
you,  have  a kindness  for  you. 

“ I suppose  your  little  ladies,  are  grown 
tall;  and  your  son  has  become  a learned 
young  man.  I love  them  all,  and  I love  your 
naughty  lady,  whom  I never  shall  persuade 
to  love  me.  When  the  Lives  are  done,  I 
shall  send  them  to  complete  her  collection, 
but  must  send  them  in  paper,  as,  for  want 
of  a pattern,  I cannot  bind  them  to  fit  the 
rest.  I am,  sir,  yours  most  affectionately, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

[“  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  25th  August,  1780. 
Letters,  u I have  not  dined  out  for  some 
▼oi.  n.  time  but  with  Renny  or  Sir  Josh- 

p* 190,  ua;  and  next  week  Sir  Joshua 


1 It  will  no  doubt  be  remarked  how  he  avoids 
the  rebellious  land  of  America.  This  puts  me  in 
mind  of  an  anecdote,  for  which  I am  obliged  to 
my  worthy,  social  friend,  Governour  Richard 
Penn.  “ At  one  of  Miss  E.  Hervey’s  assemblies, 
Dr.  Johnson  was  following  her  up  and  down  the 
loom;  upon  which  Lord  Abington  observed  to 
her,  ‘ Your  great  friend  is  very  fond  of  you;  you 
can  go  no  where  without  him.’  ‘ Ay,’  said  she, 
* he  would  follow  me  to  any  part  of  the  world.’ 
‘Then,’  said  the  earl,  ‘ ask  him  to  go  with  you 
to  America .’  ” — Boswell.  [This  lady  was 
Miss  Elizabeth  Hervey,  daughter  of  William, 
brother  of  Johnson’s  fwo  friends,  Thomas  and 
Henry  Hervey.  She  was  born  in  1730,  and  died 
at  a very  advanced  age,  unmarried. — Ed.] 

2 “ Essays  on  the  History  of  Mankind.” — Bos- 
well. 


goes  to  Devonshire,  and  Renny  to  Rich- 
mond, and  I am  left  by  myself.  I wish  I 
could  say  nunquam  minus  3,  &c.,  but  I am 
not  diligent. 

“ I am  afraid  that  I shall  not  see  Lichfield 
this  year,  yet  it  would  please  me  to  show 
my  friends  how  much  better  I am  grown: 
but  I am  not  grown,  I am  afraid,  less  idle; 
and  of  idleness  I am  now  paying  the  fine  by 
having  no  leisure.”] 

This  year  he  wrote  to  a young  clergyman4 
in  the  country  the  following  very  excellent 
letter,  which  contains  valuable  advice  to 
divines  in  general : 

“ Bolt-court,  SOth  August,  1780. 

“Dear  sir, — Not  many  days  ago  Dr. 
Lawrence  showed  me  a letter,  in  which  you 
make  mention  of  me:  I hope,  therefore,  you 
will  not  be  displeased  that  I endeavour  to 
preserve  your  good  will  by  some  observa- 
tions which  your  letter  suggested  to  me. 

“You  are  afraid  of  falling  into  some  im- 
proprieties in  the  daily  service  by  reading 
to  an  audience  that  requires  no  exactness. 
Your  fear,  I hope,  secures  you  from  danger. 
They  who  contract  absurd  habits  are  such 
as  have  no  fear.  It  is  impossible  to  do  the 
same  thing  very  often  without  some  pecu- 
liarity of  manner:  but  that  manner  maybe 
good  or  bad,  and  a little  care  will  at  least 
preserve  it  from  being  bad : to  make  it  good, 
there  must,  I think,  be  something  of  nat- 
ural or  casual  felicity,  which  cannot  be 
taught. 

“Your  present  method  of  making  your 
sermons  seems  very  judicious.  Few  fre- 
quent preachers  can  be  supposed  to  have 
sermons  more  their  own  than  yours  will  be 
Take  care  to  register,  somewhere  or  other, 
the  authours  from  whom  your  several  dis- 
courses are  borrowed;  and  do  not  imagine 
that  you  shall  always  remember,  even  what, 
perhaps,  you  now  think  it  impossible  to 
forget. 

“ My  advice,  however,  is,  that  you  'at- 
tempt, from  time  to  time,  an  original  ser- 
mon; and,  in  the  labour  of  composition,  do 
not  burden  your  mind  with  too  much  at 
once;  do  not  exact  from  yourself  at  one 
effort  of  excogitation,  propriety  of  thought 
and  elegance  of  expression.  Invent  first, 
and  then  embellish.  The  production  of 
something  where  nothing  was  before,  is  an 
act  of  greater  energy  than  the  expansion  or 
decoration  of  the  thing  produced.  Set 
down  diligently  your  thoughts  as  they  rise 
in  the  first  words  that  occur;  and  when 
you  have  matter  you  will  easily  give  it 

3 [“  Never  less  alone  than  when  alone.”-  - 
Ed.] 

4 [Probably  his  friend,  the  Reverend  Georga 
Strahan,  who  published  his  Prayers  and  Medita 
tions. — Eu.} 


1780. — dBTAT.  71. 


239 


form;  nor,  perhaps,  will  this  method  be 
always  necessary;  for,  by  habit,  your 
thoughts  and  diction  will  flow  together. 

44  The  composition  of  sermons  is  not  very 
difficult,  the  divisions  not  only  help  the 
memory  of  the  hearer,  but  direct  the  judg- 
ment of  the  writer:  they  supply  sources  of 
invention,  and  keep  every  part  in  its  proper 
place. 

44  What  I like  least  in  your  letter  is  your 
account  of  the  manners  of  your  parish; 
from  which  I gather,  that  it  has  been  long 
neglected  by  the  parson.  The  Dean  of 
Carlisle1  who  was  then  a little  rector  in 
Northamptonshire,  told  me,  that  it  might 
be  discerned  whether  or  no  there  was  a 
clergyman  resident  in  a parish,  by  the  civil 
or  savage  manner  of  the  people.  Such  a 
congregation  as  yours  stands  in  need  of 
much  reformation : and  I would  not  have 
you  think  it  impossible  to  reform  them. 
A very  savage  parish  was  civilized  by  a de- 
cayed gentlewoman,  who  came  among  them 
to  teach  a petty  school.  My  learned  friend, 
Dr.  Wheeler,  of  Oxford,  when  he  was  a 
young  man,  had  the  care  of  a neighbouring 
parish  for  fifteen  pounds  a year,  which  he 
was  never  paid;  but  he  counted  it  a conve- 
nience, that  it  compelled  him  to  make  a 
sermon  weekly.  One  woman  he  could  not 
bring  to  the  communion;  and  when  he  re- 
proved or  exhorted  her,  she  only  answered, 
that  she  was  no  scholar.  He  was  advised 
to  set  some  good  woman  or  man  of  the 
parish,  a little  wiser  than  herself,  to  talk  to 
her  in  a language  level  to  her  mind.  Such 
honest,  I maycallthem  holy,  artifices  must  be 
practised  by  every  clergyman;  for  all  means 
must  be  tried  by  which  souls  maybe  saved. 
Talk  to  your  people,  however,  as  much  as 
you  can;  and  you  will  find,  that  the  more 
frequently  you  converse  with  them  upon 
religious  subjects,  the  more  willingly  they 
will  attend,  and  the  more  submissively  they 
will  learn.  A clergyman’s  diligence  always 
makes  him  venerable.  I think  I have  now 
only  to  say,  that,  in  the  momentous  work 
you  have  undertaken,  I pray  God  to  bless 
you.  I am,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 
44  Sam.  Johnson.” 

My  next  letters  to  him  were  dated  24th 
August,  6th  September,  and  1st  October, 
and  from  them  I extract  the  following  pas- 
sages : 

44  My  brother  David  and  I find  the  long 
indulged  fancy  of  our  comfortable  meeting 
again  at  Auchinleck  so  well  realised,  that 
it  in  some  degree  confirms  the  pleasing 
hope  of  O!  preclarun  diem!  in  a future 
state. 

“ I beg  that  you  may  never  again  har- 


' Dr.  Percy. — Bobwiu. 


hour  a suspicion  of  my  indulging  a peevish 
humour,  or  playing  tricks;  you  wili  recol- 
lect that  when  I confessed  to  you  that  I had 
once  been  intentionally  silent  to  try  your 
regard,  I gave  you  my  word  and  honour 
that  I would  not  do  so  again. 

“I  rejoice  to  hear  of  your  good  state  of 
health;  I pray  God  to  continue  it  long.  I 
have  often  said  that  I would  willingly  have 
ten  years  added  to  my  life,  to  have  ten 
taken  from  yours;  I mean,  that  I would  be 
ten  years  older  to  have  you  ten  years 
younger.  But  let  me  be  thankful  for  the 
years  during  which  I have  enjoyed  your 
friendship,  and  please  myself  with  the  hopes 
of  enjoying  it  many  years  to  come  in  this 
state  of  being,  trusting  always,  that  in 
another  state,  we  shall  meet  never  to  be 
separated.  Of  this  we  can  form  no  notion; 
but  the  thought,  though  indistinct,  is  de- 
lightful, when  the  mind  is  calm  and  clear. 

“The  riots  in  London  were  certainly 
horrible;  but  you  give  me  no  account  of 
your  own  situation  during  the  barbarous 
anarchy.  A description  of  it  by  Dr.  John- 
son would  be  a great  painting2 *;  you  might 
write  another  4 London,  a poem.’ 

“ I am  charmed  with  your  condescending 
affectionate  expression,  4 let  us  keep  each 
other’s  kindness  by  all  the  means  in  our 
power:’  my  revered  friend!  how  elevating 
is  it  to  my  mind,  that  I am  found  worthy  to 
be  a companion  to  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson! 
All  that  you  have  said  in  grateful  praise  of 
Mr.  Walmsley,  I have  long  thought  of  you; 
but  we  are  both  Tories,  which  has  a very 
general  influence  upon  our  sentiments.  I 
hope  that  you  will  agree  to  meet  me  at 
York,  about  the  end  of  this  month;  or  if 
you  will  come  to  Carlisle,  that  would  be 
better  still,  in  case  the  dean  be  there. 
Please  to  consider,  that  to  keep  each  oth- 
er’s kindness,  we  should  every  year  have 
that  free  and  intimate  communication  of 
mind  which  can  be  had  only  when  we  are 
together.  W e should  have  both  our  solemn 
and  our  pleasant  talk. 

44 1 write  now  for  the  third  time,  to  tell 
you  that  my  desire  for  our  meeting  this  au- 
tumn is  much  increased.  I wrote  to  ’Squire 
Godfrey  Bosville,  my  Yorkshire  chief  j that 
I should,  perhaps,  pay  him  a visit,  as  I was 
to  hold  a conference  with  Dr.  Johnson  at 
York.  I give  you  my  word  and  honour 
that  I said  not  a word  of  his  inviting  you; 
but  he  wrote  to  me  as  follows  : 

44  4 1 need  not  tell  you  I shall  be  happy  to 
see  you  here  the  latter  end  of  this  month,  as 
you  propose;  and  I shall  likewise  be  in 
hopes  that  you  will  persuade  Dr.  Johnson  to 
finish  the  conference  here.  It  will  add  to 
the  favour  of  your  own  company,  if  you 


2 I had  not  seen  his  letters  to  Mrs.  Thrale. — 

Bos  we  Ln. 


240 


1780  — iETAT.  71. 


prevail  upon  such  an  associate,  to  assist 
your  observations.  I have  often  been  en- 
tertained with  his  writings,  and  I once  be- 
longed to  a club  of  which  he  was  a mem- 
ber, and  I never  spent  an  evening  there,  but 
I heard  something  from  him  well  worth  re- 
membering.’ 

“ We  have  thus,  my  dear  sir,  good  com- 
fortable quarters  *in  the  neighbourhood  of 
York,  where  you  may  be  assured  we  shall 
be  heartily  welcome.  I pray  you  then  re- 
solve to  set  out;  and  let  not  the  year  1780 
be  a blank  in  our  social  calendar,  and  in 
that  record  of  wisdom  and  wit,  which  I keep 
with  so  much  diligence,  to  your  honour,  and 
the  instruction  and  delight  of  others.” 

Mr.  Thrale  had  now  another  contest  for 
the  representation  in  parliament  of  the 
borough  of  Southwark,  and  Johnson  kindly 
lent  him  his  assistance,  by  writing  advertise- 
ments and  letters  for  him.  I shall  insert 
one  as  a specimen  *: 

“ TO  THE  WORTHY  ELECTORS  OP  THE 
BOROUGH  OF  SOUTHWARK. 

“ Southwark,  5th  Sept.  1780. 

“ Gentlemen, — A new  parliament  be- 
ing now  called,  I again  solicit  the  honour  j 
of  being  elected  for  one  of  your  representa-  j 
tives;  and  solicit  it  with  the  greater  confi-  j 
dence,  as  I am  not  conscious  of  having  neg-  j 
lected  my  duty,  or  of  having  acted  other-  J 
wise  than  as  becomes  the  independent  re-  j 
presentative  of  independent  constituents; 
superiour  to  fear,  hope,  and  expectation,  I 
who  has  no  private  purposes  to  promote,  | 
and  whose  prosperity  is  involved  in  the  ! 
prosperity  of  his  country.  As  my  recovery  | 
from  a very  severe  distemper  is  not  yet  per- 
fect, I have  declined  to  attend  the  hall,  and  : 
hope  an  omission  so  necessary  will  not  be  j 
harshly  censured. 

“ I can  only  send  my  respectful  wishes,  | 
that  all  your  "deliberations  may  tend  to  the 
happiness  of  the  kingdom,  and  the  peace  of 
the  borough.  I am,  gentlemen,  your  most 
faithful  and  obedient  servant, 

“ Henry  Thrale.” 

[Mrs.  Piozzi  exhibits  Dr.  Johnson 
p*®™’  in  a new  an(^  unexpected  character, 
as  taking  a personal  part  in  one  of  j 
Mr.  Thrale’s  contests  for  the  borough. 
“Dr.  Johnson,”  she  says,  “knew  how  to 
be  merry  with  mean  people,  as  well  as  to  be 
sad  with  them;  he  loved  the  lower  ranks  of  j 
humanity  with  a real  affection : and  though 
his  talents  and  learning  kept  him  always  in 
the  sphere  of  upper  life,  yet  he  never  lost 
sight  of  the  time  when  he  and  they  shared  j 
pain  and  pleasure  in  common.  A Borough 
election  once  showed  me  his  toleration  of 
boisterous  mirth,  and  his  content  in  the  i 
company  of  people  whom  one  would  have  j 


thought  at  first  sight  little  calculated  for  his 
society.  A rough  fellow  one  day  on  such 
an  occasion,  a hatter  by  trade;  seeing  Dr. 
Johnson’s  beaver  in  a state  of  decay,  seized 
it  suddenly  with  one  hand,  and  clapping 
him  on  the  back  with  the  other:  ‘ Ah,  mas- 
ter Johnson,’  says  he, c this  is  no  time  to  be 
thinking  about  hats.’  ‘ No,  no,  sir,’  replie? 
our  Doctor  in  a cheerful  tone,  ‘ hats  are  of 
no  use  now,  as  you  say,  except  to  throw  up 
in  the  air  and  huzza  with;  ’ accompanying 
his  words  with  the  true  election  halloo.”] 

“TO  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE  LADY 
SOUTHWELL1,  DUBLIN. 

“Bolt-court,  Fleet-street, London,  9th  Sept.  1780. 

“Madam, — Among  the  numerous  ad- 
dresses of  condolence  which  your  great  loss 
must  have  occasioned,  be  pleased  to  receive 
this  from  one  whose  name  perhaps  you  have 
never  heard,  and  to  whom  your  ladyship  is 
known  only  by  the  reputation  of  your  vir- 
tue, and  to  whom  your  lord  was  known  on- 
ly by  his  kindness  and  beneficence. 

“ Your  ladyship  is  now  again  summoned 
to  exert  that  piety  of  which  you  once  gave, 
in  a state  of  pain  and  danger,  so  illustrious 
an  example;  and  your  lord’s  beneficence 
may  be  still  continued  by  those,  who  with 
his  fortune  inherit  his  virtues. 

“ I hope  to  be  forgiven  the  liberty  which 
I shall  take  of  informing  your  ladyship,  that 
Mr.  Mauritius  Lowe,  a son  of  your  late 
lord’s  father2,  had,  by  recommendation  to 

1 Margaret,  the  second  daughter,  and  one  of 
the  co-heiresses  of  Arthur  Cecil  Hamilton,  Esq. 
She  was  married  in  1741  to  Thomas  George,  the 
third  Baron,  and  first  Viscount,  Southwell,  and 
lived  with  him  in  the  most  perfect  connubial  felici- 
ty, till  September,  1780,  when  Lord  Southwell  di- 
ed; a loss  w’hich  she  never  ceased  to  lament  to  the 
hour  of  her  own  dissolution,  in  her  eighty-first  year, 
August  16,  1802.  The  “ illustrious  example  of 
piety  and  fortitude  ” to  which  Dr.  Johnson  alludes 
was  the  submitting,  when  past  her  fiftieth  year,  to 
an  extremely  painful  surgical  operation,  which 
she  endured  with  extraordinary  firmness  and  com- 
posure, not  allowing  herself  to  be  tied  to  her  chair, 
nor  uttering  a single  moan.  This  slight  tribute  of 
affection  to  the  memory  of  these  two  most  amia- 
ble and  excellent  persons,  who  were  not  less  dis- 
tinguished by  their  piety,  beneficence,  and  un- 
bounded charity,  than  by  suavity  of  manners 
which  endeared  them  to  all  who  knew  them,  it  is 
hoped,  will  be  forgiven  from  one  who  was  hon- 
oured by  their  kindness  and  friendship  from  his 
childhood. — Malone. 

2 Thomas,  the  second  Lord  Southwell,  wrho 
was  born  Jan.  7,  1698-g,  and  died  in  London, 
Nov.  18,  1766.  Johnson  wras  well  acquainted 
with  this  nobleman,  and  said,  “he  was  thevhigh-. 
est  bred  man,  w ithout  insolence,  that  he  was  evei 
in  company  with.”  His  younger  brother,  Edmund 
Southwell,  lived  in  intimacy  with  Johnson  foi 
many  years.  See  an  account  of  him  in  “Haw 
kins’s  Life  of  Johnson,”  p.  405.  He  died  it 


1780  - JE  TAT.  71. 


241 


your  lord,  a quarterly  allowance  of  ten 
pounds,  the  last  of  which,  due  July  26,  he 
has  not  received:  he  was  in  hourly  hope  of 
his  remittance,  and  flattered  himself  that  on 
October  26,  he  should  have  received  the 
whole  half-year’s  bounty,  when  he  was 
struck  with  the  dreadful  news  of  his  bene- 
factor’s death. 

“May  I presume  to  hope,  that  his  want, 
his  relation,  and  his  merit,  which  excited 
his  lordship’s  charity,  will  continue  to  have 
the  same  effect  upon  those  whom  he  has 
left  behind;  and  that,  though  he  has  lost 
one  friend,  he  may  not  yet  be  destitute. 
Your  ladyship’s  charity  cannot  easily  be  ex- 
erted where  it. is  wanted  more;  and  to  a 
mind  like  yours,  distress  is  a sufficient  re- 
commendation. I hope  to  be  allowed  the 
honour  of  being',  madam,  your  ladyship’s 
most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

[Amongst  Mr.  Lowe’s  papers  was 
D’  found,  in  Dr.  Johnson’s  handwriting, 
the  following  draft  of  a letter  which,  no 
doubt,  Johnson  had  sketched  for  his  poor 
friend,  and  which  was  probably  addressed 
to  the  new  Lord  Southwell 1 : 

“ My  lord, — The  allowance  which 
you  are  pleased  to  make  me,  I received 

on  the by  Mr.  Puget.  Of  the  joy 

which  it  brought,  your  lordship  cannot 
judge,  because  you  cannot  imagine  my  dis- 
tress. It  was  long  since  I had  known  a 
morning  without  solicitude  for  noon,  or  lain 
down  at  night  without  foreseeing,  with  ter- 
ror, the  distresses  of  the  morning.  My 
debts  were  small,  but  many;  my  creditors 
were  poor,  and  therefore  troublesome.  Of 
this  misery  your  lordship’s  bounty  has  given 
me  an  intermission.  May  your  lordship 
live  long  to  do  much  good,  and  to  do  for 
many  what  you  have  done  for,  my  lord, 
your  lordship’s,  &c.  “ M.  Lowe.”] 

On  his  birthday,  Johnson  has  this  note: 

London,  Nov.  22,  1772.  In  opposition  to  the 
knight’s  unfavourable  representation  of  this  gen- 
tleman, to  whom  I was  indebted  for  my  first  in- 
troduction to  Johnson,  I take  this  opportunity  to 
add,  that  he  appeared  to  me  a pious  man,  and 
was  very  fond  of  leading  the  conversation  to 
religious  subjects. — Malone.  [Sir  J.  Hawkins’s 
account  is  not  otherwise  “ unfavourable  ” than  in 
representing  him  to  have  been  reduced  to  a state 
of  poverty  so  abject  as  to  be  almost  incredible  ; 
and  the  editor  would  have  been  satisfied  that  Haw- 
kins had  been  under  some  mistake  about  this 
matter,  had  not  Mr.  Malone  (disposed  as  he  was 
to  censure  Hawkins,  and  to  uphold  Southwell) 
appeared  in  the  foregoing  note  to  acquiesce  in 
that  part  of  Hawkins’s  statement. — Ed.] 

1 [Communicated  to  the  Editor  by  Mr.  Mark- 
iand. — Ed.] 

VOL.  II. 


<£  I am  now  beginning  the  seventy  <-second 
year  of  my  life,  with  more  strength  of  body 
and  greater  vigour  of  mind  than  I think  is 
common  at  that  age.” 

But  still  he  complains  of  sleepless  nights 
and  idle  (Jays,  and  forgetfulness,  or  neglect 
of  resolutions.  He  thus  pathetically  ex 
presses  himself : 

“ Surely  I shall  not  spend  my  whole  life 
with  my  own  total  disapprobation.” 

Mr.  Macbean,  whom  I have  mentioned 
more  than  once,  as  one  of  Johnson’s  hum- 
ble friends,  a deserving  but  unfortunate 
man,  being  now  oppressed  by  age  and  pov- 
erty, Johnson  solicited  the  Lord  Chancellor 
Thurlow  to  have  him  admitted  into  the 
Charter-house.  I take  the  liberty  to  insert 
his  lordship’s  answer,  as  I am  eager  to  em 
brace  every  occasion  of  augmenting  the  re 
spectable  notion  which  should  ever  be  en 
tertained  of  my  illustrious  friend : 

“ TO  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“London,  24th  October,  1780. 

“ Sir, — I have  this  moment  received 
your  letter  dated  the  19th,  and  returned 
from  Bath. 

“ In  the  beginning  of  the  summer  I placed 
one  in  the  Chartreux,  without  the  sanction 
of  a recommendation  so  distinct  and  so  au- 
thoritative as  yours  of  Macbean;  and  I am 
afraid,  that  according  to  the  establishment 
of  the  house,  the  opportunity  of  making  the 
charity  so  good  amends  will  not  soon  recur. 
But  whenever  a vacancy  shall  happen,  if 
you’ll  favour  me  with  notice  of  it,  I will  try 
to  recommend  him  to  the  place,  even  though 
it  should  not  be  my  turn  to  nominate.  1 
am,  sir,  with  great  regard,  your  most  faitn 
ful  and  obedient  servant, 

“ Thurlow.” 

Mr.  Macbean  was,  however,  on 
Lord  Thurlow’s  nomination,  ad-  a one’ 
mitted  into  the  Chartreux  in  April,  1781; 
on  which  occasion  Dr.  Johnson,  with  that 
benevolence  by  which  he  was  uniformly  ac- 
tuated, wrote  the  following  letter,  which, 
for  the  sake  of  connexion,  may  properly  be 
introduced  here : 

“to  the  reverend  dr.  vyse,  at 

LAMBETH. 

“Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  10th  April,  1781. 

“ Rev.  sir, — The  bearer  is  one  of  my 
old  friends,  a man  of  great  learning,  whom 
the  chancellor  has  been  pleased  to  nominate 
to  the  Chartreux.  He  attends  his  grace  the 
archbishop,  to  take  the  oath  required;  and 
being  a modest  scholar,  will  escape  embar- 
rassment, if  you  are  so  kind  as  to  introduce 


31 


242 


1780.— jETAT  71. 


him,  by  which  you  will  do  a kindness  to  a 
man  of  great  merit,  and  add  another  to 
those  favours,  which  have  already  been  con- 
ferred by  you  on,  sir,  your  most  humble  ser- 
vant, “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“to  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“ 17th  Oct.  1780. 

••  Dear  sir, — I am  sorry  to  write  you  a 
.etter  that  will  not  please  you,  and  yet  it  is 
at  last  what  I resolve  to  do.  This  year 
must  pass  without  an  interview;  the  sum- 
mer has  been  foolishly  lost,  like  many  other 
of  my  summers  and  winters.  I hardly  saw 
a green  field,  but  staid  in  town  to  work, 
without  working  much. 

“ Mr.  Thrale’s  loss  of  health  has  lost  him 
the  election  l;  he  is  now  going  to  Bright- 
helmstone,  and  expects  me  to  go  with  him; 
and  how  long  I shall  stay,  I cannot  tell.  I 
do  not  much  like  the  place,  but  yet  I shall 
go  and  stay  while  my  stay  is  desired.  We 
must,  therefore,  content  ourselves  with 
knowing  what  we  know  as  well  as  man  can 
know  the  mind  of  man,  that  we  love  one 
another,  and  that  we  wish  each  other’s  hap- 
piness, and  that  the  lapse  of  a year  cannot 
lessen  our  mutual  kindness. 

“ I was  pleased  to  be  told  that  I accused 
Mrs.  Boswell  unjustly,  in  supposing  that 
she  bears  me  ill-will.  1 love  you  so  much, 
that  I would  be  glad  to  love  all  that  love 
you,  and  that  you  love;  and  I have  love  ve- 
ry ready  for  Mrs.  Boswell,  if  she  thinks  it 
worthy  of  acceptance.  I hope  all  the  young 
ladies  and  gentlemen  are  well. 

“ I take  a great  liking  to  your  brother. 
He  tells  me  that  his  father  received  him 
kindly,  but  not  fondly : however,  you  seem 
to  have  lived  well  enough  at  Auchinleck, 
while  you  staid.  Make  your  father  as  hap- 
py as  you  can. 

“ You  lately  told  me  of  your  health : I can 
tell  you  in  return,  that  my  health  has  been 
for  more  than  a year  past  better  than  it  has 
been  for  many  years  before.  Perhaps  it 
may  please  God  to  give  us  some  time  to- 
gether before  we  are  parted.  I am,  dear 
sir,  yours,  most  affectionately, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“to  the  reverend  dr.  vyse,  at 

LAMBETH. 

“30th  Dec.  1780. 

“ Sir, — I hope  you  will  forgive  the  liber- 

1  [“  Mrs.  Thrale  felt  this  very  acutely.  When, 

after  Mr.  Thrale’s  death,  a friend  of  Mr.  Henry 
Thornton,  then  a candidate  for  Southwark,  can- 
vassed Mrs.  Thrale  for  her  interest,  she  replied, 
“ I wish  your  friend  success,  and  think  he  will 
have  it  ; — he  may  probably  come  in  for  two 
parliaments,  but  if  he  tries  for  a third,  were  he  an 
angel  from  heaven,  the  people  of  Southwark 
would  cry,  ‘ Not  this  man,  but  Barabbas.’  ” — 
Miss  Hawkins's  Mem.  vol.  i.  p.  66. — Ed.] 


ty  I take,  in  soliciting  your  interposition 
with  his  grace  the  archbishop:  my  first  pe- 
tition was  successful,  and  I therefore  ven- 
ture on  a second. 

“ The  matron  of  the  Chartreux  is  about 
to  resign  her  place,  and  Mrs.  Desmoulins,  a 
daughter  of  the  late  Dr.  Swinfen2,  who 
was  well  known  to  your  father,  is  desirous 
of  succeeding  her.  She  has  been  accus- 
tomed by  keeping  a boarding-school  to  the 
care  of  children,  and  I think  is  very  likely 
to  discharge  her  duty.  She  is  in  great  dis 
tress,  and  therefore  may  properly  receive 
the  benefit  of  a charitable  foundation.  If 
you  wish  to  see  her,  she  will  be  willing  to 
give  an  account  of  herself. 

“ If  you  shall  be  pleased,  sir,  to  mention 
her  favourably  to  his  grace,  you  will  do  a 
great  act  of  kindness  to,  sir,  your  most 
obliged  and  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 


Being  disappointed  in  my  hopes  of  meet- 
ing Johnson  this  year,  so  that  I could  hear 
none  of  his  admirable  sayings,  I shall  com- 
pensate for  this  want  by  inserting  a collec- 
tion of  them,  for  which  I am  indebted  to 
my  worthy  friend  Mr.  Langton,  whose  kind 
communications  have  been  separately  inter- 
woven in  many  parts  of  this  work.  Very 
few  articles  of  this  collection  wer-e  commit- 
ted to  writing  by  himself,  he  not  having 
that  habit;  which  he  regrets,  and  which 
those  who  know  the  numerous  opportuni- 
ties he  had  of  gathering  the  rich  fruits  of 
Johnsonian  wit  and  wisdom,  must  ever  re- 
gret. I however  found,  in  conversation 
with  him,  that  a good  store  of  Johnsoniana 
was  treasured  in  his  mind;  and  I compared 
it  to  Herculaneum,  or  some  old  Roman  field, 
which,  when  dug,  fully  rewards  the  labour- 
er employed.  The  authenticity  of  every 
article  is  unquestionable.  For  the  expres- 
sion, I,  who  wrote  them  down  in  his  pre- 
sence, am  partly  answerable. 

“ Theocritus  is  not  deserving  of 
very  high  respect  as  a writer;  as  ang  °n 
to  the  pastoral  part,  Virgil  is  very  evidently 
superiour.  He  wrote,  when  there  had  been 
a larger  influx  of  knowledge  into  the  world 
than  when  Theocritus  lived.  Theocritus 
does  not  abound  in  description,  though  liv- 
ing in  a beautiful  country:  the  manners 
painted  are  coarse  and  gross.  Virgil  has 
much  more  description,  more  sentiment, 
more  of  nature,  and  more  of  art.  Some  of 
the  most  excellent  parts  of  Theocritus  are, 
where  Castor  and  Pollux,  going  with  the 
other  Argonauts,  land  on  the  Bebrycian 
coast,  and  there  fall  into  a dispute  with 
Amycus,  the  king  of  that  country:  which  is 
as  well  conducted  as  Euripides  could  have 
done  it;  and  the  battle  is  well  related.  Af 


3 See  vol.  i.  p.  29. — Malone. 


780. — iETAT.  71. 


243 


terwards  they  carry  of!  a woman,  whose 
two  brothers  come  to  recover  her,  and  ex- 
postulate with  Castor  and  Pollux  on  their 
injustice;  but  they  pay  no  regard  to  the 
brothers,  and  a battle  ensues,  where  Cas- 
tor and  his  brother  are  triumphant.  The- 
ocritus seems  not  to  have  seen  that  the 
brothers  have  their  advantage#in  their  ar- 
gument over  his  Argonaut  heroes.  ‘ The 
Sicilian  Gossips  ’ is  a piece  of  merit. 

“ Callimachus  is  a writer  of  little  excel- 
lence. The  chief  thing  to  be  learned  from 
him  is  his  account  of  Rites  and  Mythology; 
which,  though  desirable  to  be  known  for 
the  sake  of  understanding  other  parts  of  an- 
cient authours,  is  the  least  pleasing  or  val- 
uable part  of  their  writings. 

“ Mattaire’s  account  of  the  Stephani  is  a 
heavy  book.  He  seems  to  have  been  a 
puzzle-headed  man,  with  a large  share  of 
scholarship,  but  with  little  geometry  or 
logick  in  his  head,  without  method,  and 
possessed  of  little  genius.  He  wrote  Latin 
verses  from  time  to  time,  and  published  a 
set  in  his  old  age,  which  he  called  6 Seni- 
lia  ; ’ in  which  he  shows  so  little  learning 
or  taste  in  writing,  as  to  make  Carteret  a 
dactyl1.  In  matters  of  genealogy  it  is 
necessary  to  give  the  bare  names  as  they 
are;  but  in  poetry,  and  in  prose  of  any  ele- 
gance in  the  writing,  they  require  to  have 
inflection  given  to  them.  His  book  of  the 
Dialects  is  a sad  heap  of  confusion;  the 
only  way  to  write  on  them  is  to  tabulate 
them  with  notes,  added  at  the  bottom  of  the 
page,  and  references. 

“ It  may  be  questioned,  whether  there  is 
not  some  mistake  as  to  the  methods  of  em- 
ploying the  poor,  seemingly  on  a supposi- 
tion that  there  is  a certain  portion  of  work 
left  undone  for  want  of  persons  to  do  it; 
but  if  that  is  otherwise,  and  all  the  mate- 
rials we  have  are  actually  worked  up,  or 
all  the  manufactures  we  can  use  or  dispose 
of  are  already  executed,  then  what  is  given 
to  the  poor,  who  are  to  be  set  at  work, 
must  be  taken  from  some  who  now  have  it: 
as  time  must  be  taken  for  learning  (accord- 
ing to  Sir  William  Petty’s  observation), 
a certain  part  of  those  very  materials  that, 
as  it  is,  are  properly  worked  up,  must  be 
spoiled  by  the  unskilfulness  of  novices. 
We  may  apply  to  well-meaning,  but  mis- 
judging persons  in  particulars  of  this  nature, 
what  Giannone  said  to  a monk,  who  want- 
ed what  he  called  to  convert  him : ‘ Tu  sei 
santo , ma  tu  non  sei  fdosopho .’  It  is  an 
unhappy  circumstance  that  one  might  give 
away  five  hundred  pounds  a year  to  those 
that  importune  in  the  streets,  and  not  do 
any  good. 

“ There  is  nothing  more  likely  to  betray 


1 [The  Editor  does  not  understand  this  objec- 

tion, nor  the  following  observation. — Ed.] 


a man  into  absurdity  than  condescension , 
when  he  seems  to  suppose  his  understand- 
ing too  powerful  for  his  company. 

“ Having  asked  Mr.  Langton  if  his  father 
and  mother  had  sat  for  their  pictures,  which 
he  thought  it  right  for  each  generation  of 
a family  to  do,  and  being  told  they  had  op- 
posed it,  he  said,  ‘ Sir,  among  the  anfrac- 
tuosities  of  the  human  mind,  I know  not  if 
it  may  not  be  one,  that  there  is  a super 
stitious  reluctance  to  sit  for  a picture.’ 

“John  Gilbert  Cooper  related,  that  soon 
after  the  publication  of  his  Dictionary,  Gar- 
rick being  asked  by  Johnson  what  people 
said  of  it,  told  him,  that  among  other  ani- 
madversions, it  was  objected  that  he  cited 
authorities  which  were  beneath  the  dignity 
of  such  a work,  and  mentioned  Richardson 
4 Nay,’  said  Johnson,  ‘ I have  done  worse 
than  that:  I have  cited  thee,  David.’ 

“ Talking  of  expense,  he  observed, 
with  what  munificence  a great  merchant 
will  spend  his  money,  both  from  his  having 
it  at  command,  and  from  his  enlarged  views 
by  calculation  of  a good  effect  upon  the 
whole.  ‘ Whereas,’  said  he, ‘ you  will  hard- 
ly ever  find  a country  gentleman,  who  is 
not  a good  deal  disconcerted  at  an  unex- 
pected occasion  for  his  being  obliged  to  lay 
out  ten  pounds.’ 

“ When  in  good  humour,  he  would  talk 
of  his  own  writings  with  a wonderful  frank- 
ness and  candour,  and  would  even  criticise 
them  with  the  closest  severity.  One  day_ 
having  read  over  one  of  his  Ramblers,  Mr 
Langton  asked  him,  how  he  liked  that 
paper;  he  shook  his  head,  and  answered, 
c too  wordy.’  At  another  time,  when  one 
was  reading  his  tragedy  of ‘ Irene,’  to  a com- 
pany at  a house  in  the  country,  he  left  the 
room:  and  somebody  having  asked  him  the 
reason  of  this,  he  replied,  ‘ Sir,  I thought 
it  had  been  better.’ 

“Talking  of  a point  of  delicate  scrupu- 
losity of  moral  conduct,  he  said  to  Mr 
Langton,  ‘Men  of  harder  minds  than  ours 
will  do  many  things  from  which  you  and  I 
would  shrink;  yet,  sir,  they  will,  perhaps, 
do  more  good  in  life  than  we.  But  let  us 
try  to  help  one  another.  If  there  be  a 
wrong  twist,  it  may  be  set  right.  It  is  not 
probable  that  two  people  can  be  wrong  the 
same  way.’ 

“ Of  the  preface  to  Capel’s  Shakspeare, 
he  said,  ‘ If  the  man  would  have  come  to 
me,  I would  have  endeavoured  to  “ endow 
his  purposes  with  words;”  for  as  it  is,  he 
doth  “ gabble  monstrously  2.’  ” 

“ He  related  that  he  had  oner  ‘n  a dream 
a contest  of  wit  with  some  other  person, 


2 [ Prospero  to  Caliban.  “ When  thou 
wouldst  gabble  like  a thing  most  brutish,  I en 
do  wed  thy  purposes  with  words.”  Tempest , act 
i.  scene  2. — Ed.] 


244 


1780. — /ETAT.  71. 


and  that  ne  was  very  much  mortified  by 
imagining  tnat  his  opponent  had  the  better 
of  him.  ‘ Now?’  said  he,  ‘ one  may  mark 
here  the  effect  of  sleep  in  weakening  the 
power  of  reflection1?  for  had  not  my  judg- 
ment failed  me,  I should  have  seen,  that  the 
wit  of  this  supposed  antagonist,  by  whose 
superiority  I felt  myself  depressed,  was  as 
much  furnished  by  me,  as  that  which  I 
thought  I had  been  uttering  in  my  own 
character.’ 

“ One  evening  in  company,  an  ingenious 
and  learned  gentleman  read  to  him  a letter 
of  compliment  which  he  had  received  from 
one  of  the  professors  of  a foreign  university. 
Johnson,  in  an  irritable  fit,  thinking  there 
was  too  much  ostentation,  said,  ‘ I never 
receive  any  of  these  tributes  of  applause 
from  abroad.  One  instance  I recollect  of  a 
foreign  publication,  in  which  mention  is 
made  of  Villustre  Lockman  L’ 

“ Of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  he  said,  c Sir, 
I know  no  man  who  has  passed  through 
life  with  more  observation  than  Reynolds.’ 

“ He  repeated  to  Mr.  Langton,  with 
great  energy,  in  the  Greek,  our  Saviour’s 
gracious  expression  concerning  the  forgive- 
ness of  Mary  Magdalene2, 'H  Trims  era  c Ti<ra,nt 

av  Troftvov  us  upnvuv.  ‘ Thy  faith  hath  saved 
thee;  go  in  peace3 4.’  He  said,  ‘ The  man- 
ner of  this  dismission  is  exceedingly  affect- 
ing.’ 

“ He  thus  defined  the  difference  between 
physical  and  moral  truth:  ‘Physical  truth 
is,  when  you  tell  a thing  as  it  actually  is. 
Moral  truth  is,  when  you  tell  a thing  sin- 
cerely and  precisely  as  it  appears  to  you. 
I say  such  a one  walked  across  the  street; 
if  he  really  did  so,  I told  a physical  truth. 
If  I thought  so,  though  I should  have  been 
mistaken,  I told  a moral  truth  V 


1 Secretary  to  the  British  Herring  Fishery, 
remarkable  for  an  extraordinary  number  of  occa- 
sional verses,  not  of  eminent  merit. — Boswell. 
[He  was  an  indefatigable  translator  for  the  book- 
sellers, “ having  acquired  a knowledge  of  the 
languages,  as  Dr.  Johnson  told  Sir  J.  Hawkins, 
by  living  at  coffee-houses  frequented  by 
foreigners.”  Mr.  Tyers  says,  “ that  Lockman 
was  a very  worthy  man,  greatly  beloved  by  his 
friends,  and  respected  even  by  Pope;”  and  he 
adds,  “ that  it  is  a pity  that  he  who  composed  so 
many  of  the  lives  in  the  ‘ General  Dictionary  * 
should  himself  not  have  one  in  the  Biographia.” 
— Rhapsody  on  Pope , p.  104. — Ed.] 

2 It  does  not  appear  that  the  woman  forgiven 

was  Mary  Magdalene. — Kearney.  [In  the 

heading  of  this  chapter,  Luke  vii.  it  is  said,  “ he 
showeth  by  occasion  of  Mary  Magdalene:”  but  it 
would  rather  appear  by  the  following  chapter, 
verse  2,  that  she  is  not  the  person  here  mentioned. 
^iiall.] 

3 Luke  vii.  50. — Boswell. 

4 This  account  of  the  difference  between  moral 

ftnd  physical  truth  is  in  Locke’s  “ Essay  on 


“Huggins5,  the  translator  of  Ariosto 
and  Mr.  Thomas  W arton,  in  the  early  part 
of  his  literary  life,  had  a dispute  concerning 
that  poet,  of  whom  Mr.  Warton,  in  his 
‘ Observations  on  Spenser’s  Fairy  Queen,’ 
gave  some  account  which  Huggins  attempt- 
ed to  answer  with  violence,  and  said,  * I will 
militate  ijo  longer  against  his  nescience .’ 
Huggins  was  master  of  the  subject,  but 
wanted  expression.  Mr.  Warton’s  know- 
ledge of  it  was  then  imperfect,  but  his  man- 
ner lively  and  elegant.  Johnson  said,  ‘ It 
appears  to  me,  that  Huggins  has  ball  with- 
out powder,  and  Warton  powder  without 
ball.’ 

“ T alking  of  the  farce  of  ‘ High  Life  be- 
low Stairs,’  he  said,  ‘ Here  is  a farce  which 
is  really  very  diverting  when  you  see  it  act- 
ed, and  yet  one  may  read  it  and  not 
know  that  one  has  been  reading  any  thing 
at  all.’ 

“ He  used  at  one  time  to  go  occasionally 
to  the  green-room  of  Drury-lane  theatre, 
where  he  was  much  regarded  by  the  players, 
and  was  very  easy  and  facetious  with  them. 
He  had  a very  high  opinion  of  Mrs.  Clive’s 
comick  powers,  and  conversed  more  with 
her  than  with  any  of  them.  He  said,  ‘ Clive, 
sir,  is  a good  thing  to  sit  by;  she  always  un- 
derstands what  you  say.’  And  she  said  of 
him,  ‘ I love  to  sit  by  Dr.  Johnson;  he  al- 
ways entertains  me.’  One  night,  when 
‘The  Recruiting  Officer  ’ was  acted,  he  said 
to  Mr.  Holland,  who  had  been  express- 
ing an  apprehension  that  Dr.  Johnson 
would  disdain  the  works  of  Farquhar,  ‘ No, 
sir,  I think  Farquhar  a man  whose  writings 
have  considerable  merit.’ 

“His  friend  Garrick  was  so  busy  in  con- 
ducting the  drama,  that  they  could  not 
have  so  much  intercourse  as  Mr.  Garrick 
used  to  profess  an  anxious  wish  that  there 
should  be  6.  There  might  indeed  be  some- 
thing in  the  contemptuous  severity  as  to 
the  merit  of  acting,  which  his  old  preceptor 
nourished  in  himself,  that  would  mortify 
Garrick  after  the  great  applause  which  he 
received  from  the  audience.  For  though 
Johnson  said  of  him,  ‘ Sir,  a man  who  has 
a nation  to  admire  him  every  night  may 
well  be  expected  to  be  somewhat  elated  ; ’ 
yet  he  would  treat  theatrical  matters  with 
a ludicrous  slight.  He  mentioned  one  even 
ing,  ‘ I met  David  coming  off  the  stage, 
drest  in  a woman’s  riding-hood,  when  he 
acted  in  The  Wonder;  I came  full  upon 
him,  and  I believe  he  was  not  pleased.’ 

“ Once  he  asked  Tom  Davies,  whom  he 
saw  drest  in  a fine  suit  of  clothes,  ‘ And 

Human  Understanding,”  and  many  other  books 
— Kearney. 

5 [See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  165. — Ed.] 

6 In  a letter  written  by  Johnson  to  a friend  if 
Jan.  1742-3,  he  fays,  “ I never  see  Garrick.”— 
Malone. 


1780.— /ETAT.  71 


what  art  thou  to-night  f  3 4  5 Tom  answered, 
* The  Thane  of  Ross ; 5 which  it  will  be 
recollected  is  a very  inconsiderable  charac- 
ter. ‘ O,  brave  ! 5 said  Johnson. 

“ Of  Mr.  Longley  at  Rochester,  a 
gentleman  of  very  considerable  learning, 
whom  Dr.  Johnson  met  there,  he  said, 
‘ My  heart  warms  towards  him.  I was  sur- 
prised to  find  in  him  such  a nice  acquaint- 
ance with  the  metre  in  the  learned  lan- 
guages; though  I was  somewhat  mortified 
that  I had  it  not  so  much  to  myself  as  I 
should  have  thought.5 

“ Talking  of  the  minuteness  with  which 
people  will  record  the  sayings  of  eminent  per- 
sons, a story  was  told,  that  when  Pope  was 
on  a visit  to  Spence  at  Oxford,  as  they  look- 
ed from  the  window  they  saw  a gentleman 
commoner,  who  was  just  come  in  from 
riding,  amusing  himself  with  whipping  at 
a post.  Pope  took  occasion  to  say,  ‘That 
young  gentleman  seems  to  have  little  to  do.5 
Mr.  Beauclerk  observed,  ‘ Then  to  be  sure, 
Spence  turned  round  and  wrote  that  down ; 5 
and  went  on  to  say  to  Dr.  Johnson,  ‘ Pope, 
sir,  would  have  said  the  same  of  you,  if  he 
had  seen  you  distilling.5  Johnson.  c Sir, 
if  Pope  had  told  me  of  my  distilling,  I would 
have  told  him  of  his  grotto9.5 

“ He  would  allow  no  settled  indulgence 
of  idleness  upon  principle,  and  always  re- 
pelled every  attempt  to  urge  excuses  for  it. 
A friend  one  day  suggested,  that  it  was  not 
wholesome  to  study  soon  after  dinner. 
Johnson.  ‘Ah,  sir,  don’t  give  way  to 
such  a fancy.  At  one  time  of  my  life  I had 
taken  it  into  my  head  that  it  was  not  whole- 
some to  study  between  breakfast  and  din- 
ner.5 


1 [A  barrister;  Recorder  of  Rochester,  father 
of  the  editor’s  amiable  friend,  the  present  master 
of  Harrow.  He  died  in  18.22. — Ed.] 

2 [This  would  have  been  a very  inadequate 
retort,  for  Johnson’s  chymistry  was  a mere 
pastime,  while  Pope’s  grotto  was,  although 
ornamented,  a useful,  and  even  necessary  work. 
Johnson  has  explained  his  views  of  this  point  very 
copiously  in  his  Life  of  Pope;  where  he  says, 
“ that  being  under  the  necessity  of  making  a sub- 
terraneous passage  to  a garden  on  the  other  side 
of  the  road,  Pope  adorned  it  with  fossil  bodies, 
and  dignified  it  with  the  title  of  a grotto — a place 
of  silence  and  retreat  from  which  he  endeavoured 
to  persuade  his  friends  and  himself  that  care  and 
passions  could  be  excluded.  A grotto  is  not  often 
the  wish  or  pleasure  of  an  Englishman,  who  has 
more  frequent  need  to  solicit  than  to  exclude  the 
sun;  but  Pope’s  excavation  was  requisite  as  an 
entrance  to  his  garden;  and  as  some  men  try  to 
be  proud  of  their  defects,  he  extracted  an  orna- 
ment from  an  inconvenience,  and  van.ty  produced 
a grotto  where  necessity  enforced  a passage.” 
This — and  a good  deal  more  of  the  same  tone 
follows— is  surely  treating  a trifling  circumstance 
with  more  pomp  and  verbosity  than  the  occasion 
required  —Ed.] 


245 

“ Mr.  Beauclerk  one  dey  repeated  to  Dr. 
Johnson  Pope’s  lines, 

‘ Let  modest  Foster,  if  he  will,  excel 
Ten  metropolitans  in  preaching  well;5 

Epist.  to  Sat.  v.  131. 

Then  asked  the  Doctor,  ‘ Why  did  Pope 
say  this  ? 5 Johnson.  ‘Sir,  he  hoped  it 
would  vex  somebody3.’ 

“ Dr.  Goldsmith,  upon  occasion  of  Mrs. 
Lennox’s  bringing  out  a play4,  said  to  Dr. 
Johnson  at  the  Club,  that  a person  had 
advised  him  to  go  and  hiss  it,  because  she 
had  attacked  Shakspeare  in  her  book  called 
‘ Shakspeare  Illustrated.5  Johnson.  ‘ And 
did  not  you  tell  him  that  he  was  a rascal  ?’ 
Goldsmith.  ‘ No,  sir,  I did  not.  Per- 
haps he  might  not  mean  what  he  said.5 
Johnson.  ‘ Nay,  sir,  if  he  lied,  it  is  a dif- 
ferent thing.5  Colman  slily  said  (but  it  is 
believed  Dr.  Johnson  did  not  hear  him), 
‘Then  the  proper  expression  should  have 
been, — Sir,  if  you  do  n’t  lie,  you  5re  a ras- 
cal.5 

“ His  affection  for  Topham  Beauclerk 
was  so  great,  that  when  Beauclerk  was  la- 
bouring under  that  severe  illness  which  at 
last  occasioned  his  death,  Johnson  said 
(with  a voice  faltering  with  emotion),  ‘ Sir, 
I would  walk  to  the  extent  of  the  diameter 
of  the  earth  to  save  Beauclerk.’ 

“ One  night  at  the  club  he  produced  a 
translation  of  an  epitaph  which  Lord  Eli- 
bank  had  written  in  English  for  his  lady, 
and  requested  of  Johnson  to  turn  it  into 
Latin  for  him.  Having  read  Domina  de 
North  et  Grays,  he  said  to  Dyer6,  ‘ You 
see,  sir,  what  barbarisms  we  are  compelled 
to  make  use  of,  when  modern  titles  are  to 
be  specifically  mentioned  in  Latin  inscrip- 
tions.’ When  he  had  read  it  once  aloud, 
and  there  had  been  a general  approbation 
expressed  by  the  company,  he  addressed 
himself  to  Mr.  Dyer  in  particular,  and  said, 

3 [Dr.  James  Foster  was  an  eminent  preachei 
among  the  dissenters;  and  Pope  professes  to  prefer 
his  merit  in  so  humble  a station  to  the  more 
splendid  ministry  of  the  metropolitans.  Pope’s 
object  certainly  was  to  vex  the  clergy;  but  Mr. 
Beauclerk  probably  meant  to  ask — what  is  by  no 
means  so  clear — how  these  two  lines  bear  on  the 
general  design  and  argument. — Ed.] 

4 Probably  “The  Sisters,”  a comedy  per- 
formed one  night  only,  at  Covent  Carden,  in 
1769.  Dr.  Goldsmith  wrote  an  excellent  epilogue 
to  it. — Malone. 

5 [Lord  Elibank  married  a Dutch  lady,  Maria 
Margaret  de  Yonge,  the  widow  of  Lord  North 
and  Gray.  Mr.  Langton  mistook  the  phrase, 
which  is,  in  the  epitaph,  applied  to  the  husband, 
Domino  North  et  Gray , and  n;>t  to  the  lady, 
Domina  de  North  et  Gray;  see  “Douglas’s 
Peerage,”  art.  Elibank;  where,  however,  there  is 
no  mention  of  the  inscription  having  been  trans- 
lated into  Latin  by  Johnson. — Ed.] 

6 See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  225. — Malone. 


246 


1780. — /ETAT.  71. 


£ Sir,  I beg  to  have  your  judgment,  for  I 
know  your  nicety.’  Dyer  then  very  proper- 
ly desired  to  read  it  over  again;  which  hav- 
ing done,  he  pointed  out  an  incongruity  in 
one  of  the  sentences.  Johnson  immediate- 
ly assented  to  the  observation,  and  said, 
c Sir,  this  is  owing  to  an  alteration  of  a part 
of  a sentence  from  the  form  in  which  I had 
first  written  it;  and  I believe,  sir,  you  may 
have  remarked,  that  the  making  a partial 
;hange,  without  a due  regard  to  the  general 
structure  of  the  sentence,  is  a very  fre- 
quent cause  of  errour  in  composition  b” 

[The  endowments  of  Dyer  were 
p aS’  a most  valuable  kind : keen  pene- 
tration and  deep  erudition  were  the 
qualities  that  so  distinguished  his  character, 
that,  in  some  instances,  Johnson  might  al- 
most be  said  to  have  looked  up  to  him. 
Dyer  was  a divine,  a linguist,  a mathemati- 
cian, a metaphysician,  a natural  philoso- 
pher, a classical  scholar,  and  a critic:  this 
Johnson  saw  and  felt,  and  never,  but  in  de- 
fence of  some  fundamental  and  important 
truth,  would  he  contradict  him.] 

T ££  Johnson  was  well  acquainted 

ang  on*  with  Mr.  Dossie,  author  of  a Trea- 
tise on  Agriculture  2;  and  said  of  him,  ‘ Sir, 
of  the  objects  which  the  Society  of  Arts 
have  chiefly  in  view,  the  chymical  effects 
of  bodies  operating  upon  other  bodies,  he 
knows  more  than  almost  any  man.’  John- 
son, in  order  to  give  Mr.  Dossie  his  vote  to 
be  a member  of  this  society,  paid  up  an 
arrear  which  had  run  on  for  two  years.  On 
this  occasion  he  mentioned  a circumstance, 
as  characteristic^:  of  the  Scotch.  c One  of 
that  nation,’  said  he,  £ who  had  been  a 
candidate,  against  whom  I had  voted,  came 
up  to  me  with  a civil  salutation.  Now,  sir, 
this  is  their  way.  An  Englishman  would 
have  stomached  it  and  been  sulky,  and  nev- 
er have  taken  further  notice  of  you;  but  a 
Scotchman,  sir,  though  you  vote  nineteen 
times  against  him,  will  accost  you  with 
equal  complaisance  after  each  time,  and  the 
twentieth  time,  sir,  he  will  get  your  vote.’ 

££  Talking  on  the  subject  of  toleration, 
one  day  when  some  friends  were  with  him 
in  his  study,  he  made  his  usual  remark,  that 
the  state  has  a right  to  regulate  the  religion 
of  the  people,  who  are  the  children  of  the 
state.  A clergyman  having  readily  acqui- 
esced in  this,  Johnson,  who  loved  discussion, 
observed,  £ But,  sir,  you  must  go  round  to 
other  states  than  our  own.  You  do  not 
know  what  a Bramin  has  to  say  for  himself3. 

1 [See  post,  a similar  observation  quoted  in 
reference  to  Johnson’s  alterations  in  the  “ Lives 
of  the  Poets.” — Ed.] 


In  short,  sir,  I have  got  no  further  than  tnis, 
every  man  has  a right  to  utter  what  he 
thinks  truth,  and  every  other  man  has  a 
right  to  knock  him  down  for  it.  Martyr- 
dom is  the  test.’ 

“ A man,  he  observed,  should  begin  to  . 
write  soon;  for,  if  he  waits  till  his  judgment 
is  matured,  his  inability,  through  want  of 
practice,  to  express  his  conceptions,  will 
make  the  disproportion  so  great  between 
what  he  sees,  and  what  he  can  attain,  that 
he  will  probably  be  discouraged  from  writ- 
ing at  all.  As  a proof  of  the  justness  of 
this  remark,  we  may  instance  what  is  relat- 
ed of  the  great  Lord  Granville4;  that  after 
he  had  written  his  letter  giving  an  account 
of  the  battle  of  Dettingen,  he  s-aid,  £ Here  is 
a letter,  expressed  in  terms  not  good  enough 
for  a tallow-chandler  to  have  used.’ 

££  Talking  of  a court-martial  that  was  sit- 
ting upon  a very  momentous  publick  occa- 
sion, he  expressed  much  doubt  of  an  en- 
lightened decision;  and  said,  that  perhaps 
there  was  not  a member  of  it,  who,  in  the 
Avhole  course  of  his  life,  had  ever  spent  an 
hour  by  himself  in  balancing  probabilities5. 

££  Goldsmith  one  day  brought  to  the  Club 
a printed  ode,  which  he,  with  others,  had 
been  hearing  read  by  its  authour  in  a publick 
room,  at  the  rate  of  five  shillings  each  for 
admission.  One  of  the  company  having 
read  it  aloud,  Dr.  Johnson  said,  £ Bolder 
words  and  more  timorous  meaning,  I think, 
never  were  brought  together.’ 

££  T alking  of  Gray’s  Odes,  he  said,  £ They 
are  forced  plants,  raised  in  a hot-bed;  and 
they  are  poor  plants : they  are  but  cucum- 
bers after  all.’  A gentleman  present,  who 
had  been  running  down  ode-writing  in  gen- 
eral, as  a bad  species  of  poetry,  unluckily 
said,  £ Had  they  been  literally  cucumbers, 
they  had  been  better  things  than  odes.’ 

££  Yes,  sir,’  said  Johnson,  ‘for  a hog.1 

[At  Sir  Robert  Cotton’s,  at  Lle- 
weny,  one  day  at  dinner,  Mrs. 

Thrale,  meaning  to  please  Dr. 

Johnson  particularly  with  a dish  of  very 
young  peas,  said,  while  he  was  eating  them, 

££  Are  not  they  charming?”  “Perhaps,” 
replied  he, t£  they  would  be  so — to  a pig  6.” 


or  any  cast  of  the  Hindoos,  will  neither  admit 

you  to  be  of  their  religion,  nor  be  converted  to 

yours: — a thing  which  struck  the  Portuguese  with 
the  greatest  astonishment  when  they  first  discovered 
the  East  Indies.” — Boswell. 

4 John,  the  first  Earl  Granville,  who  died  Jan. 
2,  1763. — Malone. 

5 [As  Mr.  Langton’s  anecdotes  are  not  dated, 
it  is  not  easy  to  determine  what  court-martial  this 
was;  probably — as  Sir  James  Mackintosh  suggests 
— Admiral  Keppel’s,  in  1780. — Ed.] 


- [Dossie  also  published,  in  two  vols.  8vo., 
what  was  then  a very  useful  work,  entitled  “The 
Handmaid  to  the  Arts,”  dedicated  to  the  Society  ( 
fur  the  ' ncouragement  of  Arts,  &c. — Hall.] 

Here  Lord  Macartney  remarks,  “ A Bramin,  I 


6  [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  486,  n.  It  should  be 
observed  that  this  answer  was  not,  as  is  ofter 
erroneously  stated,  made  to  the  lady  of  the  house, 
but  was  a reproach  (too  rude,  it  must  be  admitted! 


1780  — iETAT.  71. 


247 


The  Lincolnshire  lady  *,  who  showed  him 
a grotto  she  had  been  making,  came  off  no 
better.  “Would  it  not  be  a pretty  cool 
habitation  in  summer,”  said  she,  “ Dr. 
Johnson?  ” “ I think  it  would,  madam,”  re- 
plied he, tc  for  a toad.5’] 

“ His  distinction  of  the  different 
Langton.  degrees  0f  attainment  of  learning 
was  thus  marked  upon  two  occasions.  Of 
Queen  Elizabeth  he  said,  4 She  had  learn- 
ing enough  to  have  given  dignity  to  a bish- 
op;’ and  of  Mr.  Thomas  Davies  he  said, 
* Sir,  Davies  has  learning  enough  to  give 
credit  to  a clergyman.’. 

44  He  used  to  quote,  with  great  warmth, 
the  saying  of  Aristotle  recorded  by  Dio- 
genes Laertius;  that  there  was  the  same 
difference  between  one  learned  and  unlearn- 
ed as  between  the  living  and  the  dead. 

44  It  is  very  remarkable,  that  he  retained 
in  his  memory  very  slight  and  trivial,  as 
well  as  important,  things.  As  an  instance 
of  this,  it  seems  that  an  inferiour  domestick 
of  the  Duke  of  Leeds  had  attempted  to  cel- 
ebrate his  Grace’s  marriage  in  such  homely 
rhymes  as  he  could  make;  and  this  curious 
composition  having  been  sung  to  Dr.  John- 
son, he  got  it  by  heart,  and  used  to  repeat 
it  in  a very  pleasant  manner.  Two  of  the 
stanzas  were  these : 

* When  the  Duke  of  Leeds  shall  married  be 
To  a fine  young  lady  of  high  quality, 

How  happy  will  that  gentlewoman  be 

In  his  Grace  of  Leeds’s  good  company! 

* She  shall  have  all  that’s  fine  and  fair, 

And  the  best  of  silk  and  satin  shall  wear; 

And  ride  in  a coach  to  take  the  air. 

And  have  a house  in  St.  James  ’ s-squar e 2.’ 

to  Mrs.  Thrale  for  her  rudeness  in  supposing  him 
so  great  a glutton  as  to  be  charmed  with  a dish 
of  green  peas. — Ed.] 

1 [Mrs.  Langton,  mother  of  his  friend. — Ma- 
lone MS.  notes.  This  was  not  meant  as  rude- 
ness to  the  lady;  but  Johnson  hated  grottos,  and 
thought,  as  he  has  said  in  his  Life  of  Pope,  that 
they  were  “ not  often  the  wish  or  pleasure  of  an 
Englishman,  who  has  more  frequent  need  to  solicit 
than  to  exclude  the  sun.”  Ante,  p.  245,  n: — 
Ed.] 

2 The  correspondent  of  the  Gentleman’s  Maga- 
zine, who  subscribes  himself  Sciolus,  furnishes  the 
following  supplement:  “ A lady  of  my  acquaint- 
ance remembers  to  have  heard  her  uncle  sing  those 
homely  stanzas  more  than  forty-five  years  ago. 
He  repeated  the  second  thus: 

‘ She  shall  breed  young  lords  and  ladies  fair, 

And  ride  abroad  in  a coach  and  three  pair, 

And  the  best,  &c. 

And  have  a house,  ’ &c. 

and  remembered  a third,  which  seems  to  have 
been  the  introductory  one,  and  is  believed  to  have 
oeen  the  only  remaining  one: 

When  the  Duke  of  Leeds  shall  have  made  his  choice 
Of  a charming  young  lady  that’s  beautiful  and  wise, 
She’ll  be  the  happiest  young  gentlewoman  under  .the 
skies, 

As  long  as  the  sun  and  moon  shall  rise. 

▲nd  how  happy  shall,  ’ ” &c. 


To  hear  a man  of  the  weight  and  dignity 
of  Johnson  repeating  such  humble  attempts 
at  poetry  had  a very  amusing  effect.  He, 
however,  seriously  observed  of  the  last  stan- 
za repeated  by  him,  that  it  nearly  comprised 
all  the  advantages  that  wealth  can  give. 

44  An  eminent  foreigner,  when  he  was 
shown  the  British  Museum,  was  very  trou- 
blesome with  many  absurd  inquiries.  4 Now 
there,  sir,5  said  he,  4 is  the  difference  be- 
tween an  Englishman  and  a Frenchman. 
A Frenchman  must  be  always  talking,  whe- 
ther he  knows  any  thing  of  the  matter  or 
not;  an  Englishman  is  content  to  say  no- 
thing, when  he  has  nothing  to  say.5 

44  His  unjust  contempt  for  foreigners  was, 
indeed,  extreme.  One  evening,  at  Old 
Slaughter’s  Coffee-house,  when  a number 
of  them  were  talking  loud  about  little  mat- 
ters, he  said,  4 Does  not  this  confirm  old 
Meynell’s  observation,  For  any  thing  I see, 
foreigners  are  fools?  ’ 

££  He  said,  that  once,  when  he  had  a vio- 
lent tooth-ach,  a Frenchman  accosted  him 
thus:  Ah,  monsieur,  vous  etudiez  trop. 

££  Having  spent  an  evening  at  Mr.  Lang- 
ton’s  with  the  Reverend  Dr.  Parr,  he  was 
much  pleased  with  the  conversation  of  that 
learned  gentleman;  and,  after  he  was  gone, 
said  to  Mr.  Langton,  £ Sir,  I am  obliged  to 
you  for  having  asked  me  this  evening.  Parr 
is  a fair  man  3.  I do  not  know  when  I have 
had  an  occasion  of  such  free  controversy. 
It  is  remarkable  how  much  of  a man’s  life 
may  pass  without  meeting  with  any  instance 
of  this  kind  of  open  discussion.5 

“We  may  fairly  institute  a criticism  be- 
tween Shakspeare  and  Corneille,  as  they 
both  had,  though  in  a different  degree,  the 
lights  of  a latter  age.  It  is  not  so  just  be- 
tween the  Greek  dramatick  writers  and 
Shakspeare.  It  may  be  replied  to  what  is 
said  by  one  of  the  remarkers  on  Shakspeare, 
that  though  Darius’s  shade  had  prescience, 
it  does  not  necessarily  follow  that  he  had  all 
past  particulars  revealed  to  him. 

££  Spanish  plays,  being  wildly  and  impro- 
bably farcical,  would  please  children  here, 
as  children  are  entertained  with  stories  full 
of  prodigies;*their  experience  not  being  suf- 
ficient to  cause  them  to  be  so  readily  start- 
led at  deviations  from  the  natural  course  of 
life.  The  machinery  of  the  pagans  is  unin- 
teresting to  us:  when  a goddess  appears  in 

It  is  with  pleasure  I add  that  this  stanza  could 
never  be  more  truly  applied  'than  at  this  present 
time  [1792]. — Boswell..  [The  Duke  and 
Duchess  of  Leeds,  to  whom  Mr.  Boswell  alludes 
in  the  latter  part  of  this  note,  were  Francis  the  fifth 
duke  (who  died  in  1799),  and  his  second  wife  * 
Catherine  Anguish,  who  still  survives. — Ed.] 

3 When  the  corporation  of  Norwich  applied  to 
Johnson  to  point  out  to  them  a proper  master  for 
their  grammar-school,  he  recommended  Lr.  Farr, 
on  his  ceasing  to  be  usher  to  Sumner  at  1:  arrow 
— Bukney. 


248 


1780.— ^ETAT.  71. 


Horner  or  Virgil  we  grow  weary;  still  more 
so  in  the  Grecian  tragedies,  as  in  that  kind 
of  composition  a nearer  approach  to  nature 
is  intended.  Yet  there  are  good  reasons 
for  reading  romances;  as,  the  fertility  of  in- 
vention, the  beauty  of  style  and  expression, 
the  curiosity  of  seeing  with  what  kind  of 
performances  the  age  and  country  in  which 
they  were  written  was  delighted : for  it  is 
to  be  apprehended,  that  at  the  time  when 
very  wild  improbable  tales  were  well  receiv- 
ed, the  people  were  in  a barbarous  state, 
and  so  on  the  footing  of  children  as  has 
been  explained. 

“ It  is  evident  enough  that  no  one  who 
writes  now  can  use  the  pagan  deities  and 
mythology;  the  only  machinery,  therefore, 
seems  that  of  ministering  spirits,  the  ghosts 
of  the  departed,  witches  and  fairies,  though 
these  latter,  as  the  vulgar  superstition  con- 
cerning them  (which,  while  in  its  force,  in- 
fected at  least  the  imagination  of  those  that 
had  more  advantage  in  education,  though 
their  reason  set  them  free  from  it)  is  every 
day  wearing  out,  seem  likely  to  be  of  little 
further  assistance  in  the  machinery  of  po- 
etry. As  I recollect,  Hammond  introduces 
a hag  or  witch  into  one  of  his  love-elegies, 
where  the  effect  is  unmeaning  and  disgust- 
ing  i. 

“ The  man  who  uses  his  talent  of  ridicule 
in  creating  or  grossly  exaggerating  the  in- 
stances ne  gives,  who  imputes  absurdities 
that  did  not  happen,  or,  when  a man  was  a 
little  ridiculous,  describes  him  as  having 
been  very  much  so,  abuses  his  talents  great- 
ly. The  great  use  of  delineating  absurdi- 
ties is,  that  we  may  know  how  far  human 
folly  can  go : the  account,  therefore,  ought 
of  absolute  necessity  to  be  faithful.  A cer- 
tain character  (naming  the  person),  as  to 
the  general  cast  of  it,  is  well  described  by 
Garrick,  but  a great  deal  of  the  phraseology 
he  uses  in  it  is  quite  his  own,  particularly 
in  the  proverbial  comparisons,  c obstinate  as 
a pig,’  &c.  but  I don’t  know  whether  it 

might  not  be  true  of  Lord  2,  that, 

from  a too  great  eagerness  of  praise  and 
popularity,  and  a politeness  carried  to  a ri- 
diculous excess,  he  was  likely^  after  assert- 
ing a thing  in  general,  to  give  it  up  again 
in  parts.  For  instance,  if  he  had  said  Rey- 
nolds was  the  first  of  painters,  he  was  capa- 
ble enough  o"  giving  up,  as  objections 
might  happen  to  be  severally  made,  first 
his  outline, — then  the  grace  in  form, — then 
the  colouring, — and  lastly,  to  have  owned 
that  he  was  such  a mannerist,  that  the  dis- 
position of  his  pictures  was  all  alike. 

* 1 [Not  more  so  than  the  rest  of  the  elegy  (the 

fifth),  which  Is  certainly,  in  every  point  of  view, 
the  worst  of  all  Hammond’s  productions.  John- 
son exposes  the  absurdity  of  modern  mythology 
very  forcibly  in  his  Life  of  Hammond. — Ed.] 

s f Perhaps  Lord  Coike. — Ed.] 


“For  hospitality,  as  formerly  practised, 
there  is  no  longer  the  same  reason  Here- 
tofore the  poorer  people  were  more  numer 
ous,  and,  from  want  of  commerce,  their 
means  of  getting  a livelihood  more  difficult: 
therefore  the  supporting  them  was  an  act  of 
great  benevolence:  now  that  the  poor  can 
find  maintenance  for  themselves,  and  their 
labour  is  wanted,  a general  undiscerning 
hospitality  tends  to  ill,  by  withdrawing 
them  from  their  work  to  idleness  and 
drunkenness.  Then,  formerly,  rents  were 
received  in  kind,  so  that  there  was  a great 
abundance  of  provisions  in  possession  of  the 
owners  of  the  lands,  which,  since  the  plenty 
of  money  afforded  by  commerce,  is  no  long- 
er the  case. 

“ Hospitality  to  strangers  and  foreigners 
in  our  country  is  now  almost  at  an  end; 
since,  from  the  increase  of  them  that  come 
to  us,  there  have  been  a sufficient  number 
of  people  that  have  found  an  interest  in  pro- 
viding inns  and  proper  accommodations, 
which  is  in  general  a more  expedient  me- 
thod for  the  entertainment  of  travellers. 
Where  the  travellers  and  strangers  are  few, 
more  of  that  hospitality  subsists,  as  it  has 
not  been  worth  while  to  provide  places  of 
accommodation.  In  Ireland,  there  is  still 
hospitality  to  strangers  in  some  degree;  in 
Hungary  and  Poland,  probably  more. 

“ Colman,  in  a note  on  his  translation  of 
Terence,  talking  of  Shakspeare’s  learning, 
asks,  ‘What  says  Farmer  to  this?  What 
says  Johnson?’  Upon  this  he  observed, 
‘ Sir,  let  Farmer  answer  for  himself:  I ne- 
ver engaged  in  this  controversy.  I always 
said  Shakspeare  had  Latin  enough  to  gram- 
maticise  his  English.’ 

“ A clergyman,  whom  he  characterised 
as  one  who  loved  to  say  little  oddities,  was 
affecting  one  day,  at  a bishop’s  table,  a sort 
of  slyness  and  freedom  not  in  character,  and 
repeated,  as  if  part  of'  ‘ The  Old  Man’s 
Wish,’  a song  by  Dr.  Walter  Pope,  averse 
bordering  on  licentiousness.  Johnson  re- 
buked him  in  the  finest  manner,  by  first 
showing  him  that  he  did  not  know  the  pas- 
sage he  was  aiming  at,  and  thus  humbling 
him:  ‘ Sir,  that  is  not  the  song:  it  is  thus.’ 
And  he  gave  it  right.  Then,  looking  stead- 
fastly on  him,  ‘ Sir,  there  is  a parfcof  that 
song  which  I should  wish  to  exemplify  in 
my  own  life: 

“ May  I govern  my  passions  with  absolute  sway!’  * * 

“ Being  asked  if  Barns  knew  a good  deal 
of  Greek,  he  answered,  ‘ I doubt,  sir,  he 
was  unoculus  inter  ccecos  V 

3 Johnson,  in  his  Life  of  Milton,  after  mention- 
ing that  great  poet’s  extraordinary  fancy,  that  the 
world  was  in  its  decay,  and  that  his  book  was  to 
be  written  in  an  age  too  late  for  heroick  poesy , 
thus  concludes:  “ However  inferiour  to  the  heroes 
who  were  born  in  better  ages,  he  might  still  be 


1780. — 'iETAT.  71. 


He  used  frequently  to  observe,  that 
men  might  be  very  eminent  in  a profession, 
without  our  perceiving  any  particular  pow- 
er of  mind  in  them  in  conversation.  £ It 
seems  strange,9  said  he,  £ that  a man  should 
see  so  far  to  the  right,  who  sees  so  short  a 
way  to  the  left.  Burke  is  the  only  man 
whose  common  conversation  corresponds 
with  the  general  fame  which  he  has  in  the 
world.  Take  up  whatever  topick  you 
please,  he  is  ready  to  meet  you.5 

“ A gentleman,  by  no  means  deficient  in 
literature,  having  discovered  less  acquaint- 
ance with  one  of  the  classicks  than  Johnson 
expected,  when  the  gentleman  left  the  room, 
he  observed, £ You  see,  now,  how  little  any 
body  reads.5  Mr.  Langton  happening  to 
mention  his  having  read  a good  deal  in 
Clenardus’s  Greek  Grammar  £ Why,  sir,5 
said  he,  £ who  is  there  in  this  town  who 
knows  any  thing  of  Clenardus  but  you  and 
I ? 2 5 And  upon  Mr.  Langton’s  mentioning 
that  he  had  taken  the  pains  to  learn  by  heart 
the  Epistle  of  St.  Basil,  which  is  given  in 
that  grammar  as  a praxis, £ Sir,5  said  he, *  1 2 * 1 
never  made  such  an  effort  to  attain  Greek.5 

“ Of  Dodsley’s  ‘Publick  Virtue,  a poem,5 
he  said, £ It  was  fine  blank 5 (meaning  to  ex- 
ress  his  usual  contempt  for  blank  verse) : 
owever,  this  miserable  poem  did  not  sell, 
and  my  poor  friend  Doddy  said  Publick 
Virtue  was  not  a subject  to  interest  the 
age.  . 

££  Mr.  Langton,  when  a very  young  man, 
read  Dodsley’s £ Cleone,  a Tragedy,5  to  him, 
not  aware  of  bis  extreme  impatience  to  be 
read  to.  As  it  went  on,  he  turned  his  face 
to  the  back  of  his  chair,  and  put  himself  in- 
to various  attitudes,  which  marked  his  un- 
easiness. At  the  end  of  an  act,  however, 
he  said, c Come,  let’s  have  some  more;  let  5s 
go  into  the  slaughter-house  again,  Lanky. 
But  I am  afraid  there  is  more  blood  than 
brains.5  Yet  he  afterwards  said,  £ When  I 
heard  you  read  it,  I thought  higher  of  its 


great  among  his  contemporaries,  with  the  hope  of 
growing  every  day  greater  in  the  dwindle  of  pos- 
terity; he  might  still  be  a giant  among  the  pig- 
mies, the  one-eyed  monarch  of  the  blind.” — J. 
Boswell. 

1 Nicholas  Clenard,  who  was  born  in  Brabant, 
and  died  at  Grenada  in  1542,  was  a great  trav- 
eller and  linguist.  Beside  his  Greek  Grammar 
(of  which  an  improved  edition  was  published  by 
Vossius  at  Amsterdam  in  1626),  he  wrote  a 
Hebrew  Grammar,  and  an  account  of  his  travels 
in  various  countries,  in  Latin  (Epistolarum 
Libri  duo,  8vo  1556) — a very  rare  work,  of 
which  there  is  a copy  in  the  Bodleian  Library. 
His  Latin  (says  the  authour  of  Nouveau  Dic- 
tionnaire  Historique,  1789)  would  have 
been  more  pure,  if  he  had  not  known  so  many 
anguages. — M alone. 

2 [Mr.  Langton,  as  has  been  already  observed, 

traa  very  studious  of  Greek  literature. — Ed.] 

^oi.  ii.  32 


24y 

power  of  language;  when  I read  it  myself, 

I was  more  sensible  of  its  pathetick  effect; 
and  then  he  paid  it  a compliment  which  ma 
ny  will  think  very  extravagant.  c Sir,5  said 
he, £ if  Otway  had  written  this  play,  no  oth 
er  of  his  pieces  would  have  been  remember- 
ed.5 Dodsley  himself,  upon  this  being  re- 
peated to  him,  said,  £ It  was  too  much.5  It 
must  be  remembered,  that  Johnson  always 
appeared  not  to  be  sufficiently  sensible  of  the 
merit  of  Otway  3. 

££  £ Snatches  of  reading,5  said  he,  £ will 
not  make  a Bentley  or  a Clarke.  They 
are,  however,  in  a certain  degree  advanta- 
geous. I would  put  a child  into  a library 
(where  no  unfit  books  are),  and  let  him  read 
at  his  choice.  A child  should  not  be  dis- 
couraged from  reading  any  thing  that  he 
takes  a liking  to,  from  a notion  that  it  is 
above  his  reach.  If  that  be  the  case,  the 
child  will  soon  find  it  out  and  desist;  if  not, 
he  of  course  gains  the  instruction;  which  is 
so  much  the  more  likely  to  come,  from  the 
inclination  with  which  he  takes  up  the 
study.5 

££  Though  he  used  to  censure  careless- 
ness with  great  vehemence,  he  owned,  that 
he  once,  to  avoid  the  trouble  of  locking  up 
five  guineas,  hid  them,  he  forgot  where,  so 
that  he  could  not  find  them. 

££  A gentleman  who  introduced  his  bro 
ther  to  Dr.  Johnson  was  earnest  to  recom- 
mend him  to  the  Doctor’s  notice,  which  he 
did  by  saying,  £ When  we  have  sat  togeth 
er  some  time,  you  ’ll  find  my  Brother  grow 
very  entertaining.5  £ Sir,5  said  Johnson, £ I 
can  wait.5 

££  When  the  rumour  was  strong  that  we 
should  have  a war,  because  the  French 
would  assist  the  Americans,  he  rebuked  a 
friend  with  some  asperity  for  supposing  it, 
saying,  £ No,  sir,  national  faith  is  not  yet 
sunk  so  low.’ 

££  In  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  in  order  to 
satisfy  himself  whether  his  mental  faculties 
were  impaired,  he  resolved  that  he  would 
try  to  learn  a new  language,  and  fixed  upon 
the  Low  Dutch  for  that  purpose,  and  this 
he  continued  till  he  had  read  about  one  half 
of ‘Thomas  a Kempis; 5 and,  finding  that 
there  appeared  no  abatement  of  his  power 
of  acquisition,  he  then  desisted,  as  thinking 
the  experiment  had  been  duly  tried.  Mr 
Burke  justly  observed,  that  this  was  not  the 
most  vigorous  trial,  Low  Dutch  being  a 
language  so  near  to  our  own4:  had  it  been 
one  of  the  languages  entirely  different,  he 
might  have  been  very  soon  satisfied. 

££  Mr.  Langton  and  he  having  gone  to 

3  This  assertion  concerning  Johnson’s  insensi 
bility  to  the  pathetick  powers  of  Otway  is  too 
round.  I once  asked  him,  whether  he  did  not 
think  Otway  frequently  tender:  when  he  answered* 
“ Sir,  he  is  all  tenderness.” — Burney. 

1 [See  ante,  p 147  and  n. — Ed.] 


250 


1780. — ^TTAT.  71. 


see  a freemason’s  funeral  procession  when 
they  were  at  Rochester,  and  some  solemn 
musick  being  played  on  French-horns,  he 
said,  c This  is  the  first  time  that  I have  ever 
been  affected  by  musical  sounds;’  adding, 
that  the  impression  made  upon  him  was  of 
a melancholy  kind.’  Mr.  Langton  saying, 
that  this  effect  was  a fine  one, — Johnson. 
‘ Yes,  if  it  softens  the  mind  so  as  to  prepare 
it  for  the  reception  of  salutary  feelings,  it 
may  be  good:  but  inasmuch  as  it  is  melan- 
choly per  se,  it  is  bad  V 

[“  He  delighted,”  says  Mrs.  Piozzi, 
Piorai,  u no  more  jn  music  than  in  painting; 

in  fact,  he  was  almost  as  deaf  as  he 
was  blind.”] 

Hawk.  [Yet  of  musick,  he,  at  another 
A-poph.  time,  said,  “ It  is  the  only  sensual 
p*  197'  pleasure  without  vice.”] 

Lan  ton  “ Goldsmith  had  long  a visionary 
g on‘  project,  that  some  time  or  other, 
when  his  circumstances  should  be  easier,  he 
would  go  to  Aleppo,  in  order  to  acquire  a 
knowledge,  as  far  as  might  be,  of  any  arts 
peculiar  to  the  East,  and  introduce  them 
into  Britain.  When  this  was  talked  of  in 
Dr.  Johnson’s  company,  he  said,  ‘ Of  all 
men  Goldsmith  is  the  most  unfit  to  go  out 
upon  such  an  inquiry;  for  he  is  utterly  ig- 
norant of  such  arts  as  we  already  possess, 
and  consequently  could  not  know  what 
would  be  accessions  to  our  present  stock  of 
mechanical  knowledge.  Sir,  he  would  bring 
home  a grinding  barrow,  which  you  see  in 
every  street  in  London,  and  think  that  he 
had  furnished  a wonderful  improvement.’ 

“ c Greek,  sir,’  said  he, ‘ is  like  lace;  every 
man  gets  as  much  of  it  as  he  can2.’ 

“ When  Lord  Charles  Hay 3,  after  his 
return  from  America,  was  preparing  his  de- 
fence to  be  offered  to  the  court-martial 
which  he  had  demanded,  having  heard  Mr. 
Langton  as  high  in  expressions  of  admira- 
tion of  Johnson  as  he  usually  was,  he  re- 
quested that  Dr.  Johnson  might  be  intro- 
duced to  him;  and  Mr.  Langton  having 
mentioned  it  to  Johnson,  he  very  kindly 
and  readily  agreed;  and,  being  presented 
by  Mr.  Langton  to  his  lordship,  while  un- 
der arrest,  he  saw  him  several  times;  upon 
one  of  which  occasions  Lord  Charles  read  to 


1 The  French-horn,  however,  is  so  far  from 
being  melancholy  per  se,  that  when  the  strain  is 
light,  and  in  the  field,  there  is  nothing  so  cheerful! 
It  was  the  funeral  occasion,  and  probably  the 
solemnity  of  the  strain,  that  produced  the  plaintive 
effect  here  mentioned. — Burney. 

4 It  should  be  remembered,  that  this  was  said 
twenty-five  or  thirty  years  ago,  when  lace  was 
generally  worn. — Malone.  [But  even  with 

this  allowance  the  meaning  of  the  phrase  does  not 
»eein  clear — perhaps  Johnson  said  that  Greek  was 
like  lace;  every  man  wears  (that  is,  displays)  as 
much  of  it  as  he  can. — Ed.] 

TSee  ante , p.  52. — Ed.] 


him  what  he  had  prepared,  which  Johnson 
signified  his  approbation  of,  saying,  f It  is  a 
very  good  soldierly  defence.’  Johnson  said 
that  he  had  advised  his  lordship,  that  as  it 
was  in  vain  to  contend  with  those  who  were 
in  possession  of  power,  if  they  would  offer 
him  the  rank  of  lieutenant-general,  and  a 
government,  it  would  be  better  judged  to 
desist  from  urging  his  complaints.  It  is 
■well  known  that  his  lordship  died  before  the 
sentence  was  made  known. 

“Johnson  one  day  gave  high  praise  to 
Dr.  Bentley’s  verses 4 in  Dodsley’s  Collec- 
tion, which  he  recited  with  his  usual  ener- 
gy. Dr.  Adam  Smith,  who  was  present, 
observed,  in  his  decisive  professorial  man- 
ner, ‘Very  well, — very  well.’  Johnson, 
however,  added,  ‘ Yes,  they  are  very  well, 
sir;  but  you  may  observe  in  what  manner 
they  are  well.  They  are  the  forcible  ver- 
ses of  a man  of  a strong  mind,  but  not  ac- 
customed to  write  verse;  for  there  is  some 
uncouthness  in  the  expression  5.’ 

4 Dr.  Johnson,  in  his  Life  of  Cowley,  says, 
that  these  are  “ the  only  English  verses  which 
Bentley  is  known  to  have  written.”  I shall  here 
insert  them,  and  hope  my  readers  will  apply 
them. 

‘‘  Who  strives  to  mount  Parnassus’  hill, 

And  thence  poetick  laurels  bring, 

Must  first  acquire  due  force  and  skill, 

Must  fly  with  swan’s  or  eagle’s  wing. 

“ Who  Nature’s  treasures  would  explore,* 

Her  mysteries  and  arcana  know, 

Must  high  as  lofty  Newton  soar, 

Must  stoop  as  delving  Woodward  low. 

“ WTio  studies  ancient  laws  and  rites, 

Tongues,  arts,  and  arms,  and  history, 

Must  drudge,  like  Selden,  days  and  nights, 

And  in  the  endless  labour  die. 

“ Who  travels  in  religious  jars, 

(Truth  mixt  with  errour,  shades  with  raya,t 
Like  Whiston,  wanting  pyx  or  stars, 

In  ocean  wide  or  sinks  or  strays. 

“ But  grant  our  hero’s  hope  long  toil 
And  comprehensive  genius  crown, 

All  sciences,  all  arts  his  spoil, 

Yet  what  reward,  or  what  renown  * 

“ Envy,  innate  in  vulgar  souls, 

Envy  steps  in  and  stops  his  rise , 

Envy  with  poison’d  tarnish  fouls 
His  lustre,  and  his  worth  decries. 

“ He  lives  inglorious  or  in  want, 

To  college  and  old  books  confined 
Instead  oflearu’d,  he’s  call'd  pedant; 

Dunces  advanced,  he ’s  left  behind  ; 

Yet  left  content,  a genuine  Stoick  he — 

Great  without  patron,  rich  without  South  Sea 
Boswell. 

A different,  and  probably  a more  accurate  copy 
of  these  spirited  verses  is  to  be  found  in  “ The 
Grove,  or  a Collection  of  Original  Poems  and 
Translations,”  &c.  1721.  In  this  miscellany  the 
last  stanza,  which  in  Dodsley’s  copy  is  unque*. 
tionably  uncouth,  is  thus  exhibited: 

11  Inglorious  or  by  wants  enthrall'd , 

To  college  and  old  books  confined, 

A pedant  from  his  learning  calP  d, 

Dunces  advanced,  he’s  left  behind.’ 

J.  Boswell 

6 The  difference  between  Johnson  and  Smith 


1780.— iETAT.  71, 


261 


“ Drinking  tea  one  day  at  Garrick’s  with 
Mr.  Langton,  he  was  questioned  if  he  was 
not  somewhat  of  a heretick  as  to  Shakspeare. 
Said  Garrick,  ‘ I doubt  he  is  a little  of  an 
infidel.’  c Sir,’  said  Johnson,  ‘ I will  stand 
by  the  lines  I have  written  on  Shakspeare 
in  my  prologue  at  the  opening  of  your 
theatre.”  Mr.  Langton  suggested,  that  in 
the  line, 

‘ And  panting  Time  toil’d  after  him  in  vain,  ’ 

Johnson  might  have  had  in  his  eye  the  pas- 
sage in  the  ‘ Tempest,’  where  Prospero  says 
of  Miranda, 

‘ She  will  outstrip  all  praise, 

And  make  it  halt  behind  her.’ 

Johnson  said  nothing.  Garrick  then  ven- 
tured to  observe,  c I do  not  think  that  the 
happiest  line  in  the  praise  of  Shakspeare.’ 
Johnson  exclaimed  (smiling),  ‘ Prosaical 
rogues ! next  time  T write.  I’ll  make  both 
time  and  space  pant l.’ 

“ It  is  well  known  that  there  was  former- 
ly a rude  custom  for  those  who  were  sailing 
upon  the  Thames  to  accost  each  other  as 

is  apparent  even  in  this  slight  instance.  Smith 
was  a man  of  extraordinary  application,  and  had 
his  mind  crowded  with  all  manner  of  subjects; 
but  the  force,  acuteness,  and  vivacity  of  Johnson 
were  not  to  be  found  there.  He  had  book- 
making  so  much  in  his  thoughts,  and  was  so  chary 
of  what  might  be  turned  to  account  in  that  way, 
that  he  once  said  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  that  he 
made  it  a rule,  when  in  company,  never  to  talk 
of  what  he  understood.  Beauclerk  had  for  a 
short  time  a pretty  high  opinion  of  Smith’s  con- 
versation. Garrick,  after  listening  to  him  for  a 
while,  as  to  one  of  whom  his  expectations  had 
been  raised,  turned  slily  to  a friend,  and 
whispered  him,  “ What  say  you  to  this  ? — eh  ? 
Flabby,  I think.” — Boswell. 

1  I am  sorry  to  see  in  the  “ Transactions  of 
the  Royal  Society  of  Edinburgh,”  vol.  ii.  “ An 
Essay  on  the  Character  of  Hamlet,”  written,  I 
should  suppose,  by  a very  young  man,  though 
called  “ Reverend,”  who  speaks  with  presump- 
tuous petulance  of  the  first  literary  character  of 
his  age.  Amidst  a cloudy  confusion  of  words 
(which  hath  of  late  too  often  passed  in  Scotland 
for  metaphy  sicks),  he  thus  ventures  to  criticise 
one  of  the  noblest  lines  in  our  lauguage: — “ Dr. 
Johnson  has  remarked,  that  4 Time  toiled  after 
him  in  vain.’  But  I should  apprehend,  that  this 
is  entirely  to  mistake  the  character.  Time  toils 
after  every  great  man,  as  well  as  after  Shak- 
speare. The  workings  of  an  ordinary  mind  keep 
pace,  indeed,  with  time;  they  move  no  faster; 
they  have  their  beginning,  their  middle,  and 
their  end;  but  superiour  natures  can  reduce 
these  into  a point.  They  do  not,  indeed,  sup- 
press them;  but  they  suspend , or  they  lock  them 
up  in  the  breast .”  The  learned  society,  under 
whose  sanction  such  gabble  is  ushered  into  the 
world,  would  do  well  to  offer  a premium  to  any 
one  who  will  discover  its  meaning. — Boswell. 


they  passed,  in  the  most  abusive  language 
they  could  invent ; generally,  however, 
with  as  much  satirical  humour  as  they  ^ ere 
capable  of  producing.  Addison  gives  a 
specimen  of  this  ribaldry  in  Number  383  of 
c The  Spectator,’  when  Sir  Roger  de  Cov- 
erly  and  he  are  going  to  Spring-garden  2. 
Johnson  was  once  eminently  successful  in 
this  species  of  contest.  A fellow  having  at- 
tacked him  with  some  coarse  raillery,  John- 
son answered  him  thus,  ‘ Sir,  your  wife, 
under  pretence  of  keeping  a bawdy-house , 
is  a receiver  of  stolen  goods.’  One  evening 
when  he  and  Mr.  Burke  and  Mr.  Langton 
were  in  company  together,  and  the  admira- 
ble scolding  of  Timon  of  Athens  was  men- 
tioned, this  instance  of  Johnson’s  was 
quoted,  and  thought  to  have  at  least  equal 
excellence. 

“ As  Johnson  always  allowed  the  ex- 
traordinary talents  of  Mr.  Burke,  so  Mr. 
Burke  was  fully  sensible  of  the  wonderful 
powers  of  Johnson.  Mr.  Langton  recol- 
lects having  passed  an  evening  with  both 
of  them,  when  Mr.  Burke  repeatedly  en- 
tered upon  topicks  which  it  was  evident  he 
would  have  illustrated  with  extensive 
knowledge  and  richness  of  expression;  but 
Johnson  always  seized  upon  the  conversa- 
tion, in  which,  however,  he  acquitted  him- 
self in  a most  masterly  manner.  As  Mr. 
Burke  and  Mr.  Langton  were  walking 
home,  Mr.  Burke  observed  that  Johnson 
had  been  very  great  that  night:  Mr.  Lang- 
ton joined  in  this,  but  added,  he  could  have 
wished  to  hear  more  from  another  person 
(plainly  intimating  that  he  meant  Mr. 
Burke).  c 0,  no,’  said  Mr.  Burke,  c it  is 
enough  for  me  to  have  rung  the  bell  to  him.’ 

“ Beauclerk  having  observed  to  him  of 
one  of  their  friends,  that  he  was  awkward 
at  counting  money;  c Why,  sir,’  said  John- 
son, c I am  likewise  awkward  at  counting 
money.  But  then,  sir,  the  reason  is  plain; 
I have  had  very  little  money  to  count.’ 

“ He  had  an  abhorrence  of  affectation 
Talking  of  old  Mr.  Langton,  of  whom  he 
said,  ‘ Sir,  you  will  seldom  see  such  a gen- 
tleman, such  are  his  stores  of  literature3, 
such  his  knowledge  in  divinity,  and  such 
his  exemplary  life;  ’ he  added, ‘ and,  sir,  he 
has  no  grimace,  no  gesticulation,  no  bursts 
of  admiration  on  trivial  occasions:  he  never 
embraces  you  with  an  overacted  cordiality.’ 

“ Being  in  company  with  a gentleman 
who  thought  fit  to  maintain  Dr.  Berkeley’s 
ingenious  philosophy,  that  nothing  exists 
but  as  perceived  by  some  mind  ; when  the 
gentleman  was  going  away,  Johnson  said 
to  him,  ‘Pray,  sir,  don’t  leave  us;  for  we 
may  perhaps  forget  to  think  of  you,  and 
then  you  will  cease  to  exist.’ 

2 [Vauxhall. — Ed.] 

3 [See,  however,  ante,  p.  66.— Ed.] 


252 


1780.— JET AT.  71. 


“ Goldsmith,  upon  being  visited  by  John- 
son one  day  in  the  Temple,  said  to  him 
with  a little  jealousy  of  the  appearance  of 
his  accommodation,  c I shall  soon  be  in  bet- 
ter chambers  than  these.5  Johnson  at  the 
same  time  checked  him  and  paid  him  a 
handsome  compliment,  implying  that  a man 
of  his  talents  should  be  above  attention  to 
such  distinctions, — c Nay,  sir,  never  mind 
that:  Nil  te  qucesiveris  extra.' 

“At  the  time  when  his  pension  was 
granted  to  him,  he  said,  with  a noble  litera- 
ry ambition,  c Had  this  happened  twenty 
years  ago,  I should  have  gone  to  Constanti- 
nople to  learn  Arabick,  as  Pococke  did.5 

“ As  an  instance  of  the  niceness  of  his 
taste,  though  he  praised  West’s  translation 
of  Pindar,  he  pointed  out  the  following  pas- 
sages as  faulty,  by  expressing  a circum- 
stance so  minute  as  to  detract  from  the  gen- 
eral dignity  which  should  prevail: 

‘ Down  then  from  thy  glittering  nail , 

Take,  O Muse,  thy  Dorian  lyre.’ 

“ When  Mr.  Vesey  1 was  proposed  as  a 
member  of  the  Literary  Club,  Mr.  Burke 
began  by  saying  that  he  was  a man  of  gen- 
tle manners.  ‘ Sir,5  said  Johnson,  ‘ you 
need  say  no  more.  When  you  have  said  a 
man  of  gentle  manners,  you  have  said  , 
enough.5 

[Yet  he  afterwards  found  that 
p!°62!’  gentle  manners  alone  were  not 
“ enough; 55  for  when  Mrs.  Piozzi 
once  asked  him  concerning  the  conversa- 
tional powers  of  Mr.  Vesey2,  with  whom 
she  was  unacquainted,  “ He  talked  to  me,55 
said  Johnson,  “one  day  at  the  Club  con- 
cerning Catiline’s  conspiracy,  so  I with- 
drew my  attention  and  thought  about  Tom 
Thumb.”] 

_ “The  late  Mr.  Fitzherbert  told 

ang  ol1*  Mr.  Langton  that  Johnson  said  to 
him, 1 Sir,  a man  has  no  more  right  to  say 
an  uncivil  thing,  than  to  act  one;  no  more 
right  to  say  a rude  thing  to  another  than 
to  knock  him  down.5 

“ ‘ My  dear  friend,  Dr.  Bathurst,5  said 
he,  with  a warmth  of  approbation, c declared 
he  was  glad  that  his  father,  who  was  a 
West  India  planter,  had  left  his  affairs  in 

1 The  Right  Honourable  Agmondesham  Vesey 
was  elected  a member  of  the  Literary  Club  in 
1773,  and  died  August  11th,  1786. — Malone. 

2 [Mrs.  Piozzi  only  says  “ a gentleman .” 

Mr.  Malone’s  MS.  note  to  the  Anecdotes  supplies 
the  name.  Miss  Reynolds  also  recollects  an 
anecdote  of  Mr.  Vesey ’s  first  appearance  at  the 
Club,  which  proves  that,  however  Dr.  Johnson 
may  hav«  admired  Mr.  Vesey’s  gentle  manners, 
he  did  not  imitate  them.  “ When  a gentleman  at 
the  Club , on  presenting  his  friend,  said,  ‘ This, 
sir,  is  Mr.  Vesey’ — * I see  him,’  said  Dr.  Johnson, 
and  immediately  turned  away.’*  Recollections. 
— Ed.] 


total  ruin,  because,  having  no  estate,  he  was 
not  under  the  temptation  of  having  slaves.5 

“ Richardson  had  little  conversation,  ex- 
cept about  his  own  works,  of  which  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  said  he  was  always  wil- 
ling to  talk,  and  glad  to  have  them  intro- 
duced. Johnson,  when  he  carried  Mr, 
Langton  to  see  him,  professed  that  he 
could  bring  him  out  into  conversation,  and 
used  this  allusive  expression,  1 Sir,  I can 
make  him  rear.'  But  he  failed;  for  m that 
interview  Richardson  said  little  else  than 
that  there  lay  in  the  room  a translation  of 
his  Clarissa  into  German. 

“ Once  when  somebody  produced  a news- 
paper in  which  there  was  a letter  of  stupid 
abuse  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  of  which 
Johnson  himself  came  in  for  a share,  ‘ Pray,5 
said  he,  c let  us  have  it  read  aloud  from  be- 
ginning to  end;5  which  being  done,  he, 
with  a ludicrous  earnestness,  and  not  direct- 
ing his  look  to  any  particular  person,  called 
out, 1 Are  we  alive  after  all  this  satire? 5 

“ He  had  a strong  prejudice  against  the 
political  character  of  Seeker,  one  instance 
of  which  appeared  at  Oxford,  where  he  ex- 
pressed great  dissatisfaction  at  his  varying 
the  old-established  toast,  £ Church  and 
King.5  £ The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,5 
said  he,  with  an  affected,  smooth,  smiling 
grimace,  £ drinks,  £ Constitution  in  church 
and  state.5  Being  asked  what  difference 
there  was  between  the  two  toasts,  he  said, 
£ Why,  sir,  you  may  be  sure  he  meant 
something.’  Yet  when  the  life  of  that  pre- 
late, prefixed  to  his  sermons  by  Dr.  Porteus 
and  Dr.  Stinton,  his  chaplains,  first  came 
out,  he  read  it  with  the  utmost  avidity, 
and  said,  £ It  is  a life  well  written,  and  that 
well  deserves  to  be  recorded.5 

“ Of  a certain  noble  lord  3,  he  said,  £ Re- 
spect him  you  could  not;  for  he  had  no 
mind  of  his  own.  Love  him  you  could  not; 
for  that  which  you  could  do  with  him  every 
one  else  could.’ 

“ Of  Dr.  Goldsmith  he  said,  £No  man 
was  more  foolish  when  he  had  not  a pen 
in  his  hand,  or  more  wise  when  he  had.’ 

“ He  told,  in  his  lively  manner,  the  fol- 
lowing literary  anecdote: — ‘Green  and 
Guthrie,  an  Irishman  and  a Scotchman, 
undertook  a translation  of  Duhalde’s  His- 
tory of  China.  Green  said  of  Guthrie, 
that  he  knew  no  English,  and  Guthrie  of 
Green,  that  he  knew  no  French;  and  these 
two  undertook  to  translate  Duhalde’s  His- 
tory of  China.  In  this  translation  there 
was  found,  c the  twenty-sixth  day  of  the 
new  moon.5  Now,  as  the  whole  age  of 
the  moon  is  but  twenty-eight  days,  the 
moon,  instead  of  being  new,  was  nearly  as 
old  as  it  could  be.  The  blunder  arose  from 


3  [See  ante,  p.  248,  an  allusion  to  this  over 
civil  lord. — Ed.1 


17S0. — /ETAT.  71. 


tneir  mistaking  the  word  neuvieme,  ninth, 
for  nouvelle , or  neuve , new.’ 

“ Talking  of  Dr.  Blagden’s  1 2 3 copiousness 
and  precision  of  communication,  Dr.  John- 
son said,  £ Blagden,  sir,  is  a delightful  fel- 
low 2.’ 

££  On  occasion  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  publish- 
ing his  pamphlet  of  £ The  False  Alarm,’ 
there  came  out  a very  angry  answer  (by 
many  supposed  to  be  by  Mr.  Wilkes). 
Dr.  Johnson  determined  on  not  answering 
it;  but,  in  conversation  with  Mr.  Langton, 
mentioned  a particular  or  two,  which,  if  he 
had  replied  to  it,  he  might  perhaps  have 
inserted.  In  the  answerer’s  pamphlet,  it 
had  been  said  with  solemnity,  *'  Do  you 
consider,  sir,  that  a house  of  commons  is  to 
the  people  as  a creature  is  to  its  Creator?’ 
£ To  this  question,’  said  Dr.  Johnson,  £ I 
could  have  replied,  that,  in  the  first  place, 
the  idea  of  a Creator  must  be  such  as  that 
he  has  a power  to  unmake  or  annihilate  his 
creature.  Then  it  cannot  be  conceived  that 
a creature  can  make  laws  for  its  Creator  V 

££  £ Depend  upon  it,’  said  he,  £ that  if  a 
man  talks  of  his  misfortunes,  there  is  some- 
thing in  them  that  is  not  disagreeable  to 
hirn ; for  where  there  is  nothing  but  pure 
misery,  there  never  is  any  recourse  to  the 
mention  of  it.’ 

££  £ A man  must  be  a poor  beast,  that 
should  read  no  more  in  quantity  than  he 
could  utter  aloud.’ 

££  £ Imlac,  in  ££  Rasselas,”  I spelt  with  a c 
at  the  end,  because  it  is  less  like  English, 
which  should  always  have  the  Saxon  k ad- 
ded to  the  c 4 5.’ 

££  £ Many  a man  is  mad  in  certain  instan- 
ces, and  goes  through  life  without  having 
it  perceived.  For  example,  a madness  has 
seized  a person  5,  of  supposing  himself 

1 [Afterwards  Sir  Charles  Blagden. — Ed.] 

2 [Here  in  the  first  edition  ended  Mr.  Langton’s 
Collectanea. — Ed.] 

3 His  profound  adoration  of  the  Great  First 
Cause  was  such  as  to  set  him  above  that  “ phi- 
losophy and  vain  deceit”  with  which  men -of 
narrow  conceptions  have  been  infected.  I have 
heard  him  strongly  maintain  that  “ what  is  right 
is  not  so  from  any  natural  fitness,  but  because 
God  wills  it  to  be  right;”  and  it  is  certainly  so, 
because  he  has  predisposed  the  relations  of  things 
so,  as  that  which  he  wills  must  be  right. — Bos- 
well. 

4 I hope  the  authority  of  the  great  master  of 
our  language  will  stop  that  curtailing  innovation 
by  which  we  see  critic , public , &c.  frequently 
written  instead  of  critick,  publick,  &c. — Bos- 
well. [Why  should  we  not  retrench  an  ob- 
vious superfluity?  In  the  preceding  age,  public 
and  critic  were  written  publique  and  critique. 
Johnson  himself,  in  a memorandum  among  Mr. 
Anderdon’s  papers,  dated  in  1784,  writes  “ cubic 
feet.” — Ed.] 

5 [Johnson  had,  no  doubt,  his  poor  friend  Smart 

in  his  recollection:  seo  ante , vol.  i.  p.  180  — Ed.] 


253 

obliged  literally  to  pray  continually  haa 
the  madness  turned  the  opposite  way,  and 
the  person  thought  it  a crime  ever  to  pray, 
it  might  not  improbably  have  continued 
unobserved.’ 

££  He  apprehended  that  the  delineation  of 
characters  in  the  end  of  the  first  book  of 
the  £ Retreat  of  the  Ten  Thousand  ’ was 
the  first  instance  of  the  kind  that  was 
known. 

££  £ Supposing,’  said  he,  £ a wife  to  be  of 
a studious  or  argumentative  turn,  it  would 
be  very  troublesome : for  instance,  if  a wo- 
man should  continually  dwell  *upon  the 
subject  of  the  Arian  heresy.’ 

££  £ No  man  speaks  concerning  another, 
even  suppose  it  to  be  in  his  praise,  if  he 
thinks  he  does  not  hear  him,  exactly  as  he 
would  if  he  thought  he  was  within  hear- 
ing.’ 

££  £ The  applause  of  a single  human  being 
is  of  great  consequence.’  This  he  said  to 
me  with  great  earnestness  of  manner,  very 
near  the  time  of  his  decease,  on  occasion  of 
having  desired  me  to  read  a letter  addressed 
to  him  from  some  person  in  the  north  of 
England;  which  when  I had  done,  and  he 
asked  me  what  the  contents  were,  as  I 
thought  being  particular  upon  it  might  fa- 
tigue him,  it  being  of  great  length,  I only 
told  him  in  general  that  it  was  highly  in  his 
praise;  and  then  he  expressed  himself  as 
above. 

££He  mentioned  with  an  air  of  satisfac 
tion  what  Baretti  had  told  him;  that,  meet 
ing  in  the  course  of  his  studying  English 
with  an  excellent  paper  in  £ The  Spectator,’ 
one  of  four  that  were  written  by  the  respect- 
able dissenting  minister  Mr.  Grove  of 
Taunton,  and  observing  the  genius  and  en 
ergy  of  mind  that  it  exhibits,  it  greatly 
quickened  his  curiosity  to  visit  our  country, 
as  he  thought,  if  such  were  the  lighter  pe 
riodical  essays  of  our  authours,  their  produc- 
tions on  more  weighty  occasions  must  be 
wonderful  indeed ! 

££  He  observed  once,  at  Sir  Joshua  Rey 
nolds’s,  that  a beggar  in  the  street  will  more 
readily  ask  alms  from  a maw,  though  there 
should  be  no  marks  of  wealth  in  his  appear- 
ance, than  from  even  a well-dressed  wo- 
man6; which  he  accounted  for  from  the 
great  degree  of  carefulness  as  to  money, 
that  is  to  be  found  in  women : saying  far- 
ther upon  it,  that  the  opportunities  in  gen- 
eral that  they  possess  of  improving  their 
condition  are  much  fewer  than  men  have; 
and  adding,  as  he  looked  round  the  compa- 
ny-^ which  consisted  of  men  only,  £ There  is 
not  one  of  us  who  does  not  think  he  might 
be  richer,  if  he  would  use  his  endeavour.’ 

££  He  thus  characterised  an  ingenious 

6  Sterne  is  of  a direct  contrary  opinion.  Set 
his  “ Sentimental  Journey;”  article.  The  Mys 
tery. — Boswell. 


254 


1780. — A2TAT.  71. 


writer  of  his  acquaintance.  f Sir,  he  is  an 
enthusiast  by  rule.’ 

“ ‘ He  may  hold  up  that  shield  against 
all  his  enemies ,’  was  an  observation  on 
Homer,  in  reference  to  his  description  of  the 
shield  of  Achilles,  made  by  Mrs.  Fitzher- 
bert,  wife  to  his  friend  Mr.  Fitzherbert  of 
Derbyshire,  and  respected  by  Dr.  Johnson 
as  a very  fine  one 1.  He  had  in  general  a 
very  high  opinion  of  that  lady’s  understand- 
ing. 

“ An  observation  of  Bathurst’s  may  be 
mentioned,  which  Johnson  repeated,  appear- 
ing to  acknowledge  it  to  be  well  founded ; 
namely,  it  was  somewhat  remarkable  how 
seldom,  on  occasion  of  coming  into  the  com- 
pany of  any  new  person,  one  felt  any  wish 
or  inclination  to  see  him  again.” 

Ed  [As  we  now  approach  the  period 
when  his  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Thrale 
ceased,  this  seems  to  be  a proper  place  for 
inserting,  afterthe  Collectanea  of  Mr.  Lang- 
ton,  those  anecdotes  published  by  that  lady 
which  have  not  been  introduced  in  other 
places  of  this  work.] 

Piozzi  [“To  recollect  and  repeat  the 

Anec-  sayings  of  Dr.  Johnson,  is  almost 
d°tes'  all  that  can  be  done  by  the  writers 
of  his  life;  as  his  life,  at  least  since  my  ac- 
quaintance with  him,  consisted  in  little  else 
than  talking , when  he  was  not  absolutely 
employed  in  some  serious  piece  of  work; 
and  whatever  work  he  did  seemed  so  much 
below  his  powers  of  performance,  that  he 
appeared  the  idlest  of  all  human  beings; 
ever  amusing  till  he  was  called  out  to  con- 
verse, and  conversing  till  the  fatigue  of  his 
friends,  or  the  promptitude  of  his  own  tem- 
per to  take  offence,  consigned  him  back 
again  to  silent  meditation. 

“ Dr.  Johnson  indeed,  as  he  was  a very 
talking  man  himself,  had  an  idea  that 
nothing  promoted  happiness  so  much  as 
conversation. 

“The  saying  of  the  old  philosopher, 
who  observes,  ‘ that  he  who  wants  least 
is  most  like  the  gods,  who  want  no- 
thing,’ was  a favourite  sentence  with  Dr. 
Johnson,  who  on  his  own  part  required  less 
attendance,  sick  or  well,  than  ever  I saw 
any  human  creature.  Conversation  was 
all  he  required  to  make  him  happy;  and 
when  he  would  have  tea  made  at  two 
o’clock  in  the  morning,  it  was  only  that 
there  might  be  a certainty  of  detaining  his 

1 [This  passage  seems  not  very  intelligible. 

Perhaps  the  observation  might  mean  that  Homer’s 
description  of  the  shield  of  Achilles  was  so 

masterly  that  it  alone  was  sufficient  to  prove  him 

a great  poet,  and  to  turn  all  the  shafts  of  criticism. 
The  reader  cannot  have  failed  to  observe  that 

many  of  these  anecdotes  are  very  obscurely  ex- 
pressed, and  that  different  topics  seem  sometimes 

jumbied  into  one  oaragraph. — Ed.] 


companions  round  him.  On  tl  at  principle 
it  was  that  he  preferred  winter  to  summer, 
when  the  heat  of  the  weather  gave  people 
an  excuse  to  stroll  about,  and  walk  for  plea- 
sure in  the  shade,  while  he  wished  to  sit  still 
on  a chair,  and  chat  day  after  day,  till  some- 
body proposed  a drive  in  the  coach;  and 
that  was  the  most  delicious  moment  of  his 
life.  ‘.But  the  carriage  must  stop  some 
time,’  as  he  said,  ‘ and  the  people  would 
come  home  at  last;  ’ so  his  pleasure  was  of 
short  duration. 

“ As  ethics  or  figures,  or  metaphysical 
reasoning,  was  the  sort  of  talk  he  most  de- 
lighted in,  so  no  kind  of  conversation  pleased 
him  less,  I think,  than  when  the  subject  was 
historical  fact  or  general  polity.  ‘ What 
shall  we  learn  from  that  stuff?’  said  John- 
son: ‘let  us  not  fancy  like  Swift  that  we 
are  exalting  a woman’s  character  by  telling 
how  she  6 

“ Could  name  the  ancient  heroes  round, 

Explain  for  what  they  were  renown’d,  &c.” 
Cad.  & Vanessa. 

I must  not  however  lead  my  readers  to 
suppose  that  he  meant  to  reserve  such  talk 
for  men’s  company  as  a proof  of  pre-emi- 
nence. ‘ He  never,’  as  he  expressed  it,  ‘ de- 
sired to  hear  of  the  Punic  war  while  he  liv 
ed:  such  conversation  was  lost  time,’  he 
said,  ‘ and  carried  one  away  from  common 
life,  leaving  no  ideas  behind  which  could 
serve  living  wight  as  warning  or  direction. 

“ How  I should  act  is  not  the  case, 

But  how  would  Brutus  in  my  place  5 ” 

And  now,’  cries  Dr.  Johnson,  laughing 
with  obstreperous  violence,  ‘if  these  two 
foolish  lines  can  be  equalled  in  folly 2 * *,  ex- 
cept by  the  two  succeeding  ones — show 
them  me.’ 


2 [These  are  two  lines  of  Swift’s  Verses  to 
Stella , 1720.  Dr.  Johnson’s  censure  was  too 
violent,  and  indeed  he  seems  not  to  have  cqrrectly 
understood  the  dean’s  illustration.  He  is  layin® 
down  certain  general  rules  for  distinguishing  whal 
honour  is,  and  he  exposes  the  many  false  mean- 
ings which  the  world  assigns  to  that  word.  He 
proceeds  to  say  that  men  should  not  decide  what 
is  honourable  by  a reference*  to  their  own  feel- 
ings and  circumstances,  which  naturally  bias  the 
judgment,  but  should  consider,  without  reference 
to  self,  how  a wise  and  good  man  would  act 
“ In  points  ofhouour  to  be  tried, 

All  passion  must  be  laid  aside ; 

Ask  no  advice,  but  think  alone ; 

Suppose  the  question  not  your  own 
‘ How  shall  I act  i ’ is  not  the  case  , 

But  how  would  Brutus  in  my  place? 

In  such  a case  v ould  Cato  bleed  ? 

And  how  would  Socrates  proceed  ? ” 

It  is  plain  here,  and  still  plainer  from  the  whole 
context  of  the  poem,  that  Brutus , Cato , and 
Socrates  are  here  put  as  the  representatives  of 
Patriotism  and  Virtue,  and  as  the  names  of  Zoi- 
lus.  Bavius , or  Pandarus  are  used  generically 


1780.— MT AT.  71. 


255 


c<  With  a contempt  not  inferior  he  receiv- 
ed the  praises  of  a pretty  lady’s  face  and  be- 
haviour. * She  says  nothing,  sir,’  answered 
Johnson;  £ a talking  blackamoor  were  bet- 
ter than  a white  creature  who  adds  nothing 
to  life — and  sitting  down  before  one  thus 
desperately  silent  takes  away  the  confidence 
one  should  have  in  the  company  of  her  chair 
if  she  were  once  out  of  it.’ 

“ No  one  was  however  less  willing  to  be- 
gin any  discourse  than  himself.  His  friend 
Mr.  Thomas  Tyers1  said  he  was  like  the 
ghosts,  who  never  speak  till  they  are  spoken 
to;  and  he  liked  the  expression  so  well,  that 
he  often  repeated  it.  He  had  indeed  no 
necessity  to  lead  the  stream  of  chat  to  a 
favourite  channel,  that  his  fulness  on  the 
subject  might  be  shown  more  clearly,  what- 
ever was  the  topic;  and  he  usually  left  the 
choice  to  others.  His  information  enlight- 
ened, his  argument  strengthened,  and  his 
wit  made  it  ever  remembered.  Of  him  it 
might  have  been  said,  as  he  often  delighted 
to  say  of  Edmund  Burke,  £ that  you  could 
not  stand  five  minutes  with  that  man  be- 
neath a shed  while  it  rained,  but  you  must 
be  convinced  you  had  been  standing  with 
the  greatest  man  you  had  ever  yet  seen.’ 

“ Having  reduced  his  amusements  to  the 
pleasures  of  conversation  merely,  what  won- 
der that  Johnson  should  have  had  an  avidi- 
ty for  the  sole  delight  he  was  able  to  enjoy  ? 
No  man  conversed  so  well  as  he  on  every 
subject;  no  man  so  acutely  discerned  the 
reason  of  every  fact,  the  motive  of  every  ac- 
tion, the  end  of  every  design.  He  was  in- 
deed often  pained  by  the  ignorance  or  cause- 
less wonder  of  those  who  knew  less  than 
himself,  though  he  seldom  drove  them  away 
with  apparent  scorn,  unless  he  thought  they 
added  presumption  to  stupidity. 

££  He  would  sometimes  good-naturedty 
enter  into  a long  chat  for  the  instruction  or 
entertainment  of  people  he  despised.  I per- 
fectly recollect  his  condescending  to  delight 
my  daughter’s  dancing-master  with  a long 
argument  about  his  art;  which  the  man  pro- 
to signify  infamous  persons:  so  here,  Brutus, 
Cato,  and  Socrates  (which  might  as  well  have 
been  Sydney , Sowers,  or  Clarendon,  or  any  other 
illustrious  names) , are  used  as  terms  of  honour  to 
give  point  and  a kind  of  dramatic  effect  to  the 
general  proposition.  Swift  never  dreamt  (as  Mrs. 
Piozzi’s  report  would  lead  us  to  think  that  John- 
son supposed)  to  advise  that  our  rules  of  conduct 
were  to  be  drawn  from  the  actual  events  of  Greek 
and  Roman  history.  This  would  have  been  as 
absurd  as  Johnson’s  own  introduction  of  Roman 
manners  into  London  in  his  description  of  the 
burning  of  Orgilio’s  palace,  or  the  invocation  of 
Democritus,  which  sounds  so  strangely  amidst  the 
modern  illustrations  of  his  own  beautiful  and 
splendid  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes. — Ed.] 

1 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  136,  and  p.  175  of  this 
vol.«— Ed.] 


tested,  at  the  ciose  of  the  discourse,  the 
Doctor  knew  more  of  than  himself,  and  was 
astonished,  enlightened,  and  amused,  by  the 
talk  of  a person  little  likely  to  make  a good 
disquisition  upon  dancing. 

“ I have  sometimes  indeed  been  rather 
pleased  than  vexed  when  Dr.  Johnson  has 
given  a rough  answer  to  a man  who  per- 
haps deserved  one  only  half  as  rough,  be- 
cause I knew  he  would  repent  of  his  hasty 
reproof,  and  make  us  all  amends  by  some 
conversation  at  once  instructive  and  enter- 
taining. A young  fellow  asked  him  abrupt- 
ly one  day,  ‘ Pray,  sir,  what  and  where  is 
Palmyra  ? I heard  somebody  talk  last  night 
of  the  ruins  of  Palmyra.’  ‘’Tis  a hill  in 
Ireland,’  replies  Johnson,  c with  palms 
growing  on  the  top,  and  a bog  at  the  bot- 
tom, and  so  they  call  it  Palnl-mira.,  See- 
ing however  that  the  lad  thought  him  seri 
ous,  and  thanked  him  for  the  information 
he  undeceived  him  very  gently  indeed;  told 
him  the  history,  geography,  and  chronolo 
gy,  of  Tadmor  in  the  wilderness,  with  eve 
ry  incident,  I think,  that  literature  could 
furnish  or  eloquence  express,  from  the  build 
ing  of  Solomon’s  palace  down  to  the  voyage 
of  Dawkins  and  Wood. 

“ He  had  no  taste  for  the  usual  enjoy 
ments  and  occupations  of  a country  life,  and 
wTould  say,  £ that  after  one  had  gathered 
apples  in  an  orchard,  one  wishes  to  see 
them  well  baked,  and  removed  to  a London 
eating-house  for  enjoyment.’  With  such 
notions,  who  can  wonder  he  often  com 
plained  of  us  for  living  so  much  in  the  coun 
try — £ feeding  the  chickens,’  as  he  said  1 
did,  c till  I starved  my  own  understanding.’ 
£ Get,  however,’  said  he, £ a book  about  gar- 
dening, and  study  it  hard,  since  you  will 
pass  your  life  with  birds  and  flowers,  and 
learn  to  raise  the  largest  turnips  and  to 
breed  the  biggest  fowls.’  It  was  vain  to 
assure  him  that  the  goodness  of  such  dishes 
did  not  depend  upon  their  size;  he  laughed 
at  the  people  who  covered  their  canals  with 
foreign  fowls,  £ when,’  says  he,  £ our  own 
geese  and  ganders  are  twice  as  large;  if  we 
fetched  better  animals  from  distant  nations, 
there  might  be  some  sense  in  the  prefer- 
ence : but  to  get  cows  from  Alderney,  or 
water-fowl  from  China,  only  to  see  nature 
degenerating  round  us,  is  a poor  ambition 
indeed.’ 

££  Nor  was  Dr.  Johnson  more  merciful 
with  regard  to  the  amusements  people  are 
contented  to  call  such.  £ You  hunt  in  the 
morning,’  says  he,  ‘and  crowd  to  the  public 
rooms  at  night,  and  call  it  diversion;  when 
your  heart  knows  it  is  perishing  with  pov- 
erty of  plea'  ures,  and  your  wits  get  blunted 
for  want  (f  some  other  mind  to  sharpen 
them  upon.  There  is  in  this  world  no  real 
delight  (excepting  those  of  sensuality)  but 
exchange  of  ideas  in  conversation;  and 


256 


1780.— vLTAT.  71. 


whoever  has  once  experienced  the  full  flow 
of ‘London  talk,  when  he  retires  to  country 
friendships  and  rural  sports,  must  either  be 
contented  to  turn  baby  again  and  play  with 
the  rattle,  or  he  will  pine  away  like  a great 
fish  tn  a little  pond,  and  die  for  want  of  his 
usual  food.’ — ‘ Books  without  the  knowledge 
of  l«fe  are  useless,’  I have  heard  him  say; 

* far  what  should  books  teach  but  the  art  of 
IvAi/ig?  To  study  manners,  however,  only 
in  coffee-houses,  is  more  than  equally  im- 
perfect; the  minds  of  men  who  acquire  no 
solid  learning,  and  only  exist  on  the  daily 
forage  that  they  pick  up  by  running  about, 
and  snatching  what  drops  from  their  neigh- 
bours, as  ignorant  as  themselves,  will  never 
ferment  into  any  knowledge  valuable  or 
durable;  but  like  the  light  wines  we  drink 
in  hot  countries,  please  for  the  moment, 
though  incapable  of  keeping.  In  the  study 
of  mankind  much  will  be  found  to  swim  as 
froth  and  much  must  sink  as  feculence,  be- 
fore the  wine  can  have  its  effect,  and  be- 
come that  noblest  liquor  which  rejoices  the 
heart  and  gives  vigour  to  the  imagination.’ 
“ ‘ Solitude,’  he  one  day  added,  ‘ is  dan- 
gerous to  reason,  without  being  favourable 
to  virtue : pleasures  of  some  sort  are  neces- 
sary to  the  intellectual  as  to  the  corporeal 
health;  and  those  who  resist  gaiety  will  be 
likely  for  the  most  part  to  fall  a sacrifice  to 
appetite;  for  the  solicitations  of  sense  are 
always  at  hand;  and  a dram  to  a vacant  and 
solitary  person  is  a speedy  and  seducing  re- 
lief. Remember,’  continued  he,  ‘ that  the 
solitary  mortal  is  certainly  luxurious,  pro- 
bably superstitious,  and  possibly  mad:  the 
mind  stagnates  for  want  of  employment, 
grows  morbid,  and  is  extinguished  like  a 
candle  in  foul  air.’  It  was  on  this  principle 
that  Johnson  encouraged  parents  to  carry 
their  daughters  early  and  much  into  compa- 
ny; ‘ for  what  harm  can  be  done  before  so 
many  witnesses?  Solitude  is  the  surest 
nurse  of  all  prurient  passions;  and  a girl  in 
the  hurry  of  preparation,  or  tumult  of  gaiety, 
has  neither  inclination  nor  leisure  to  let  ten- 
der expressions  soften  or  sink  into  her  heart. 
The  ball,  the  show,  are  not  the  dangerous 
places:  no,  ’t is  the  private  friend,  the  kind 
consoler,  the  companion  of  the  easy  vacant 
hour,  whose  compliance  with  her  opinions 
can  flatter  her  vanity,  and  whose  conversa- 
tion can  just  soothe,  without  ever  stretch- 
ing her  mind,  that  is  the  lover  to  be  feared; 
he  who  buzzes  in  her  ear  at  court,  or  at  the 
opera,  must  be  contented  to  buzz  in  vain.’ 
These  notions  Dr.  Johnson  carried  so  very 
far,  that  I have  heard  him  say,  ‘ If  you 
would  shut  up  any  man  with  any  woman, 
so  as  to  make  them  derive  their  whole  plea- 
sure from  each  other,  they  would  inevitably 
fall  in  love,  as  it  is  called,  with  each  other; 
but  at  six  months’  end,  if  you  would  throw 
them  both  into  public  life,  where  they  might 


change  partners  at  pleasure,  each  would 
soon  forget  that  fondness  which  mutual  de- 
pendence and  the  paucity  of  general  amuse- 
ment alone  had  caused,  and  each  would 
separately  feel  delighted  by  their  release.’ 

“ The  vacuity  of  life  had  at  some  early 
period  of  his  life  struck  so  forcibly  on  the 
mind  of  Dr.  Johnson,  that  it  became  by  re- 
peated impression  his  favourite  hypothesis, 
and  the  general  tenor  of  his  reasonings 
commonly  ended  there,  wherever  they  might 
begin.  Such  things  therefore  as  other  phi- 
losophers often  attribute  to  various  and  con- 
tradictory causes,  appeared  to  him  uniform 
enough;  all  was  done  to  fill  up  the  time,  up- 
on his  principle.  I used  to  tell  him,  that  it 
was  like  the  clown’s  answer  in  As  You  Like 
It,  of  ‘ Oh  Lord,  sir ! ’ for  that  it  suited  ev- 
ery occasion.  One  man,  for  example,  was 
profligate  and  wild,  as  we  call  it,  followed 
the  girls,  or  sat  still  at  the  gaming-table. 
c Why,  life  must  be  filled  up,’  said  Johnson, 
‘ and  the  man  who  is  not  capable  of  intel- 
lectual pleasures  must  content  himself  with 
such  as  his  senses  can  afford.’  Another 
was  a hoarder:  ‘Why,  a fellow  must  do 
something;  and  what  so  easy  to  a narrow 
mind  as  hoarding  halfpence  till  they  turn 
into  sixpences?  ’ 

“ Avarice  was  a vice  against  which,  how- 
ever, I never  much  heard  Dr.  Johnson  de- 
claim, till  one  represented  it  to  him  connect- 
ed with  cruelty,  or  some  such  disgraceful 
companion.  ‘ Do  not,’  said  he,  ‘ discourage 
your  children  from  hoarding,  if  they  have  a 
taste  to  it:  whoever  lays  up  his  penny  ra- 
ther than  part  with  it  for  a cake,  at  least  is 
not  the  slave  of  gross  appetite;  and  shows 
besides  a pieference  always  to  be  esteemed, 
of  the  future  to  the  present  moment.  Such 
a mind  may  be  made  a good  one;  but  the 
natural  spendthrift,  who  grasps  his  plea- 
sures greedily  and  coarsely,  and  cares  for 
nothing  but  immediate  indulgence,  is  very 
little  to  be  valued  above  a negro.’ 

“ He  hated  disguise,  and  nobody  pone 
trated  it  so  readily.  I showed  him  a letter 
written  to  a common  friend,  who  was  at 
some  loss  for  the  explanation  of  it.  * Who- 
ever wrote  it,’  says  our  Doctor,  ‘ could,  if  he 
chose  it,  make  himself  understood;  but ’t  is 
the  letter  of  an  embarrassed  man , sir;  ’ and 
so  the  event  proved  it  to  be. 

“ Mysteriousness  in  trifles  offended  him 
on  every  side : ‘ it  commonly  ended  in  guilt,’ 
he  said;  ‘ for  those  who  begin  by  conceal- 
ment of  innocent  things  will  soon  have 
something  to  hide  which  they  dare  not 
bring  to  Tight.’  He  therefore  encouraged 
an  openness  of  conduct,  in  women  particu 
larly,  ‘ who,’  he  observed,  ‘ were  often  led 
away,  when  children,  by  their  delight  and 
power  of  surprising.’ 

“ He  recommended,  on  something  like 
the  same  principle,  that  when  one  person 


1780. — iETAT.  71. 


257 


meant  to  serve  another,  he  should  not  go 
about  it  slily,  or,  as  we  say,  underhand,  out 
of  a false  idea  of  delicacy,  to  surprise  one’s 
friend  with  an  unexpected  favour;  c which, 
ten  to  one,’  says  he,  ‘ fails  to  oblige  your 
acquaintance,  who  had  some  reasons  against 
such  a mode  of  obligation,  which  you  might 
have  known  but  for  that  superfluous  cun- 
ning which  you  think  an  elegance.  Oh  ! 
never  be  seduced  by  such  silly  pretences,’ 
continued  he;  ‘ if  a wench  wants  a good 
gown,  do  not  give  her  a fine  smelling-bot- 
tle, because  that  is  more  delicate;  as  I once 
knew  a lady  lend  the  key  of  her  library  to  a 
poor  scribbling  dependant,  as  if  she  took 
the  woman  for  an  ostrich  that  could  digest 
iron  ’ He  said,  indeed,  c that  women  were 
very  difficult  to  be  taught  the  proper  man- 
ner of  conferring  pecuniary  favours;  that 
they  always  gave  too  much  money  or  too 
little;  for  that  they  had  an  idea  of  delicacy 
accompanying  their  gifts,  so  that  they  gen- 
erally rendered  them  either  useless  or  ridi- 
culous.’ 

cc  I pitied  a friend  before  him  who  had  a 
whining  wife,  that  found  every  thing  pain- 
ful to  her,  and  nothing  pleasing — ‘ He  does 
not  know  that  she  whimpers,’  says  John- 
son; ‘ when  a door  has  creaked  for  a fort- 
night together,  you  may  observe,  the  mas- 
ter will  scarcely  give  sixpence  to  get  it 
oiled.  ’ 

“ Of  another  lady,  more  insipid  than  of- 
fensive, I once  heard  him  say,  ‘ She  has 
some  softness  indeed,  but  so  has  a pillow.’ 
And  when  one  observed  in  reply,  that  her 
husband’s  fidelity  and  attachment  were  ex- 
emplary, notwithstanding  this  low  account 
at  which  her  perfections  were  rated — ‘ Why, 
sir,’  cries  the  Doctor,  ‘ being  married  to  those 
sleepy-souled  women,  is  just  like  playing  at 
cards  for  nothing;  no  passion  is  excited, 
and  the  time  is  filled  up.  I do  not  howev- 
er envy  a fellow  one  of  those  honeysuckle 
wives,  for  my  part,  as  they  are  but  creepers 
at  best,  and  commonly  destroy  the  tree  they 
so  tenderly  cling  about.’ 

“ Needlework  had  a strenuous  approver 
m Dr.  Johnson,  who  said,  c that  one  of  the 
great  felicities  of  female  life  was  the  general 
consent  of  the  world,  that  they  might  amuse 
themselves  with  petty  occupations,  which 
contributed  to  the  lengthening  their  lives, 
and  preserving  their  minds  in  a state  of  san- 
ity.’ c A man  cannot  hem  a pocket-hand- 
kerchief,’ said  a lady  of  quality  to  him  one 
day,  ‘ and  so  he  runs  mad,  and  torments  his 
family  and  friends.’  The  expression  struck 
aim  exceedingly,  and  when  one  acquaint- 
ance grew  troublesome,  and  another  un- 
healthy, he  used  to  quote  Lady  Frances’s 1 
observation,  c that  a man  cannot  hem  a 
pocket-handkerchief.’ 


1 [Lady  Frances  Burgoyne,  daughter  of  the  last 
Lord  Halifax. — Ed.] 
vol.  u 83 


“Nice  people  found  no  mercy  from  Dr. 
Johnson;  such  I mean  as  can  dine  only  at 
four  o’clock,  who  cannot  bear  to  be  waked 
at  an  unusual  hour,  or  miss  a stated  meal 
without  inconvenience.  He  had  no  such 
prejudices  himself,  and  with  difficulty  for- 
gave them  in  another.  £ Delicacy  does  not 
surely  consist,’  says  he,  1 in  impossibility  to 
be  pleased;  and  that  is  false  dignity  indeed 
which  is  content  to  depend  upon  others.’ 

“ That  poverty  was  an  evil  to  be  avoidtd 
by  all  honest  means,  however,  no  man  was 
more  ready  to  avow  : concealed  poverty 
particularly,  which  he  said  was  the  genera 
corrosive  that  destroyed  the  peace  of  almos 
every  family;  to  which  no  evening  perhaps 
ever  returned  without  some  new  project 
for  tiding  the  sorrows  and  dangers  o**  the 
next  day.  c Want  of  money,’  says  Dr. 
Johnson,  ‘ is  sometimes  concealed  undei 
pretended  avarice,  and  sly  hints  of  aversion 
to  part  with  it;  sometimes  under  stormy 
anger,  and  affectation  of  boundless  rage: 
but  oftener  still  under  a show  of  thought 
less  extravagance  and  gay  neglect  : while 
to  a penetrating  eye  none  of  these  wretched 
veils  suffice  to  keep  the  cruel  truth  from 
being  seen.  Poverty  is  hie  et  ubique ,’  says 
he,  f and  if  you  do  shut  the  jade  out  of  the 
door,  she  will  always  contrive  in  some  man- 
ner to  poke  her  pale  lean  face  in  at  the  win- 
dow.’ 

“ As  the  mind  of  Dr.  Johnson  was  great 
ly  expanded,  so  his  first  care  was  for  gene- 
ral, not  particular  or  petty  morality;  and 
those  teachers  had  more  of  his  blame  than 
praise,  I think,  who  seek  to  oppress  life  with 
unnecessary  scruples.  c Scruples  would,’ 
as  he  observed,  ‘ certainly  make  men  mis- 
erable, and  seldom  make  them  good.  Let 
us  ever,’  he  said,  c studiously  fly  from  those 
instructers,  against  whom  our  Saviour  de- 
nounces heavy  judgments,  for  having  bound 
up  burdens  grievous  to  be  borne,  and  laid 
them  on  the  shoulders  of  mortal  men.’ 
No  one  had,  however,  higher  notions  of  the 
hard  task  of  true  Christianity  than  Johnson, 
whose  daily  terror  lest  he  had  not  done 
enough  originated  in  piety,  but  ended  in 
little  less  than  disease.  Reasonable  with 
regard  to  others,  he  had  formed  vain  hopes 
of  performing  impossibilities  himself ; and 
finding  his  good  works  ever  below  his  de- 
sires and  intent,  filled  his  imagination  with 
fears  that  he  should  never  obtain  forgive 
ness  for  omissions  of  duty  and  criminal 
waste  of  time. 

“ I used  to  tell  him  in  jest,  that  his  moral 
ity  was  easily  contented;  and  when  I have 
said  something  as  if  the  wickedness  of  the 
world  gave  me  concern,  he  would  cry  out 
aloud  against  canting,  and  protest  that  he 
thought  there  was  very  little  gross  wicked- 
ness in  the  world,  and  still  less  of  extraoi' 
dinary  virtue. 

“ Though  no  man  perhaps  made  such 


258 


J780. — ^ETAT.  71 


rough  replies  as  Dr.  Johnson,  yet  nobody 
had  a more  just  aversion  for  general  satire  ; 
he  always  hated  and  censured  Swift  for  his 
unprovoked  bitterness  against  the  profes- 
sors of  medicine  ; and  used  to  challenge  his 
friends,  when  they  lamented  the  exorbitan- 
cy of  physicians’ fees,  to  produce  him  one 
instance  of  an  estate  raised  by  physick  in 
England.  When  an  acquaintance  too  was 
one  day  exclaiming  against  the  tediousness 
of  the  law  and  its  partiality  : ‘ Let  us  hear, 
sir,’  said  Johnson,  ‘no  general  abuse;  the 
law  is  the  last  result  of  human  wisdom  act- 
ing upon  human  experience  for  the  benefit 
of  the  publick.’ 

“ Dr.  Johnson  had  indeed  a veneration 
for  the  voice  of  mankind  beyond  what  most 
people  will  own  ; and  as  he  liberally  con- 
fessed that  all  his  own  disappointments 
proceeded  from  himself,  he  hated  to  hear 
others  complain  of  general  injustice.  Ire- 
member  when  lamentation  was  made  of  the 
neglect  shewed  to  Jeremiah  Markland1,  a 

1 [Mr.  Markland,  who  has  favoured  the  Editor 
with  many  kind  and  useful  suggestions,  observes 
on  this  passage,  that  “ Johnson’s  censure  was  un- 
deserved. Jeremiah  Markland  was  certainly  no 
growler.  He  sought  for,  because  he  loved,  re- 
tirement; and  rejected  all  the  honours  and  re- 
wards which  were  liberally  offered  to  his  accept- 
ance. During  a long  life,  he  devoted  himself 
unceasingly  to  those  pursuits  for  which  he  was 
best  fitted,  collating  the  classics,  and  illustrating 
the  Scriptures.  * Sequantur  alii  famam,  aucupen- 
tur  Divitias,  hie  ilia  oculis  irretortis  contemplatus, 
post  terga  constanter  rejecit  ....  In  solitudinem 
se  recepit,  studiis  excolendis  et  pauperibus  suble- 
vandis  unice  intentus.’  Such  is  the  character 
given  of  Markland  by  his  pupil  and  friend  Edward 
Clarke.”  Mrs.  Piozzi’s  flippant  expression  (“  a 
great  philologist  as  some  one  ventured  to  call 
him  ”)  will  excite  a smile,  when  we  recollect  what 
Markland  has  done  as  a philologist,  and  the  estima- 
tion in  which  he  has  been  held  both  by  the  most 
learned  of  his  contemporaries  (including  John- 
son himself),  and  the  most  distinguished  scholars 
of  our  own  time.  Dr.  Burney,  in  a tone  of  the 
highest  panegyric,  numbered  him  with  Bentley, 
Dawes,  Toup,  and  Porson  ; and  a still  later  wri- 
ter has  thus  candidly  enumerated  his  merits : 
“ Markland  was  endowed  with  a respectable  por- 
tion of  judgment  and  sagacity.  He  was  very  la- 
borious, loved  retirement,  and  spent  a long  life  in 
the  study  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  languages.  For 
modesty,  candour,  literary  honesty,  and  courteous- 
ness to  other  scholars,  he  is  justly  considered  as 
the  mode  which  ought  to  be  proposed  for  the  imi- 
tation of  every  critic.” — Quart.  Rev.  vol.  vii.  p. 
442  so  far  Mr.  Markland.  It  is  but  just  to  all 
parties,  that  the  Editor  should  add,  that  (whatev- 
er Johnson  may  have  said  in  the  current  of  con- 
versation, and  probably  in  allusion  to  some  mi- 
nute and  unrecorded  circumstance)  he  had  a fixed 
respect  for  the  talents  and  character  of  Markland. 
For  it  will  be  seen  hereafter  that  on  the  20th  Oct. 
1782,  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Nichols,  urging  him  to  ob- 
tain some  record  if  the  ife  of  Markland,  whom, 


great  philologist,  as  son.e  one  ventured  to 
call  him— He  is  a scholar  undoubtedly,  sir,’ 
replied  Dr.  Johnson;  ‘ but  remember  that 
he  would  run  from  the  world,  and  that  it  is 
not  the  world  s business  to  run  after  him. 
I hate  a fellow  whom  pride,  or  cowardice, 
or  laziness,  drives  into  a corner,  and  does 
nothing  when  he  is  there  but  sit  and  growl . 
let  him  come  out  as  I do,  and  bark.' 

“Dr.  Johnson’s  knowledge  of  literary 
history  was  extensive  and  surprising  ; he 
knew  every  adventure  of  every  book  you 
could  name  almost,  and  was  exceedingly 
pleased  with  the  opportunity  which  writing 
the  poets’  lives  gave  him  to  display  it. 
He  loved  to  be  set  at  work,  and  was  sorry 
when  he  came  to  the  end  of  the  business  he 
was  about. 

“‘Alas,  madam!’  continued  he,  ‘how 
few  books  are  there  of  which  one  ever  can 
possibly  arrive  at  the  last  page  ! Was 
there  ever  yet  any  thing  written  by  mere 
man  that  was  wished  longer  by  its  read 
ers,  excepting  Don  Quixote,  Robinson 
Crusoe,  and  the  Pilgrim’s  Progress  ? ’ Af- 
ter Homer’s  Iliad,  Dr.  Johnson  confessed 
that  the  work  of  Cervantes  was  the  greatest 
in  the  world,  speaking  of  it,  I mean,  as  a 
book  of  entertainment. 

“ He  had  sometimes  fits  of  reading  very 
violent  ; and  when  he  was  in  earnest  about 
getting  through  some  particular  pages,  for 
1 have  heard  him  say  he  never  read  but 
one  book 2,  which  he  did  not  consider  as 


with  Jortin  and  Thirlby,  he  calls  three  contempo- 
raries of  great  eminence. — Ed.] 

2 [On  this  passage  Mr.  Malone,  in  his  MS. 
notes,  says,  “ Here  we  have  another  gross  ex- 
aggeration. She  does  not  state  when  he  made 
this  declaration.  It  might  have  been  in  1765, 
a?id  in  the  subsequent  nineteen  years  he  might 
have  read  500  books  through  perhaps,  though 
it  certainly  was  not  his  usual  custom  to  do  so .” 
Can  the  reader  discover  on  what  grounds  the 
statement  is  called  a gross  exaggeration,  wher 
Mr.  Malone  admits  that  it  accords  with  Johnson’s 
usual  custom?  But  we  have  many  passages  ir 
Boswell  which  corroborate  Mrs.  Piozzi’s  statement, 
(see  for  instance  vol.  i.  p.  310,  and  post,  15th 
June,  1784.)  The  observation  too  as  to  the  lady’s 
having  made  no  allowance  for  the  date  at  which 
Johnson  spoke,  came  rather  inconsistently  from 
Mr.  Malone,  who  has  laboriously  made  a delibe 
rate  blunder  of  the  same  kind  that  he  imputes  to 
Mrs.  Piozzi  : when  Johnson  observed,  ante,  p. 
143,  that  “ Thomas  a Kempis  was  said  to  have 
been  printed,  in  one  language  or  another,  as  many 
times  as  there  have  been  months  since  it  first  came 
out,”  Mr.  Malone,  with  great  gravity,  informs  us, 
“ this  is  improbable,  because,  according  to  this 
account , there  would  have  been  3600  editions , 
that  being  the  number  of  months  between  1492 
and  1792,”  {ante,  loc.  cit.)  Because  Boswell’s 
book  was  published  in  1792,  Mr.  Malone  makes 
his  calculation  on  that  year,  without  reference 
either  to  the  vear  in  which  Johnson  quoted  tlu 


1780. — ./ETA1  71. 


269 


obligatory,  t hrough  in  his  whole  life  (and 
Lady  Marj  Wortley’s  Letters  was  the 
book),  he  would  be  quite  lost  to  company, 
and  withdraw  all  his  attention  to  what  he 
was  reading,  without  the  smallest  know- 
ledge or  care  about  the  noise  made  around 
him.  His  deafness  made  such  conduct  less 
odd  and  less  difficult  to  him  than  it  would 
have  been  to  another  man;  but  his  advising 
otners  to  take  the  same  method,  and  pull  a 
little  book  out  when  they  were  not  enter- 
tained with  what  was  going  forward  in 
society,  seemed  more  likely  to  advance  the 
growth  of  science  than  of  polished  manners, 
for  which  he  always  pretended  extreme 
veneration. 

“ Dr.  Johnson  was  a great  reader  of 
French  literature,  and  delighted  exceeding- 
ly in  Boileau’s  works.  Moliere,  I think, 
he  had  hardly  sufficient  taste  of ; and  he 
used  to  condemn  me  for  preferring  La 
Bruyere  to  the  Due  de  Rochefoucault, 
‘ who,’  he  said,  ‘ was  the  only  gentleman 
writer  who  wrote  like  a professed  authour.’ 

“ The  recollection  of  such  reading  as  had 
delighted  him  in  his  infancy,  made  him  al- 
ways persist  in  fancying  that  it  was  the 
only  reading  which  could  please  an  infant ; 
and  he  used  to  condemn  me  for  putting 
Newbery’s  books  into  their  hands  as  too 
trifling  to  engage  their  attention.  c Babies 
do  not  want,’  said  he,  ‘ to  hear  about 
babies  ; they  like  to  be  told  of  giants  and 
castles,  and  of  somewhat  which  can  stretch 
and  stimulate  their  little  minds.’  When  in 
answer  I would  urge  the  numerous  editions 
and  quick  sale  of  Tommy  Prudent  or  Goody 
Two  Shoes,  ‘ Remember  always,’  said  he, 

‘ that  the  parents  buy  the  books,  and  that 
the  children  never  read  them.’  Mrs.  Bar- 
bauld  however  had  his  best  praise  1i  and 
deserved  it;  no  man  was  more  struck  than 
Dr.  Johnson  with  voluntary  descent  from 
possible  splendour  to  painful  duty. 

“ The  remembrance  of  what  had  passed 
in  his  own  childhood  made  Dr.  Johnson 
very  solicitous  to  preserve  the  felicity  of 
children  ; and  when  he  had  persuaded  Dr. 
Sumner2  to  remit  the  tasks  usually  given  to 
fill  up  boys’  time  during  the  holidays,  he  re- 
joiced exceedingly  in  the  success  of  his  ne- 
gotiation, and  told  me  that  he  had  never 
ceased  representing  to  all  the  eminent 
schoolmasters  in  England,  the  absurd  ty- 
ranny of  poisoning  the  hour  of  permitted 
pleasure,  by  keeping  future  misery  before 
the  children’s  eyes,  and  tempting  them  by 


observation,  or,  what  is  more  important,  to  the 
period  at  which  the  observation,  which  Johnson 
only  quoted,  was  originally  made. — Ed.] 

1 [This  is  not  consistent  with  his  opinion  be- 
fore recorded  {ante,  p.  21),  of  this  lady’s  work 
for  the  instruction  of  youth. — Ed.] 

* [Master  of  Harrow. — Ed.] 


bribery  or  falsehood  to  evade  it.  e Bob 
Sumner,’  said  he,  ‘ however,  I have  at 
length  prevailed  upon  : I know  not  indeed 
whether  his  tenderness  was  persuaded,  or 
his  reason  convinced,  but  the  effect  will  al- 
ways be  the  same.  Poor  Dr.  Sumner  died, 
however,  before  the  next  vacation.9 

“ Dr.  Johnson  was  of  opinion,  too,  that 
young  people  should  have  positive  not  gen- 
eral rules  given  for  their  direction.  ‘ My 
mother,’  said  he,  ‘ was  always  telling  me 
that  I did  not  behave  myself  properly  ; that 
I should  endeavour  to  learn  behaviour , and 
such  cant  : but  when  I replied,  that  she 
ought  to  tell  me  what  to  do,  and  what  to 
avoid,  her  admonitions  were  commonly,  for 
that  time  at  least,  at  an  end.9 

“ This,  I fear,  was  however  at  best  a mo- 
mentary refuge,  found  out  by  perverseness  3. 
No  man  knew  better  than  Johnson  in  how 
many  nameless  and  numberless  actions 
behaviour  consists  : actions  which  can 
scarcely  be  reduced  to  rule,  and  which  come 
under  no  description.  Of  these  he  retained 
so  many  very  strange  ones,  that  I suppose 
no  one  who  saw  his  odd  manner  of  gesticu- 
lating much  blamed  or  wondered  at  the 
good  lady’s  solicitude  concerning  her  son’s 
behaviour. 

“ Though  he  was  attentive  to  the  peace 
of  children  in  general,  no  man  had  a strong- 
er contempt  than  he  for  such  parents  as 
openly  profess  that  they  cannot  govern 
their  children.  c How,’  says  he,  ‘ is  an 
army  governed  ? Such  people,  for  the  most 
part,  multiply  prohibitions  till  obedience 
becomes  impossible,  and  authority  appears 
absurd  ; and  never  suspect  that  they  tease 
their  family,  their  friends,  and  themselves, 
only  because  conversation  runs  low,  and 
something  must  be  said.’ 

“ Dr.  Johnson’s  knowledge  and  esteem 
of  what  we  call  low  or  coarse  life  was  in- 
deed prodigious  ; and  he  did  not  like  that 
the  upper  ranks  should  be  dignified  with 
the  name  of  the  world.  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds said  one  day,  that  nobody  wore  laced 
coats  now;  and  that  once  every  body  wore 
them.  ‘ See  now,’  says  Johnson,  c how 
absurd  that  is  ; as  if  the  bulk  of  mankind 
consisted  of  fine  gentlemen  that  came  to 
him  to  sit  for  their  pictures.  If  every  man 
who  wears  a laced  coat  (that  he  can  pay 
for)  was  extirpated,  who  would  miss 
them  ? ’ With  all  this  haughty  contempt 
of  gentility,  no  praise  was  more  welcome 
to  Dr.  Johnson  than  that  which  said  he 
had  the  notions  or  manners  of  a gentle- 
man : which  character  I have  heard  him 
define  with  accuracy  and  describe  with  ele- 
gance. 

“ I was  saying  to  a frierm  one  day,  that  I 
did  not  like  goose;  one  smells  it  so  while 


3 [See  ante,  p.  205. — Ed.] 


260 


1780  -JET AT.  71. 


it  is  roasting,  said  I.  c But  you,  madam,5 
replies  the  Doctor,  £ have  been  at  all  times  a 
fortunate  woman,  having  always  had  your 
hunger  so  forestalled  by  indulgence,  that 
you  never  experienced  the  delight  of  smell- 
ing your  dinner  beforehand.5  Which 
pleasure,  answered  I,  pertly,  is  to  be  en- 
joyed in  perfection  by  such  as  have  the 
happiness  to  pass  through  Porridge-Island 1 
of  a morning.  £ Come,  come,5  says  he 
gravely,  £ let  5s  have  no  sneering  at  what  is 
serious  to  so  many:  hundreds  of  your 
fellow-creatures,  dear  lady,  turn  another 
way,  that  they  may  not  be  tempted  by  the 
luxuries  of  Porridge-Island  to  wish  for 
gratifications  they  are  not  able  to  obtain  : 
you  are  certainly  not  better  than  all  of 
them;  give  God  thanks  that  you  are  hap- 
pier.5 

“ I received  on  another  occasion  as  just  a 
rebuke  from  Dr.  Johnson,  for  an  offence 
of  the  same  nature,  and  hope  I took  care 
never  to  provoke  a third;  for  after  a very 
long  summer  particularly  hot  and  dry,  I 
was  wishing  naturally,  but  thoughtlessly, 
for  some  rain  to  lay  the  dust  as  we  drove 
along  the  Surrey  roads.  £ I cannot  bear,5 
replied  he,  with  much  asperity  and  an  al- 
tered look,  £ when  I know  how  many  poor 
families  will  perish  next  winter  for  want  of 
that  bread  which  the  present  drought  will 
deny  them,  to  hear  ladies  sighing  for  rain, 
only  that  their  complexions  may  not  suffer 
from  the  heat,  or  their  clothes  be  incom- 
moded by  the  dust: — for  shame!  leave  off 
such  foppish  lamentations,  and  study  to  re- 
lieve those  whose  distresses  are  real.5 

“But  it  was  never  against  people  of 
coarse  life  that  his  contempt  was  expressed, 
while  poverty  of  sentiment  in  men  who 
considered  themselves  to  be  company  for 
the  parlour , as  he  called  it,  was  what  he 
would  not  bear. 

££  Even  dress  itself,  when  it  resembled 
that  of  the  vulgar,  offended  him  exceeding- 
ly; and  when  he  had  condemned  me  many 
times  for  not  adorning  my  children  with 
more  show  than  I thought  useful  or  elegant, 

I presented  a little  girl  to  him  who  came 
o’visiting  one  evening  covered  with  shining 

1 Porridge-Island  is  a mean  street  in  London, 
filled  with  cook-shops  for  the  convenience  of  the 
poorer  inhabitants;  the  real  name  of  it  I know  not, 
but  suspect  that  which  it  is  generally  known  by, 
to  have  been  originally  a term  of  derision. — Pi- 
ozzi.  [“  It  is  not  a street,  but  a paved  alley 
near  the  church  of  St.  Martin’s  in  the  Fields.” — 
Malone  MS.  These  are  the  kind  of  errors  on 
which  Mr.  Malone  founds  his  violent  censures  of 
Mrs.  Piozzi’s  inaccuracy , which  he  often  calls 
falsehood;  but  the  lady  may  surely  be  forgiven 
if  she,  in  her  inexperience,  calls  that  a “ mean 
street  ” which  the  more  accurate  Malone,  prob- 
ably by  personal  inspection,  found  to  be  a paved 
alley. — Ed.] 


ornaments,  to  see  if  he  would  approve  of 
the  appearance  she  made.  When  they 
were  gone  home,  £ Well,  sir,’  said  I,  £ how 
did  you  like  miss  ? I hope  she  was  fine 
enough? 5 £ It  was  the  finery  of  a beggar,5 
said  he,  £ and  you  knew  it  was;  she  looked 
like  a native  of  Cow-lane  dressed  up  to  be 
carried  to  Bartholomew  fair.5  His  repri- 
mand to  another  lady  for  crossing  her  little 
child’s  handkerchief  before,  and  by  that 
operation  dragging  down  its  head  oddly  and 
unintentionally,  was  on  the  same  principle. 
£ It  is  the  beggar’s  fear  of  cold,5  said  he, f that 
prevails  over  such  parents,  and  so  they  puli 
the  poor  thing’s  head  down,  and  give  it  the 
look  of  a baby  that  plays  about  Westmin 
ster-bridge,  while  the  mother  sits  shivering 
in  a niche.5 

££  My  compliances  [in  his  criticisms  on 
dress],  however,  were  of  little  worth;  what 
really  surprised  me  was  the  victory  he 
gained  over  a lady  little  accustomed  to  con- 
tradiction, who  had  dressed  herself  for 
church  at  Streatham  one  Sunday  morning, 
in  a manner  he  did  not  approve,  and  to 
whom  he  said  such  sharp  and  pungent 
things  concerning  her  hat,  her  gown,  &c. 
that  she  hastened  to  change  them,  and  re- 
turning quite  another  figure  received  his 
applause,  and  thanked  him  for  his  reproofs, 
much  to  the  amazement  of  her  husband, 
who  could  scarcely  believe  his  own  ears. 

££  Another  lady,  whose  accomplishments 
he  never  denied,  came  to  our  house  one  day 
covered  with  diamonds,  feathers,  &c.  and 
he  did  not  seem  inclined  to  chat  with  her 
as  usual.  I asked  him  why,  when  the 
company  was  gone.  £ Why,  her  head 
looked  so  like  that  of  a woman  who  shows 
puppets,’  said  he,  £ and  her  voice  so  con- 
firmed the  fancy,  that  I could  not  bear  her 
to-day;  when  she  wears  a large  cap,  I can 
talk  to  her.’ 

“ When  the  ladies  wore  lace  trimmings 
to  their  clothes,  he  expressed  his  contempt 
of  the  reigning  fashion  in  these  terms:  ‘ A 
Brussels  trimming  is  like  bread-sauce,5 
said  he,  £ it  takes  away  the  glow  of  colour 
from  the  gown,  and  gives  you  nothing  in- 
stead of  it  ; but  sauce  was  invented  to 
heighten  the  flavour  of  our  food,  and  trim- 
ming is  an  ornament  to  the  manteau,  or  it 
is  nothing.  Learn,5  said  he,  £ that  there  is 
propriety  or  impropriety  in  every  thing 
how  slight  soever,  and  get  at  the  general 
principles  of  dress  and  of  behaviour;  if  you 
then  transgress  them,  you  will  at  least 
know  that  they  are  not  observed.5 

££  It  was  indeed  astonishing  how  he  could 
remark  such  minuteness  with  a sight  so 
miserably  imperfect;  but  no*  accidental  po- 
sition of  a riband  escaped  him,  so  nice  was 
his  observation,  and  so  rigorous  his  de- 
mands of  propriety. 

££  When  he  turned  his  back  on  Lord 


1780.— /ETAT.  71. 


*61 


Bolingbroke1  in  the  rooms  at  Brighthelm- 
Btone,  he  made  this  excuse:  ‘1  am  not 
obliged,  sir,’  said  he  to  Mr.  Thrale,  who 
stood  by  fretting,  ‘ to  find  reasons  for  re- 
specting the  rank  of  him  who  will  not  con- 
descend to  declare  it  by  his  dress  or  some 
other  visible  mark:  what  are  stars  and 
other  signs  of  superiority  made  for?’ 

“ All  these  exactnesses  in  a man  who 
was  nothing  less  than  exact  himself,  made 
him  extremely  impracticable  as  an  inmate, 
though  most  instructive  as  a companion, 
and  useful  as  a friend.  Mr.  Thrale,  too, 
could  sometimes  overrule  his  rigidity,  by 
saying  coldly,  ‘ There,  there,  now  we  have 
had  enough  for  one  lecture,  Dr.  Johnson; 
we  will  not  be  upon  education  any  more  till 
after  dinner,  if  you  please;’  or  some  such 
speech:  but  when  there  was  nobody  to  re- 
strain his  dislikes,  it  was  extremely  difficult 
to  find  any  body  with  whom  he  could  con- 
verse, without  living  always  on  the  verge 
of  a quarrel,  or  of  something  too  like  a 
quarrel  to  be  pleasing.  I came  into  the 
room,  for  example,  one  evening,  where  he 
and  a gentleman,  [Mr.  Seward],  whose 
abilities  we  all'respected  exceedingly,  were 
sitting;  a lady  2 who  walked  in  two  minutes 
before  me  had  blown  them  both  into  a 
flame,  by  whispering  something  to  Mr. 
[Seward],  which  he  endeavoured  to  explain 
away,  so  as  not  to  affront  the  Doctor,  whose 
suspicions  were  all  alive.  ‘ And  have  a 
•tare,  sir,’  said  he  just  as  I came  in  ; ‘ the 
old  lion  will  not  bear  to  be  tickled.’  The 
other  was  pale  with  rage,  the  lady  wept  at 
the  confusion  she  had  caused,  and  I could 
only  say  with  Lady  Macbeth, 

‘ You ’ve  displaced  the  mirth,  broke  th^good 
meeting 

With  most  admired  disorder.’ 

“ Two  gentlemen,  I perfectly  well  re- 
member, dining  with  us  at  Streatham  in 
the  summer  of  1782,  when  Elliot’s  brave 
defence  of  Gibraltar  was  a subject  of  com- 
mon discourse,  one  of  these  men  naturally 
enough  began  some  talk  about  red-hot  balls 
thrown  with  surprising  dexterity  and  effect; 
which  Dr.  Johnson  having  listened  some 
time  to,  ‘ I would  advise  you,  sir,’  said  he, 
with  a cold  sneer,  ‘ never  to  relate  this 
story  again;  you  really  can  scarce  imagine 

1 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  316.  As  Lord  Boling- 
broke did  not  happen  to  be  a knight  of  any  of  the 
orders,  it  is  not  easy  to  guess  how  he  could  have 
satisfied  Dr.  Johnson’s  wishes. — Ed.] 

2 [The  lady’s  name  was  Streatfield,  as  Mr.  Se- 
ward told  me.  She  was  very  handsome  and  a good 
scholar;  for  she  understood  Greek*.  She  was  piqued 
at  Mr.  Seward’s  paying  more  attention  to  Dr. 

Johnson  than  to  her;  and  on  coming  in,  whis- 
pered, “ how  his  bark  sat  on  his  stomach;  ” al- 

luding to  the  roughness  which  she  supposed  was  in 

Dr.  Johnson’s  conversation. — Malone  JfS.] 


how  very  poor  a figure  you  make  in  the 
telling  of  it.’  Our  guest  being  bred  a 
quaker,  and,  I believe,  a man  of  an  extreme 
ly  gentle  disposition,  needed  no  more  re- 
proofs for  the  same  folly;  so  if  he  ever  did 
speak  again,  it  was  in  a low  voice  to  the 
friend  who  came  with  him.  The  check 
was  given  before  dinner,  and  after  coffee  I 
left  the  room.  When  in  the  evening,  how- 
ever, our  companions  had  returned  to  Lon- 
don, and  Dr.  Johnson  and  myself  were  left 
alone,  with  only  our  usual  family  about  us, 

‘ I did  not  quarrel  with  those  quaker  fel- 
lows,’ said  he,  very  seriously.  ‘ You  did 
perfectly  right,’  replied  I ; ‘for  they  gave 
you  no  cause  of  offence.’  ‘No  offence!’ 
returned  he,  with  an  altered  voice;  ‘ and  is 
it  nothing  then  to  sit  whispering  together 
when  I am  present,  without  ever  directing 
their  discourse  towards  me,  or  offering  me 
a share  in  the  conversation?’  ‘That  was 
because  you  frighted  him  who  spoke  first 
about  those  hot  balls.’  ‘ Why,  madam,  if 
a creature  is  neither  capable  of  giving  digni 
ty  to  falsehood,  nor  willing  to  remain  con 
tented  with  the  truth,  he  deserves  no  bet 
ter  treatment3.’ 

“Dr.  Johnson’s  fixed  incredulity4  of 
every  thing  he  heard,  and  his  little  care 
to  conceal  that  incredulity,  was  teasing 
enough,  to  be  sure  : and  I saw  Mr.  Sharp5 
was  pained  exceedingly,  when  relating  the 
history  of  a hurricane  that  happened  about 
that  time  in  the  West  Indies,  where,  for 

3 [Mr.  Malone,  in  his  MS.  notes,  is  very  indig- 
nant that  Mrs.  Piozzi  has  omitted  to  state  what 
the  story  was  which  produced  this  observation, 
and  because  she  has  not  done  so,  questions  the  ve- 
racity of  the  whole  anecdote;  but  this  is  very  un- 
just. Mrs.  Piozzi’s  object  was  to  exhibit  John- 
son's manners,  and  not  to  record  the  minute  de- 
tails of  the  quaker’s  story. — Ed.] 

4 [Mr.  Malone,  in  his  MS.  notes,  observes  on 
this  passage,  “ Here  is  another  gross  misrep- 
resentation. He  had  no  fixed  incredulity 
concerning  every  thing  he  heard ; btd  he  had 
observed  the  great  laxity  with  which  almost 
every  story  is  told,  and  therefore  always  ex- 
amined it  accurately , and  frequently  found 
some  gross  exaggeration.  The  writer  lierbelj 
had  not  the  smallest  regard  for  truth,  as  John- 
son told  Mr.  Boswell  ( see  his  Life  of  John- 
son), and  hence  this^scrutinising  habit  of  her 
guest  was  to  her  a very  sore  subject."  On 
this  the  Editor  must  take  leave  to  say,  that  Mr. 
Malone’s  observation  defeats  itself ; because  if 
Dr.  Johnson’s  incredulity  was  a sore  subject  with 
Mrs.  Piozzi,  she  cannot  be  blamed  for  recording 
it.  Mr.  Malone  might  have  questioned  her  judg- 
ment, in  supposing  that  Johnson  was  equally  in- 
credulous as  to  other  persons,  but  not  her  sinceri- 
ty, in  describing  him  as  she  found  him;  and  if 
he  found  almost  every  story  told  with  great 
laxity,  is  it  surprising  that  he  should  have  an  ha 
bitual  incredulity  ? — Ed.] 

! 5 [See  ante , p.  69. — Ed.] 


262 


1780.— iETAT.  71. 


aught  I know,  he  had  himself  lost  some 
friends  too,  he  observed  Dr.  Johnson  be- 
lieved not  a syllable  of  the  account.  £ For 
’t  is  so  easy,’  says  he, £ for  a man  to  fill  his 
mouth  with  wonder,  and  run  about  telling 
the  lie  before  it  can  be  detected,  that  I 
have  no  heart  to  believe  hurricanes  easily 
raised  by  th.®  first  inventor,  and  blown  for- 
wards by  thousands  more/  I asked  him 
once  if  he  believed  the  story  of  the  destruc- 
tion of  Lisbon  by  an  earthquake,  when  it 
first  happened.  * Oh ! not  for  six  months,’ 
said  he, £ at  least.  I did  think  that  story  too 
dreadful  to  be  credited,  and  can  hardly  yet 
persuade  myself  that  it  was  true  to  the  full 
extent  we  all  of  us  have  heard.’ 

c£  Though  thus  uncommonly  ready  both 
to  give  and  take  offence,  Dr.  Johnson  had 
many  rigid  maxims  concerning  the  necessity 
of  continued  softness  and  compliance  of  dis- 
position : and  when  I once  mentioned  Shen- 
stone’s  idea,  that  some  little  quarrel  among 
lovers,  relations,  and  friends,  was  useful, 
and  contributed  to  their  general  happiness 
upon  the  whole,  by  making  the  soul  feel  her 
elastic  force,  and  return  to  the  beloved  ob- 
ject with  renewed  delight:  £ Why,  what  a 
prenicious  maxim  is  this  now,’  cried  Dr. 
Johnson:  £ all  quarrels  ought  to  be  avoided 
studiously,  particularly  conjugal  ones,  as  no 
one  can  possibly  tell  where  they  may  end; 
besides  that  lasting  dislike  is  often  the  con- 
sequence of  occasional  disgust,  and  that  the 
cup  of  life  is  surely  bitter  enough,  without 
squeezing  in  the  hateful  rind  of  resentment.’ 
££  A very  ignorant  young  fellow,  who  had 
plagued  us  all  for  nine  or  ten  months,  died 
at  last  consumptive:  4 I think,’  said  Dr. 
Johnson,  when  he  heard  the  news,  £ I am 
afraid  I should  have  been  more  concerned 
for  the  death  of  the  dog ; but ’ hesitat- 

ing atvhile,  £ I am  not  wrong  now  in  all  this, 
for  the  dog  acted  up  to  his  character  on 
every  occasion  that  we  know;  but  that 
dunce  of  a fellow  helped  forward  the  gene- 
ral disgrace  of  humanity.’  £ Why,  dear 
sir,’ said  I,  c how  odd  you  are!  you  have 
often  said  the  lad  was  not  capable  of  re- 
ceiving farther  instruction.’  £ He  was,’  re- 
plied the  Doctor, £ like  a corked  bottle,  with 
a drop  of  dirty  water  in  it,  to  be  sure;  one 
might  pump  upon  it  forever  without  the 
smallest  effect;  but  when  every  method  to 
open  and  clean  it  had  6een  tried  [in  vain], 
you  would  not  have  me  grieve  that  the  bot- 
tle was  broke  at  last.’ 

££  This  was  the  same  youth  who  told  us 
he  had  been  reading  Lucius  Florus;  Floras 
Delphini  was  the  phrase:  and,  £ my  moth- 
er,’ said  he,  £ thought  it  had  something  to 
do  with  Delphos;  but  of  that  I know  no- 
thing.’ £ Who  founded  Rome,  then?’  in- 
quired Mr.  Thrale.  The  lad  replied, 
Romulus.’  £ And  who  succeeded  Romu- 
ius?’  said  I.  A long  pause,  and  apparently 
distressful  hesitation,  followed  the  difficult 


question.  £ Why  will  you  ask  him  in  terms 
that  he  does  not  comprehend?’  said  Dr. 
Johnson,  enraged.  ‘ You  might  as  well  bid 
him  tell  you  who  phlebotomized  Romulus. 
This  fellow’s  dulness  is  elastic.’  continued 
he,  £ and  all  we  do  is  but  like  kicking  at  a 
woolsack.’  The  pains  he  took  however  to 
obtain  the  young  man  more  patient  instruc- 
tors were  many,  and  oftentimes  repeated. 
He  was  put  under  the  care  of  a clergyman 
in  a distant  province  ; and  Dr.  Johnson 
used  both  to  write  and  talk  to  his  friend  con- 
cerning his  education. 

££  A young  fellow,  less  coiunL:/  bia 
own  abilities,  lamenting  one  day  that  he  had 
lost  all  his  Greek — £ I believe  it  happened 
at  the  same  time,  sir,’  said  Johnson,  £ that  1 
lost  all  my  large  estate  in  Yorkshire.’ 

££  Of  a Jamaica  gentleman,  then  lately 
dead,  he  said — £ He  will  not,  whither  he  is 
now  gone,  find  much  difference,  I believe 
either  in  the  climate  or  the  company.’ 

££  Returning  home  one  day  from  dining 
at  the  chaplains’  table  l,  he  told  me,  that 
Dr.  Goldsmith  had  given  a very  comical 
and  unnecessarily  exact  recital  there  of  his 
own  feelings  when  his  play  was  hissed; 
telling  the  company  how  he  went  indeed  to 
the  Literary  Club  at  night,  and  chatted  gaily 
among  his  friends,  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened amiss;  that  to  impress  them  still  more 
forcibly  with  an  idea  of  his  magnanimity, 
he  even  sung  his  favourite  song  about  £ an 
old  woman  tossed  in  a blanket  seventeen 
times  as  high  as  the  moon;  ’ £ but  all  this 
while  I was  suffering  horrid  tortures,’  said 
he,  £ and  verily  believe  that  if  I had  put  a 
bit  into  my  mouth  it  would  have  strangled 
me  on  the  spot,  I was  so  excessively  ill;  but 
I made  more  noise  than  usual  to  cover  all 
that;  and  so  they  never  perceived  my  not 
eating,  nor  I believe  at  all  imaged  to  them- 
selves the  anguish  of  my  heart:  but  when 
all  were  gone  except  Johnson  here,  I burst 
out  a-crying,  and  even  swore  that  I would 
never  write  again.’  £ All  which,  doctor,’ 
said  Dr.  Johnson,  amazed  at  his  odd  frank- 
ness, £ I thought  had  been  a secret  between 
you  and  me;  and  I am  sure  I would  not 
have  said  any  thing  about  it  for  the  world. 
Now  see,’  repeated  he  when  he  told  the 
story,  £ what  a figure  a man  makes  whc 
thus  unaccountably  chooses  to  be  the  frigid 
narrator  of  his  own  disgrace.  II  volto  sci 
olto,  ed  i pensieri  stretti,  was  a proverb 
made  on  purpose  for  such  mortals,  to  keep 
people,  if  possible,  from  being  thus  the  her- 
alds of  their  own  shame  : for  what  compas- 
sion can  they  gain  by  such  silly  narratives? 
No  man  should  be  expected  to  sympathize 
with  the  sorrows  of  vanity.  If  then  you 
are  mortified  by  any  ill  usage,  whether  real 
or  supposed,  keep  at  least  the  account  of 
such  mortifications  to  yourself,  and  forbeai 


1 fAtSt.  James’s  palace. — Ed.] 


1780  -iETAT.  71. 


263 


to  proclaim  how  meanly  you  are  thought 
on  by  others,  unless  you  desire  to  be  mean- 
ly thought  of  by  all.’ 

u Poor  Goldsmith  was  to  him  indeed  like 
the  earthen  pot  to  the  irqn  one  in  Fontaine’s 
fables;  it  had  been  better  for  him,  perhaps, 
that  they  had  changed  companions  oftener; 
yet  no  experience  of  his  antagonist’s  strength 
hindered  him  from  continuing  the  contest. 
He  used  to  remind  me  always  of  that  verse 
in  Berni, 

* II  pover  uomo  che  non  sen’  era  accorto, 
Andava  combattendo — ed  era  morto.’ 

“ Dr.  Johnson  made  him  a comical  an- 
swer one  day,  when  seeming  to  repine  at 
the  success  of  Beattie’s  Essay  on  Truth. 

£ Here ’s  such  a stir,’  said  he, c about  a fellow 
that  has  written  one  book,  and  I have  writ- 
ten many.’  £ Ah,  Doctor,’  said  his  friend, 

‘ there  go  tvvo-and-forty  sixpences,  you 
know,  to  one  guinea.’ 

“ Garrick  said  to  Dr.  Johnson  one  day, 

‘ Why  did  not  you  make  me  a tory,  when 
we  lived  so  much  together?  you  love  to 
make  people  tories.’  ‘ Why,’  said  Johnson, 
pulling  a heap  of  half-pence  from  his  pock- 
et, c did  not  the  king  make  these— guineas?  ’ 
“ But  however  roughly  he  might  be  sud- 
denly provoked  to  treat  a harmless  exertion 
of  vanity,  he  did  not  wish  to  inflict  the 
pain  he  gave,  and  was  sometimes  very  sor- 
ry when  he  perceived  the  people  to  smart 
more  than  they  deserved.  £ How  harshly 
you  treated  that  man  to-day,’  said  I once, 
‘ who  harangued  us  so  about  gardening ! ’ 
1 1 am  sorry,’  said  he,  c if  I vexed  the  crea- 
ture, for  there  certainly  is  no  harm  in  a 
fellow’s  rattling  a rattle-box ; only  do  ’ntlet 
him  think  that  he  thunders .’ 

“ We  were  speaking  of  a gentleman  who 
loved  his  friend — £ Make  him  prime  minis- 
ter,’ said  Johnson,  ‘ and  see  how  long  his 
friend  will  be  remembered.’  But  he  had  a 
rougher  answer  forme,  when  I commended 
a sermon  preached  by  an  intimate  acquaint- 
ance of  our  own  at  the  trading  end  of  the 
town.  £ What  was  the  subject,  madam?  ’ 
said  Dr.  Johnson.  £ Friendship,  sir,’  repli- 
ed I.  £ Why  now,  is  it  not  strange  that  a 
wise  man,  like  our  dear  little  Evans,  should 
take  it  in  his  head  to  preach  on  such  a sub- 
ject, in  a place  where  no  one  can  be  think- 
ing of  it?  ’ £ Why,  what  are  they  thinking 

upon,  sir?’  said  I.  £ Why,  the  men  are 
thinking  on  their  money,  I suppose,  and  the 
women  are  thinking  of  their  mops.’ 

“ I have  mentioned  before,  that  old  age 
had  very  little  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  reverence: 
A man  commonly  grew  wickeder  as  he 
grew  older,’  he  said,  £ at  least  he  but  chang- 
ed the  vices  of  youth,  headstrong  passion 
and  wild  temerity,  for  treacherous  caution 
and  desire  to  circumvent.  I am  always,’ 
said  he, £ on  the  young  people’s  side,  when 


there  is  a dispute  between  them  and  the  old 
ones;  for  you  have  at  least  a chance  for  vir- 
tue till  age  has  withered  its  very  root.’ 
While  we  tvere  talking,  my  mother’s  span- 
iel, whom  he  never  loved,  stole  our  toast 
and  butter:  £ Fie,  Belle ! ’ said  I, £ you  used 
to  be  upon  honour.’  £ Yes,  madam,’  replied 
Johnson,  £ but  Belle  grows  old .’  His  rea- 
son for  hating  the  dog  was,  £ because  she 
was  a professed  favourite,’  he  said,  £ and 
because  her  lady  ordered  her  from  time  to 
time  to  be  washed  and  combed:  a foolish 
trick,’  said  he,  £ and  an  assumption  of  supe- 
riority that  every  one’s  nature  revolts  at; 
so  because  one  must  not  wish  ill  to  the  lady 
in  such  cases,’  continued  he,  * one  curses 
the  cur.’  The  truth  is,  Belle  was  not  well- 
behaved,  and  being  a large  spaniel,  was 
troublesome  enough  at  dinner  with  frequent 
solicitations  to  be  fed.  £ This  animal,’  said 
Dr.  Johnson,  one  day,  £ would  have  been  of 
extraordinary  merit  and  value  in  the  state 
of  Lycurgus;  for  she  condemns  one  to  the 
exertion  of  perpetual  vigilance.’ 

££  Though  apt  enough  to  take  sudden  lik- 
ings or  aversions  to  people  he  occasionally 
met,  he  would  never  hastily  pronounce 
upon  their  character;  and  when,  seeing  him 
justly  delighted  with  Dr.  Solander’s1  con 
versation,  I observed  once  that  he  was  a 
man  of  great  parts,  who  talked  from  a full 
mind — £ It  may  be  so,’  said  Dr.  Johnson, 
£ but  you  cannot  know  it  yet,  nor  I neither: 
the  pump  works  well,  to  be  sure;  but  how, 
I wonder,  are  we  to  decide  in  so  very  short 
an  acquaintance,  whether  it  is  supplied  by 
a spring  or  a reservoir  ? ’ 

££He  always  made  a great  difference  in 
his  esteem  between  talents  and  erudition; 
and  when  he  saw  a person  eminent  for  lite- 
rature, wholly  unconversable,  it  fretted  him. 
£ Teaching  such  tonies,’  said  he  to  me  one 
day,  £ is  like  setting  a lady’s  diamonds  in 
lead,  which  only  obscures  the  lustre  of  ti  e 
stone,  and  makes  the  possessor  ashamed 
on ’t.’ 

££  Among  the  numberless  people,  how- 
ever, whom  I heard  him  grossly  and  flatly 
contradict,  I never  yet  saw  any  one  who 
did  not  take  it  patiently  excepting  Dr. 
Burney,  from  whose  habitual  softness  of 
manners  I little  expected  such  an  exertion  of 
spirit:  the  event  was  as  little  to  be  expect- 
ed. Dr.  Johnson  asked  his  pardon  gener 
ously  and  genteelly,  and  when  he  left  the 
room  rose  up  to  shake  hands  with  him,  that 
they  might  part  in  peace. 

“When  Dr.  Johnson  had  a mind  to  com- 
pliment any  one,  he  did  it  with  more  digni- 
ty to  himself,  and  better  effect  upon  the 
company,  than  any  man.  I can  recollect 
but  few  instances  indeed,  though  perhaps 
that  may  be  more  my  fault  than  nie. 


1 [See  ante , vol.  i.  438. — Ed.] 


264 


1780  ^ETAT.  71. 


When  Sir  Jos.iua  Reynolds  left  the  room 
one  day,  he  said,  c There  goes  a man  not  to 
be  spoiled  by  prosperity.5 

“ He  was  not  at  all  offended,  when,  com- 
paring all  our  acquaintance  to  some  animal 
or  other,  we  pitched  upon  the  elephant  for 
his  resemblance,  adding,  that  the  proboscis 
of  that  creature  was  like  his  mind  most  ex- 
actly— strong  to  buffet  even  the  tiger,  and 
pliable  to  pick  up  even  the  pin.  The  truth 
is,  Dr.  Johnson  was  often  good-humouredly 
willing  to  join  in  childish  amusements,  and 
hated  to  be  left  out  of  any  innocent  merri- 
ment that  was  going  forward.  He  liked  a 
frolic  or  a jest  well  enough;  though  he  had 
strange  serious  rules  about  it  too:  and  very 
angry  was  he  if  any  body  offered  to  be  mer- 
ry when  he  was  disposed  to  be  grave. 
‘ You  have  an  ill-founded  notion,5  said  he, 
c that  it  is  clever  to  turn  matters  off  with  a 
joke,  as  the  phrase  is;  whereas  nothing  pro- 
duces enmity  so  certain,  as  one  person’s 
showing  a disposition  to  be  merry  when  an- 
other is  inclined  to  be  either  serious  or  dis- 
pleased.5 

“ I likewise  remember  that  he  pronounced 
one  day  at  my  house  a most  lofty  panegyric 
upon  Jones 1,  the  orientalist,  who  seemed 
little  pleased  with  the  praise,  for  what  cause 
I know  not. 

“ An  Irish  trader  at  our  house  one  day 
heard  Dr.  Johnson  launch  out  into  very 
great  and  greatly-deserved  praises  of  Mr. 
Kdmund  Burke:  delighted  to  find  his  coun- 
tryman stood  so  high  in  the  opinion  of  a 
man  he  had  been  told  so  much  of,  ‘ Sir,5 
said  he,  c give  me  leave  to  tell  something  of 
Mr.  Burke  now.5  We  were  all  silent,  and 
the  honest  Hibernian  began  to  relate  how 
Mr.  Burke  went  to  see  the  collieries  in  a 
distant  province:  ‘ and  he  would  go  down 
into  the  bowels  of  the  earth  (in  a bag),  and 
he  would  examine  every  thing;  he  went  in  a 
bag,  sir,  and  ventured  his  health  and  his 
life  for  knowledge;  but  he  took  care  of  his 
clothes,  that  they  should  not  be  spoiled,  for 
he  went  down  in  a bag.5  1 Well,  sir,5  said 
Dr.  Johnson,  good-humouredly,  ‘ if  our 
friend  Mund  should  die  in  any  of  these  ha- 
zardous exploits,  you  and  I would  write  his 
life  and  panegyric  together;  and  your  chap- 
ter of  it  should  be  entitled  thus — Burke  in  a 
bag.’ 

“Mr.  Thrale  was  one  time  extolling  the 
character  of  a statesman,  and  expatiating  on 
the  skill  required  to  direct  the  different  cur- 
rents, reconcile  the  jarring  interests,  &c. 

‘ Thus,5  replied  Johnson,  ‘ a mill  is  a com- 
plicated piece  of  mechanism  enough,  but  the 
water  is  no  part  of  the  workmanship.’ 

“ On  another  occasion,  when  some  one 
lamented  the  weakness  of  the  then  minister, 
and  complained  that  he  was  dull  and  tardy, 


and  knew  little  of  affairs — * You  may  as 
well  complain,  sir,5  said  Johnson,  ‘ that  the 
accounts  of  time  are  kept  by  the  clock;  for 
he  certainly  does  stand  still  upon  the  stair- 
head— and  we  alljknow  that  he  is  no  great 
chronologer.’ 

“ He  told  me  that  the  character  of  Sober 
in  the  ‘ Idler  5 was  by  himself  intended  as 
his  own  portrait;  and  that  he  had  his  own 
outset  into  life  in  his  eye  when  he  wrote  the 
eastern  story  of  Gelaleddin. 

“Of  a much-admired  poem,  when  ex- 
tolled as  beautiful,  he  replied,  c That  it  had 
indeed  the  beauty  of  a bubble:  the  colours 
are  gay,5  said  he,  ‘but  the  substance 
slight.5 

“ When  Dr.  Johnson  felt,  or  fancied  he 
felt.,  b.’s  fancy  disordered,  his  constant  re- 
currence was  to  the  study  of  arithmetic: 
and  one  day  that  he  was  totally  confined  to 
his  chamber,  and  I inquired  what  he  had 
been  doing  to  divert  himself,  he  showed  me 
a calculation  which  I could  scarce  be  made 
to  understand,  so  vast  was  the  plan  of  it, 
and  so  very  intricate  were  the  figures;  no 
other  indeed  than  that  the  national  debt, 
computing  it  at  one  hundred  and  eighty 
millions  sterling,  would,  if  converted  into 
silver,  serve  to  make  a meridian  of  that  me- 
tal, I forget  how  broad,  for  the  globe  of  the 
whole  earth,  the  real  globe. 

“ I told  him  of  a friend  who  sufferea 
grievously  with  the  gout.  c He  will  live  a 
vast  many  years  for  all  that,5  replied  he, 
c and  then  what  signifies  how  much  he  suf- 
fers? but  he  will  die  at  last,  poor  fellow, 
there ’s  the  misery;  gout  seldom  takes  the 
fort  by  a coup-de-main , but  turning  the  siege 
into  a blockade , obliges  it  to  surrender  at 
discretion.5 

“ A lady  he  thought  well  of  was  disorder 
ed  in  her  health.  c What  help  has  she 
called  in?5  inquired  Johnson.  ‘ Dr.  James, 
sir,5  was  the  reply.  ‘ What  is  her  disease?’ 
£ Oh,  nothing  positive;  rather  a gradual  and 
gentle  decline.5  ‘ She  will  die  then,  pretty 
dear ! 5 answered  he : c when  death’s  pale 
horse  runs  away  with  a person  on  full  speed, 
an  active  physician  may  possibly  give  them 
a turn;  but  if  he  carries  them  on  an  even 
slow  pace,  dowrn  hill  too,  no  care  nor  skill 
can  save  them ! 5 

“ Sir  William  Browne,  the  physician, 
who  lived  to  a very  extraordinary  age2, 
and  was  in  other  respects  an  odd  mortal, 
with  more  genius  than  understanding,  and 
more  self-sufficiency  than  wit,  was  the  only 
person  who  ventured  to  oppose  Dr.  John- 

2 [He  died  in  March,  1774,  at  the  age  of  eighty- 
two.  It  is  nowhere  stated,  that  the  Editor  knowr9 
of,  that  this  epigram  was  made  extemporaneously 
on  a provocation  from  Dr.  Johnson.  See  an  ac- 
count of  Sir  William  Browne,  and  a more  ac- 
curate version  of  the  two  epigrams,  in  the  Biog. 
Diet  — Ed.] 


1 rSir  William  Jones. — Ed.] 


1780. — A2TAT.  71. 


265 


sen,  when  he  had  a mind  to  shine  by  exalt- 
ing his  favourite  university,  and  to  express 
his  contempt  of  the  whiggish  notions  which 
prevail  at  Cambridge.  He  did  it  once, 
however,  with  surprising  felicity:  his  an- 
tagonist having  repeated  with  an  air  of  tri- 
umph the  famous  epigram  written  by  Dr. 
Trapp, 

‘ Our  royal  master  saw,  with  heedful  eyes, 

The  wants  of  his  two  universities: 

Troops  he  to  Oxford  sent,  as  knowing  why 
That  learned  body  wanted  loyalty: 

But  books  to  Cambridge  gave,  as,  well  discerning, 
That  that  right  loyal  body  wanted  learning.  ’ 

Which,  says  Sir  William,  might  well  be 
answered  thus : 

* The  king  to  Oxford  sent  his  troop  of  horse, 
For  tories  own  no  argument  but  force  ; 

With  equal  care  to  Cambridge  books  he  sent, 
For  whigs  allow  no  force  but  argument.’ 

“ Dr.  Johnson  did  him  the  justice  to  say, 
it  was  one  of  the  happiest  extemporaneous 
productions  he  ever  met  with;  though  he 
once  comically  confessed,  that  he  hated  to 
repeat  the  wit  of  a whig  urged  in  support  of 
whiggism. 

“ When  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  had  paint- 
ed his  portrait  looking  into  the  slit  of  his 
pen,  and  holding  it  almost  close  to  his  eye, 
as  was  his  general  custom,  he  felt  displeas- 
ed, and  told  me,  c he  would  not  be  known 
by  posterity  for  his  defects  only,  let  Sir 
Joshua  do  his  worst.’  I said  in  reply,  that 
Reynolds  had  no  such  difficulties  about  him- 
self, and  that  he  might  observe  the  picture 
which  hung  up  in  the  room  where  we  were 
talking  represented  Sir  Joshua  holding  his 
ear  in  his  hand  to  catch  the  sound.  •'  He 
may  paint  himself  as  deaf  if  he  chooses,’ 
replied  Johnson;  c but  I will  not  be  blinking 
Sara .’ 

c£  As  we  had  been  saying  one  day  that  no 
subject  failed  of  receiving  dignity  from  the 
manner  in  which  Dr.  Johnson  treated  it,  a 
lady  at  our  house  said,  she  would  make  him 
talk  about  love,  and  took  her  measures  ac- 
cordingly, deriding  the  novels  of  the  day 
because  they  treated  about  love.  ‘ It  is  not,’ 
replied  our  philosopher,  £ because  they  treat, 
as  you  call  it,  atiout  love,  but  because  they 
treat  of  nothing,  that  they  are  despicable: 
wTe  must  not  ridicule  a passion  which  he 
who  never  felt  never  was  happy,  and  he  who 
laughs  at  never  deserves  to  feel — a passion 
which  has  caused  the  change  of  empires, 
and  the  loss  of  worlds — a passion  which  has 
inspired  heroism  and  subdued  avarice.’  He 
thought  he  had  already  said  loo  much.  CA 
passion,  in  short,’  added  he,  with  an  altered 
tone, * that  consumes  me  away  for  my  pret- 
ty Fanny  1 here,  and  she  is  very  cruel.’ 

1 [Miss  Burney,  the  authour  of  Evelina,  &c.  now 
Madame  D’Arblay. — Ed.] 

vol  II  34 


ct  As  Johnson  was  the  firmest  of  believers 
without  being  credulous,  so  he  was  the 
most  charitable  of  mortals  without  being 
what  we  call  an  active  friend2.  Admirable 
at  giving  counsel,  no  man  saw  his  way  so 
clearly;  but  he  would  not  stir  a finger  for 
the  assistance  of  those  to  whom  he  was 
willing  enough  to  give  advice:  besides  that, 
he  had  principles  of  laziness,  and  could  be 
indolent  by  rule.  To  hinder  your  death, 
or  procure  you  a dinner — I mean,  if  really 
in  want  of  one — his  earnestness,  his  exer- 
tions, could  not  be  prevented,  though  health, 
and  purse,  and  ease  were  all  destroyed  by 
their  violence.  If  you  wanted  a slight  fa- 
vour, you  must  apply  to  people  of  other  dis- 
positions; for  not  a step  would  Johnson 
move  to  obtain  a man  a vote  in  a society, 
or  repay  a compliment,  which  might  be  use- 
ful or  pleasing,  to  write  a letter  of  request, 
or  to  obtain  a hundred  pounds  a year  more 
for  a friend,  who,  perhaps,  had  already  two 
or  three.  No  force  could  urge  him  to  dili- 
gence, no  importunity  could  conquer  his  re- 
solution of  standing  still.  c What  good  are 
we  doing  with  all  this  ado?  ’ would  he  say: 
£ dearest  lady,  let ’s  hear  no  more  of  it ! ’ I 
have,  however,  more  than  once  in  my  life 
forced  him  on  such  services,  but  with  ex- 
treme difficulty.  We  parted  at  his  door 
one  evening  when  I had  teased  him  for  ma- 
ny weeks  to  write  a recommendatory  letter 
of  a little  boy  to  his  schoolmaster;  and  after 
he  had  faithfully  promised  to  do  this  prodi- 
gious feat  before  we  met  again — ‘ Do  not 
forget  dear  Dick,  sir,’  said  I,  as  he  went  oul 
of  the  coach.  He  turned  back,  stood  still 
two  minutes  on  the  carriage-step — c When 
I have  written  my  letter  for  Dick,  I may 
hang  myself,  mayn’t  I?’  and  turned  away 
in  a very  ill  humour  indeed. 

££  The  strangest  applications  in  the  world 
were  certainly  made  from  time  to  time  to- 
wards Dr.  Johnson,  who  by  that  means  had 
an  inexhaustible  fund  of  anecdote,  and  could 
if  he  pleased,  tell  the  most  astonishing  sto- 
ries of  human  folly  and  human  weakness 
that  ever  were  confided  to  any  man  not  a 
confessor  by  profession. 

££  One  day,  when  he  was  in  a humour  to 
record  some  of  them,  he  told  us  the  follow- 
ing tale:  ‘A  person,’  said  he,  £ had  for  these 
last  five  weeks  often  called  at  my  door,  but 
would  not  leave  his  name,  or  other  mes 
sage,  but  that  he  wished  to  speak  with  me 
At  last  we  met,  and  he  told  me  that  he  was 
oppressed  by  scruples  of  conscience.  I 
blamed  him  gently  for  not  applying,  as  the 
rules  of  our  church  direct,  to  his  parish 
priest,  or  other  discreet  clergyman;  when, 
after  some  compliments  on  his  part,  he  told 
me,  that  he  was  clerk  to  a very  eminent 
trader,  at  whose  ware-houses  much  business 
consisted  in  packing  goods  in  order  to  go 

2 [S ec  post,  sub  June,  1784. — Ed.j 


266 


1781. — AST  AT.  72. 


abroad ; that  he  was  often  tempted  to  take 
paper  and  packthread  enough  for  his  own 
use,  and  that  he  had  indeed  done  so  so  oft- 
en, that  he  could  recollect  no  time  when  he 
ever  had  bought  any  for  himself.  c But 
probably,’  said  I,  ‘your  master  was  wholly 
indifferent  with  regard  to  such  trivial  emol- 
uments; you  had  better  ask  for  it  at  once, 
and  so  take  your  trifles  with  consent.’  ‘ Oh, 
sir ! ’ replied  the  visitor,  c my  master  bid  me 
have  as  much  as  I pleased,  and  was  half  an- 
gry when  I talked  to  him  about  it.’  ‘ Then 
pray,  sir,’  said  I,  ‘ tease  me  no  more  about 
such  airy  nothings;  ’ and  was  going  on  to 
be  very  angry,  when  I recollected  that  the 
fellow  might  be  mad  perhaps;  so  I asked 
him  when  he  left  the  counting-house  of  an 
evening?  c At  seven  o’clock,  sir.’  c And 
when  do  you  go  to  bed,  sir?  ’ c At  twelve 
o’clock.’  c Then,’  replied  I,  ‘ I have  at 
least  learned  thus  much  by  my  new  ac- 
quaintance— that  five  hours  of  the  four-and- 
twenty  unemployed  are  enough  for  a man 
to  go  mad  in:  so  I would  advise  you,  sir,  to 
study  algebra,  if  you  are  not  an  adept  al- 
ready in  it:  your  head  would  get  less  mud- 
dy, and  you  will  leave  off  tormenting  your 
neighbours  about  paper  and  packthread, 
while  we  all  live  together  in  a world  that  is 
bursting  with  sin  and  sorrow.’  It  is  per- 
haps needless  to  add  that  this  visitor  came 
no  more.  Dr.  Johnson  had  a real  abhor- 
rence of  any  one  who  ever  treated  a little 
thing  like  a great  one,  and  very  often  quo- 
ted this  scrupulous  gentleman  with  his  pack- 
thread. 

“ A man  for  whom  he  often  begged, 
made,  as  he  told  us,  a wild  use  of  his  bene- 
ficence, spending  in  punch  the  solitary 
guinea  which  had  been  brought  him  one 
morning  : when  resolving  to  add  another 
claimant  to  a share  of  the  bowl,  besides  a 
woman  who  always  lived  with  him,  and  a 
footman  who  used  to  carry  out  petitions 
for  charity,  he  borrowed  a chairman’s  watch, 
and  pawning  it  for  half  a crown,  paid  a 
clergyman  to  marry  him  to  a feiiow-lodger 
in  the  wretched  house  they  all  inhabited, 
and  got  so  drunk  over  the  guinea  bowl  of 
punch  the  evening  of  his  wedding-day,  tha*t 
having  many  years  lost  the  use  of  one  leg, 
he  now  contrived  to  fall  from  the  top  of  the 
stairs  to  the  bottom,  and  break  his  arm,  in 
which  condition  his  companions  left  him  to 
call  Dr.  Johnson,  who  relating  the  series 
of  his  tragicomical  distresses,  obtained  from 
the  Literary  Club  a seasonable  relief. 

“ Dr.  Johnson  did  not,  however,  much 
delight  in  that  kind  of  conversation  which 
consists  in  telling  stories.  c Every  body,’ 
said  he,  ‘ tells  stories  of  me,  and  1 tell 
stories  of  nobody.  I do  not  recollect.,’  add- 
ed he,  ‘ that  I have  ever  told  you,  that  have 
been  always  favourites,  above  three  stories; 
but  I hope  I do  not  play  the  old  fool,  and 


force  people  to  hear  uninteresting  naira 
tives,  only  because  I once  was  diverted 
with  them  myself.’ 

“ Though  at  an  immeasurable  distance 
from  content  in  the  contemplation  of  hi3 
own  uncouth  form  and  figure,  he  did  not 
like  another  man  much  the  less  for  being  a 
coxcomb.  I mentioned  two  friends  1 who 
were  particularly  fond  of  looking  at  them 
selves  in  a glass — ‘ They  do  not  surprise 
me  at  all  by  so  doing,’  said  Johnson  : ‘ they 
see,  reflected  in  that  glass,  men  who  have 
risen  from  almost  the  lowest  situations  in 
life;  one  to  enormous  riches,  the  other  to 
every  thing  this  world  can  give — rank,  fame, 
and  fortune.  They  see  likewise  men  who 
have  merited  their  advancement  by  the  ex- 
ertion and  improvement  of  those  talents 
which  God  had  given  them;  and  I see  not 
why  they  should  avoid  the  mirror.  ’ ” 


This  year  the  Reverend  Dr.  Franklin 
having  published  a translation  of  “ Lu- 
cian,” inscribed  to  him  the  Demonax 
thus  : 

“ To  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,  the  Demon- 
ax of  the  present  age,  this  piece  is  inscribed 
by  a sincere  admirer  of  his  respectable  ta» 
ents,  The  Translator.” 

Though  upon  a particular  comparison  of 
Demonax  and  Johnson,  there  does  not  seem 
to  be  a great  deal  of  similarity  between 
them  2,  this  dedication  is  a just  compliment 
from  the  general  character  given  by  Lucian 
of  the  ancient  sage,  “ apis-ov  m ciSx  tya>  <pi\o<ro- 
<p«v  ympevov,  the  best  philosopher  whom  I 
have  ever  seen  or  known.” 

In  1781,  Johnson  at  last  completed  his 
“ Lives  of  the  Poets,”  of  which  he  gives  this 
account  : “ Some  time  in  March  pr.  and 
I finished  the  ‘ Lives  of  the  Poets,’  Med.  p. 
which  I wrote  in  my  usual  way,  190’ 
dilatorily  and  hastily,  unwilling  to  work, 
and  working  with  vigour  and  haste.” 

[“  This  facility  of  writing,  and  Piozzi, 
this  dilatoriness  to  write,  Dr.  John-  p-36- 


1 [“  These  two  friends  were  John  Cator,  a 
timber-merchant  in  the  Borough,  and  Wedder- 
burn,  Lord  Loughborough.” — Piozzi  MS. — Ed.] 

2 [There  were,  no  doubt,  some  points  in  which 
Johnson  did  not  resemble  Demonax,  who  was 
high-born  and  rich,  very  mild  in  his  manners,  gen- 
tle in  argument  and  even  in  his  reprimands,  and 
lived  to  a great  age  ,in  uninterrupted  health;  but 
in  many  particulars  Lucian’s  character  seems  very 
curiously  applicable  to  Johnson;  and  indeed  his 
tract  resembles  (in  little)  Boswell’s  own  w’ork, 
being  a collection  of  observations  on  several  top- 
ics, moral,  critical,  and  religious,  made  by  a phi- 
losopher of  strong  sense,  ready  wit,  and  fearless 
veracity  ; and  the  character  which  Lucian  as- 
cribes to  the  conversation  of  Demonax  appears  to 
the  editor  very  like  (making  due  allowance  lor 
the  difference  of  ancient  and  modern  habits  and 
topics)  the  style  of  that  of  Dr.  Johnson. — Ed  ] 


1781. — jETAT.  72. 


267 


aon,”  says  Mrs.  Piozzi,  ££  always  re- 
tained, from  the  days  that  he  lay  a-bed  and 
dictated  his  first  publication  to  Mr.  Hector, 
who  acted  as  his  amanuensis,  to  the  mo- 
ment he  made  me  copy  out  those  variations 
in  Pope’s  Homer  which  are  printed  in  the 
Lives  of  the  Poets  l.  £ And  now,’  said  he, 
when  I had  finished  it  for  him,  £ I fear  not 
Mr.  Nichols2  [the  printer]  a pin.’  ”] 

Pr..  and  In  a memorandum  previous  to 
Med.  p.  this,  he  says  of  them  : “ Written, 
174'  I hope,  in  such  a manner  as  may 
tend  to  the  promotion  of  piety.” 

This  is  the  work  which,  of  all  Dr. 
Johnson’s  writings,  will  perhaps  he  read 
most  generally,  and  with  most  pleasure. 
Philology  and  biography  were  his  favour- 
ite pursuits,  and  those  who  lived  most 
m intimacy  with  him,  heard  him  upon 
all  occasions,  when  there  was  a proper 
opportunity,  take  delight  in  expatiating 
upon  the  various  merits  of  the  English 
poets : upon  the  niceties  of  their  char- 
acters, and  the  events  of  their  progress 
through  the  world  which  they  contributed 
to  illuminate.  His  mind  was  so  full  of  that 
kind  of  information,  and  it  was  so  well  ar- 
ranged in  his  memory,  that  in  performing 
what  he  had  undertaken  in  this  way,  he  had 
little  more  to  do  than  to  put  his  thoughts 
upon  paper ; exhibiting  first  each  poet’s 
life,  and  then  subjoining  a critical  examina- 
tion of  his  genius  and  works.  But  when  he 
began  to  write,  the  subject  swelled  in  such 
a manner,  that  instead  of  prefaces  to  each 
poet,  of  no  more  than  a few  pages,  as  he 
had  originally  intended 3,  he  produced  an 
ample,  rich,  and  most  entertaining  view  of 
them  in  every  respect.  In  this  he  resem- 
bled Quintilian,  who  tells  us,  that  in  the 
composition  of  his  “ Institutions  of  Orato- 
ry,” ££  Latiiis  se  tamen  aperiente  materia , 
plus  quam  imponebatur  oneris  sponte  sus- 
cepi.”  The  booksellers,  justly  sensible  of 
the  great  additional  value  of  the  copyright, 
presented  him  with  another  hundred  pounds, 
over  and  above  two  hundred,  for  which  his 
agreement  was  to  furnish  such  prefaces  as 
he  thought  fit. 

1 [The  first  livraison  was  published  in  1779. 
This  edition  of  the  Poets  was  in  sixty  vols.  12mo. 
— Ed.] 

2 [This  name  is  misprinted  JVicholson  in  Mrs. 
Piozzi’s  Anecdotes. — Ed.] 

3 His  design  is  thus  announced  in  his  adver- 
tisement: “ The  booksellers  having  determined 
to  publish  a body  of  English  poetry,  I was  per- 
suaded to  promise  them  a preface  to  the  works  of 
each  authour  ; an  undertaking,  as  it  was  then  pre- 
sented to  my  mind,  not  very  tedious  or  difficult. 
My  purpose  was  only  to  have  allotted  to  every 
poet  an  advertisement,  like  that  which  we  find  in 
the  ‘ French  Miscellanies,’  containing  a few  dates, 
and  a general  character  ; but  I have  been  led  be- 
yond rny  intention,  I hope  by  the  honest  desire  of 

jiving  useful  pleasure.” — Boswell. 


[££  The  bargain,”  as  Mr.  Ni-  Gent.  Mag. 
chols  states, ££  was  for  two  hun-  v.  lxxxii. 
dred  guineas,  and  the  book-  part  1:'  p<  51 
sellers  spontaneously  added  a third  hun- 
dred ; on  this  occasion  Dr.  Johnson  ob- 
served to  Mr.  Nichols, £ Sir,  I always  said  the 
booksellers  were  a generous  set  of  men. 
Nor,  in  the  present  instance,  have  I reason 
to  complain.  The  fact  is,  not  that  they 
have  paid  me  too  little,  but  that  I have 
written  too  much.’  The  £ Lives  ’ were 
soon  published  in  a separate  edition  ; when, 
for  a very  few  corrections,  the  Doctor  was 
presented  with  another  hundred  guineas.”] 
This  was,  however,  but  a small  recom- 
pense for  such  a collection  of  biography, 
and  such  principles  and  illustrations  of 
criticism,  as,  it*  digested  and  arranged  in  one 
system,  by  some  modern  Aristotle  or  Lon- 
ginus, might  form  a code  upon  that  subject, 
such  as  no  other  nation  can  show.  As  he 
was  so  good  as  to  make  me  a present  of  the 
greatest  part  of  the  original,  and  indeed 
only  manuscript  of  this  admirable  work,  I 
have  an  opportunity  of  observing  with 
wonder  the  correctness  with  which  he 
rapidly  struck  off  such  glowing  composition. 
He  may  be  assimilated  to  the  lady  in  Wal- 
ler, who  could  impress  with  ££  love  at  first 
sight:  ” 

“ Some  other  nymphs  with  colours  faint, 

And  pencil  slow,  may  Cupid  paint, 

And  a weak  heart  in  time  destroy  ; 

She  has  a stamp,  and  prints  the  boy.” 

That  he,  however,  had  a good  deal  of 
trouble  4,  and  some  anxiety  in  carrying  on 
the  work,  we  see  from  a series  of  letters  to 
Mr.  Nichols,  the  printer,  whose  variety  of 
literary  inquiry  and  obliging  disposition 
rendered  him  useful  to  Johnson.  Thus  : 

££  In  the  Life  of  Waller,  Mr.  Nichols  will 
find  a reference  to  the  Parliamentary  His- 
tory, from  which  a long  quotation  is  to  be 
inserted.  If  Mr.  Nichols  cannot  easily  find 
the  book,  Mr.  Johnson  will  send  it  from 
Streatham. 

££  Clarendon  is  here  returned. 

£t  By  some  accident  I laid  t/owr  note  upon 
Duke  up  so  safely,  that  I cannot  find  it. 
Your  informations  have  been  of  great  use 
to  me.  I must  beg  it  again,  with  another 
list  of  our  authours,  for  I have  laid  that 
with  the  other.  I have  sent  Stepney’s 


4  [The  reader  has,  however,  seen  some  instan- 
ces, and  many  others  might  be  produced,  in  which 
Dr.  Johnson,  when  he  published  a new  edition, 
utterly  disregarded  the  corrections  of  errors  of 
which  he  was  apprised.  The  truth  is,  he  began 
the  work  as  a thing  that  might  be  done  in  a few 
weeks,  and  was  surprised  and  fatigued  at  the 
length  to  which  he  found  it  expand:  and  it  is  not 
wonderful  that  at  so  advanced  an  age  he  was  not 
very  anxious  to  purchase  minute  accuracy  by  th® 
labour  of  revision. — Ed.] 


268 


1781. — iETAT.  72. 


Epitaph  Let  me  have  the  revises  as  soon 
can  be.  Dec.  1778. 

“ I have  sent  Philips,  with  his  Epitaphs, 
to  be  inserted.  The  fragment  of  a preface 
is  hardly  worth  the  impression,  but  that  we 
may  seem  to  do  something.  It  may  be 
added  to  the  Life  of  Philips.  The  Latin 

age  is  to  be  added  to  the  Life  of  Smith. 

shall  be  at  home  to  revise  the  two  sheets 
of  Milton.  March  1,  1779. 

“ Please  to  get  me  the  last  edition  of 
Hughes’s  Letters  ; and  try  to  get  Dennis 
upon  Blackmore  and  upon  Cato,  and  any 
thing  of  the  same  writer  against  Pope.  Our 
materials  are  defective. 

“As  Waller  professed  to  have  imitated 
Fairfax,  do  you  think  a few  pages  of  Fair- 
fax would  enrich  our  edition  ? Few  read- 
ers have  seen  it,  and  it  may  please  them. 
But  it  is  not  necessary. 

’ “ An  Account  of  the  Lives  and  Works 
of  some  of  the  most  eminent  English  Poets, 
by,  &c  £ The  English  Poets,  biographi- 
cally and  critically  considered,  by  Sam. 
Johnson.’  Let  Mr.  Nichols  take  his  choice, 
or  make  another  to  his  mind.  May, 
1781. 

“ You  somehow  forgot  the  advertisement 
for  the  new  edition.  It  was  not  inclosed. 
Of  Gay’s  Letters  I see  not  that  any  use  can 
be  made,  for  they  give  no  information  of  any 
thing.  That  he  was  a member  of  a philo- 
sophical society  is  something  ; but  surely 
he  could  be  but  a corresponding  member. 
However,  not  having  his  Life  here,  I know 
not  how  to  put  it  in,  and  it  is  of  little  im- 
portance t.” 

Mr.  Steevens  appears,  from  the  papers 
in  my  possession,  to  have  supplied  him  with 
some  anecdotes  and  quotations ; and  I ob- 
serve the  lair  hand2  of  Mrs.  Thrale  as  one 
of  his  copyists  of  select  passages.  But  he 
was  principally  indebted  to  my  steady  friend, 
Mr.  Isaac  Reed,  of  Staple-inn,  whose  ex- 
tensive and  accurate  knowledge  of  English 
literary  history  I do  not  express  with  ex- 
aggeration, when  I say  it  is  wonderful ; in- 
deed his  labours  have  proved  it  to  the 
world  ; and  all  who  have  the  pleasure  of 
his  acquaintance  can  bear  testimony  to  the 
frankness  of  his  communications  in  private 
society. 

It  is  not  my  intention  to  dwell  upon  each 
of  Johnson’s  “ Lives  of  the  Poets,”  or  at- 
tempt an  analysis  of  their  merits,  which, 
were  I able  to  do  it,  would  take  up  too 

1 See  several  more  in  “ The  Gentleman’s  Mag- 
azine,” 1785.  The  editor  of  that  miscellany,  in 
which  Johnson  wrote  for  several  years,  seems  just- 
ly to  think  that  every  fragment  of  so  great  a man 
is  worthy  of  being  preserved. — Boswell. 

2 [A  fair  hand , in  more  than  one  sense — her 

writing  is  an  almost  perfect  specimen  of  calligra- 
phy; and  this  power  remained  unimpaired  to  the 
Wst  years  of  her  long  life Ed.] 


much  room  in  this  work;  y et  I shall  matte 
a few  observations  upon  some  of  them,  and 
insert  a few  various  readings. 

The  Life  of  Cowley  he  himself  considered 
as  the  best  of  the  whole,  on  account  of  the 
dissertation  which  it  contains  on  the  Meta- 
physical Poets.  [And  he  also  gave 
it  the  preference  as  containing  a ni-  p.^s. 
cer  investigation  and  discrimination 
of  the  characteristics  of  wit,  than  is  else- 
where to  be  found.]  Dryden,  whose  criti- 
cal abilities  were  equal  to  his  poetical,  had 
mentioned  them  in  his  excellent  Dedication 
of  his  Juvenal,  but  had  barely  mentioned 
them.  Johnson  has  exhibited  them  at 
large,  with  such  happy  illustration  from 
their  writings,  and  in  so  luminous  a man- 
ner, that  indeed  he  may  be  allowed  the  full 
merit  of  novelty,  and  to  have  discovered  to 
us,  as  it  were,  a new  planet  in  the  poetical 
hemisphere. 

It  is  remarked  by  Johnson,  in  consider- 
ing the  works  of  a poet3,  that  “ amend- 
ments are  seldom  made  without  some  token 
of  a rent;  ” but  I do  not  find  that  this  is 
applicable  to  prose4.  We  shall  see  that 
though  his  amendments  in  this  work  are 
for  the  better,  there  is  nothing  of  the  pan- 
nus  assutus;  the  texture  is  uniform;  and 
indeed,  what  had  been  there  at  first,  is  very 
seldom  unfit  to  have  remained. 

VARIOUS  READINGS5  IN  THE  LIFE  OF 
COWLEY. 

u All  [future  votaries  of  that  may  here - 
after  pant  for  solitude 

“To  conceive  and  execute  the  [agitation 
or  perception]  pains  and  the  pleasures  of 
other  minds. 

“ The  wide  effulgence  of  [the  blazing]  a 
summer  noon.” 

In  the  Life  of  Waller,  Johnson  gives  a 
distinct  and  animated  narrative  of  publick 
affairs  in  that  variegated  period,  with  strong 
yet  nice  touches  of  character;  and  having 
a fair  opportunity  to  display  his  political 
principles,  does  it  with  an  unqualified  man- 
ly confidence,  and  satisfies  his  readers  how 
nobly  he  might  have  executed  a Tory  His- 
tory of  his  country. 

So  easy  is  his  style  in  these  Lives,  that  I 
do  not  recollect  more  than  three  uncommon 
or  learned  words:  one,  when  giving  an  ac- 
count of  the  approach  of  Waller’s  mortal 
disease,  he  says,  “ he  found  his  legs  grow 

3 Life  of  Sheffield. — Boswell. 

4 See,  however,  p.  116  of  this  volume,  where 
the  same  remark  is  made,  and  Johnson  is  there 
spea’king  of  jjrose.  In  his  Life  of  Dryden,  his 
observations  on  the  opera  of  “ King  Arthur.” 
furnish  a striking  instance  of  the  truth  of  this  re 
mark. — Malone. 

5 The  original  reading  is  enclosed  in  brackets, 
and  the  present  one  is  printed  in  italicks. — Bos 
WELL. 


1781.— ;ETAT.  72. 


269 


tumid;”  by  using  the  expression  his  legs 
swelled , he  would  have  avoided  this;  and 
there  would  have  been  no  impropriety  in 
its  being  followed  by  the  interesting  ques- 
tion to  his  physician,  “What  that  swelling 
meant?  ” Another,  when  he  mentions  that 
Pope  had  emitted  proposals;  when  publish- 
ed or  issued  would  have  been  more  readily 
understood;  and  a third,  when  he  calls  Or- 
rery and  Dr.  Delaney  writers  both  undoubt- 
edly veracious;  when  true,  honest,  or  faith- 

{ul,  might  have  been  used.  Yet,  it  must 
ie  owned,  that  none  of  these  are  hard  or 
too  big  words;  that  custom  would  make 
them  seem  as  easy  as  any  others;  and  that 
a language  is  richer  and  capable  of  more 
beauty  of  expression,  by  having  a greater 
variety  of  synonymes. 

His  dissertation  upon  the  unfitness  of 
poetry  for  the  awful  subjects  of  our  holy 
religion,  though  I do  not  entirely  agree 
with  him,  has  all  the  merit  of  originality, 
with  uncommon  force  and  reasoning. 

VARIOUS  READINGS  IN  THE  LIFE  OF 
WALLER. 

C£  Consented  to  [the  insertion  of  their 
names]  their  own  nomination. 

“ [After]  paying  a fine  of  ten  thousand 
pounds. 

“ Congratulating  Charles  the  Second  on 
his  [coronation]  recovered  right. 

“ He  that  has  flattery  ready  for  all  w-hom 
the  vicissitudes  of  the  world  happen  to  ex- 
alt, must  be  [confessed  to  degrade  his  pow- 
ers] scorned  as  a prostituted  mind. 

“The  characters  by  which  Waller  in- 
tended to  distinguish  his  writings  are  [ele- 
gance] sprightliness  and  dignity. 

“ Blossoms  to  be  valued  only  as  they 
[fetch]  foretell  fruits. 

“ Images  such  as  the  superficies  of  nature 
[easily]  readily  supplies. 

. “[His]  Some  applications  [are  some- 
times] may  be  thought  too  remote  and  un- 
consequential. 

“ His  images  are  [sometimes  confused] 
not  always  distinct.” 

Against  his  Life  of  Milton,  the  hounds  of 
whiggism  have  opened  in  full  cry.  But  of 
Milton’s  great  excellence  as  a poet,  where 
shall  we  find  such  a blazon  as  by  the  hand 
of  Johnson?  I shall  select  only  the  follow- 
ing passage  concerning  “ Paradise  Lost:  ” 
“ Fancy  can  hardly  forbear  to  conjecture 
with  what  temper  Milton  surveyed  the  si- 
lent progress  of  his  work,  and  marked  his 
reputation  stealing  its  way  in  a kind  of  sub- 
terraneous current,  through  fear  and  silence. 
I cannot  but  conceive  him  calm  and  confi- 
dent, little  disappointed,  not  at  all  dejected, 
relying  on  his  own  merit  with  steady  con- 
sciousness, and  waiting,  without  impatience, 
the  vicissitudes  of  opinion,  and  the  impar- 
tiality of  a future  generation.” 


Indeed  even  Dr.  Towers,  whc  .“iay  be 
considered  as  one  of  the  warmest  zeaiOts  ol 
The  Revolution  Society  itself,  allows,  that 
“ Johnson  has  spoken  in  the  highest  terms 
of  the  abilities  of  that  great  poet,  and  has 
bestowed  on  his  principal  poetical  composi- 
tions the  most  honourable  encomiums1.” 

That  a man,  who  venerated  the  church 
and  monarchy  as  Johnson  did,  should  speak 
with  a just  abhorrence  of  Milton  as  a politi 
cian,  or  rather  as  a daring  foe  to  good  poli 
ty,  was  surely  to  be  expected;  and  to  those 
who  censure  him,  I would  recommend  his 
commentary  on  Milton’s  celebrated  com- 
plaint of  his  situation,  when  by  the  lenity 
of  Charles  the  Second,  “ a lenity  of  which,’ 
as  Johnson  well  observes,  “ the  world  has 
had  perhaps  no  other  example,  he,  who  had 
written  in  justification  of  the  murder  of  his 
sovereign,  was  safe  under  an  Act  of  Obliv- 
ion.”  “ No  sooner  is  he  safe  than  he  finds 

himself  in  danger,  fallen  on  evil  days  and 
evil  tongues,  with  darkness  and  with  dan- 
gers compassed  round.  This  darkness,  had 
his  eyes  been  better  employed,  had  undoubt- 
edly deserved  compassion;  but  to  add  the 
mention  of  danger  was  ungrateful  and  un- 
just. He  was  fallen,  indeed,  on  evil  days; 
the  time  was  come  in  which  regicides  could 
no  longer  boast  their  wickedness.  But  of 
evil  tongues  for  Milton  to  complain,  re- 
quired impudence  at  least  equal  to  his  other 
powers;  Milton,  whose  warmest  advocates 
must  allow,  that  he  never  spared  any  asper- 
ity of  reproach,  or  brutality  of  insolence.” 

I have,  indeed,  often  wondered  how  Mil- 
ton,  “ an  acrimonious  and  surly  republi- 
can2,”— “ a man  who  in  his  domestick  re- 
lations was  so  severe  and  arbitrary3,”  and 

1 See  “ An  Essay  on  the  Life,  Character,  and 
Writings  of  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,”  London,  1787 
which  is  very  well  written,  making  a proper  al- 
lowance for  the  democratical  bigotry  of  its  autnour: 
whom  I cannot  however  but  admire  for  his  liber- 
ality in  speaking  thus  of  my  illustrious  friend: — 
“ He  possessed  extraordinary  powers  of  under- 
standing, which  were  much  cultivated  by  study, 
and  still  more  by  meditation  and  reflection.  His 
memory  was  remarkably  retentive,  his  imagina- 
tion uncommonly  vigorous,  and  his  judgment  keen 
and  penetrating.  He  had  a strong  sense  of  the 
importance  of  religion;  his  piety  was  sincere,  and 
sometimes  ardent;  and  his  zeal  for  the  interests  of 
virtue  was  often  manifested  in  his  conversation 
and  in  his  writings.  The  same  energy  which 
was  displayed  in  his  literary  productions  was  ex- 
hibited also  in  his  conversation,  which  was  vari- 
ous, striking,  and  instructive;  and  perhaps  no  man 
ever  equalled  him  for  nervous  and  pointed  repar- 
tees. His  Dictionary,  his  Moral  Essays,  and  his 
productions  in  polite  literature,  will  convey  useful 
instruction,  and  elegant  entertainment,  as  long  as 
the  language  in  which  they  are  written  shall  be 
understood.  ’ ’ — Boswell. 

2 Johnson’s  Life  of  Milton. — Boswell 

3 Ibid. — Boswell. 


270 


1781. — iETAT.  72 


whose  head  was  filled  with  the  hardest  and 
most  dismal  tenets  of  Calvinism,  should 
have  been  such  a poet;  should  not  only 
have  written  with  sublimity,  but  with  beau- 
ty, and  even  gaiety;  should  have  exquisite- 
ly painted  the  sweetest  sensations  of  which 
our  nature  is  capable;  imaged  the  delicate 
raptures  of  connubial  love;  nay,  seemed  to 
be  animated  with  all  the  spirit  of  revelry.  It 
is  a proof  that  in  the  human  mind  the  de- 
partments of  judgment  and  imagination, 
perception  and  temper,  may  sometimes  be 
divided  by  strong  partitions;  and  that  the 
light  and  shade  in  the  same  character  may 
be  kept  so  distinct  as  never  to  be  blended  1. 
Murph.  [Mr.  Nichols,  whose  attachment 
Essay,  to  his  illustrious  friend  was  un- 

P-  wearied,  showed  him,  in  1780,  a 

book  called  Remarks  on  Johnson's  Life  of 
Milton,  in  which  the  affair  of  Lauder  was 
renewed  with  virulence,  and  a poetical  scale 
in  the  Literary  Magazine,  1758  (when 
Johnson  had  ceased  to  write  in  that  collec- 
tion), was  urged  as  an  additional  proof  of 
deliberate  malice.  He  read  the  libellous 
passage  with  attention,  and  instantly  wrote 
on  the  margin:  “ In  the  business  of  Lauder 
I was  deceived,  partly  by  thinking  the  man 
too  frantic  to  be  fraudulent.  Of  \\ve  poeti- 
cal scale,  quoted  from  the  Magazine,  I am 
not  the  authour.  I fancy  it  was  put  in  after 
I had  quitted  that  work;  for  I not  only  did 
not  write  it,  but  I do  not  remember  it.”] 

In  the  Life  of  Milton,  Johnson  took  occa- 
sion to  maintain  his  own  and  the  general 
opinion  of  the  excellence  of  rhyme  over 
blank  verse,  in  English  poetry;  and  quotes 
this  apposite  illustration  of  it  by  “ an  inge- 
nious critick,”  that  it  seems  to  be  verse  only 
to  the  eye  2.  The  gentleman  whom  he  thus 
characterises  is  (as  he  told  Mr.  Seward) 
Mr.  Lock,  of  Norbury  Park,  in  Surrey, 
whose  knowledge  and  taste  in  the  fine  arts 
is  universally  celebrated;  with  whose  ele- 
gance of  manners  the  writer  of  the  present 
work  has  felt  himself  much  impressed,  and 
to  whose  virtues  a common  friend,  who  has 
known  him  long,  and  is  not  much  addicted 
to  flattery,  gives  the  highest  testimony. 

VARIOUS  READINGS  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MILTON. 

“ I cannot  find  any  meaning  but  this 
which  [his  most  bigoted  advocates]  even 
kindness  and  reverence  can  give 

1 Mr.  Malone  thinks  it  is  rather  a proof  that 
he  felt  nothing  of  those  cheerful  sensations  which 
he  has  described:  that  on  these  topicks  it  is  the 
poet,  .and  not  the  man,  that  writes. — Boswell. 

2 One  of  the  most  natural  instances  of  the  effect 
of  blank  verse  occurred  to  the  late  Earl  of  Hope- 
ton.  His  lordship  observed  one  of  his  shepherds 
poring  in  the  fields  upon  Milton’s  “ Paradise  Lost;” 
and  having  asked  him  what  book  it  was,  the  man 
answered,  ‘ An’t  please  your  lordship,  this  is  a 
vey  odd  sort  of  an  authour:  he  would  fain  rhyme, 
but  cannot  get  at  it.” — Boswell. 


“ [Perhaps  no]  scarcely  any  man  ever 
wrote  so  much,  and  praised  so  few. 

“ A certain  [rescue]  preservative  from 
oblivion. 

“ Let  me  not  be  censured  for  this  digres- 
sion, as  [contracted]  pedantick  or  paradoxi- 
cal. 

“ Socrates  rather  was  of  opinion,  that 
what  we  had  to  learn  was  how  to  [obtain 
and  communicate  happiness]  do  good  and 
avoid  evil. 

“ Its  elegance  [who  can  exhibit?]  is  less 
attainable .” 

I could,  with  pleasure,  expatiate  upon  the 
masterly  execution  of  the  Life  of  Dryden, 
which  we  have  seen  3 was  one  of  Johnson’s 
literary  projects  at  an  early  period,  a dj 
which  it  is  remarkable,  that  after  desisting 
from  it,  from  a supposed  scantiness  of  ma- 
terials, he  should,  at  an  advanced  age,  have 
exhibited  so  amply. 

[Though  Johnson  had  the  highest 
opinion  of  Pope 4 as  a writer,  his 
superiour  reverence  for  Dryden  not-  p‘ 
withstanding  still  appeared  in  his  talk  as  in 
his  writings;  and  when  some  one  mention- 
ed the  ridicule  thrown  on  him  in  the  “ Re- 
hearsal,” as  having  hurt  his  general  charac- 
ter as  an  authour,  “ On  the  contrary,”  says 
Dr.  Johnson,  “ the  greatness  of  Dryden’s 
reputation  is  now  the  only  principle  of  vi 
tality  which  keeps  the  Duke  of  Bucking* 
ham’s  play  from  putrefaction.” 

It  was  not  very  easy  however  for  people 
not  quite  intimate  with  Dr.  Johnson,  to  get 
exactly  his  opinion  of  a writer’s  merit,  as 
though  he  would  sometimes  divert  himself 
by  confounding  those  who  thought  them 
selves  safe  to  say  to-morrow  what  he  had 
said  yesterday;  and  even  Garrick,  who 
ought  to  have  been  better  acquainted  with 
his  tricks,  professed  himself  mortified,  that 
one  time  when  he  was  extolling  Dryden  in 
a rapture  that  perhaps  disgusted  his  friend, 
Dr.  Johnson  suddenly  challenged  him  to 
produce  twenty  lines  in  a series  that  would 
not  disgrace  the  poet  and  his  admirer 
Garrick  produced  a passage  that  he  had 
once  heard  the  Doctor  commend,  in  which 
he  now  found,  as  Mrs.  Piozzi  remembered, 
sixteen  faults,  and  made  Garrick  look  silly 
at  his  own  table.] 

His  defence  of  that  great  poet  against  the 
illiberal  attacks  upon  him,  as  if  his  em 
bracing  the  Roman  Catholic  communion  had 
been  a time-serving  measure,  is  a piece  of 
reasoning  at  once  able  and  candid.  Indeed, 
Dryden  himself,  in  his  “ Hind  and  Panther,” 
hath  given  such  a picture  of  his  mind,  that 
they  who  know  the  anxiety  for  repose  as  to 


3 See  ante,  p.  74. — Boswell. 

4 [“  When  a lady  at  Mr.  Thrale’s  talked  of 
his  preface  to  Shakspeare  as  superior  to  Pope’s, 
he  said,  * I fear  not,  madam:  the  little  fellow  has 
done  wonders.’  ” — Anecd.  p.  42. — Ed.] 


1781. — ifTTAT.  72. 


c27l 


the  awful  subject  of  our  state  beyond  the 
grave,  though  they  may  think  his  opinion 
ill-founded,  must  think  charitably  of  his 
sentiment: 

“ But,  gracious  God,  how  well  dost  thou  provide 
For  erring  judgments  an  unerring  guide! 

Thy  throne  is  darkness  in  the  abyss  of  light, 

A blaze  of  glory  that  forbids  the  sight. 

O!  teach  me  to  believe  thee  thus  conceal’d. 

And  search  no  farther  than  thyself  reveal’d  ; 

But  Her  alone  for  my  director  take, 

Whom  thou  hast  promised  never  to  forsake. 

My  thoughtless  youth  was  wing’d  with  vain  de- 
sires; 

My  manhood,  long  misled  by  wand ’ring  fires, 
Follow’d  false  lights;  and  when  their  glimpse 
was  gone, 

My  pride  struck  out  new  sparkles  of  her  own. 
Such  was  I,  such  by  nature  still  I am; 

Be  thine  the  glory  and  be  mine  the  shame. 
Good  life  be  now  my  task:  my  doubts  are  done; 
What  more  could  shock  my  faith  than  Three  in 
One  ? ” 

In  drawing  Dryden’s  character,  Johnson 
has  given,  though  I suppose  unintentional- 
ly, some  touches  of  his  own.  Thus : “ The 
power  that  predominated  in  his  intellectual 
operations  was  rather  strong  reason  than 
quick  sensibility.  Upon  all  occasions  that 
were  presented,  he  studied  rather  than  felt; 
and  produced  sentiments  not  such  as  nature 
enforces,  but  meditation  supplies.  With 
the  simple  and  elemental  passions,  as  they 
spring  separate  in  the  mind,  he  seems  not 
much  acquainted.  He  is,  therefore,  with 
all  his  variety  of  excellence,  not  often  pa- 
thetick  !,  and  had  so  little  sensibility  of  the 
power  of  effusions  purely  natural,  that  he 
did  not  esteem  them  in  others.”  It  may 
indeed  he  observed,  that  in  all  the  numer- 
ous writings  of  Johnson,  whether  in  prose 
or  verse,  and  even  in  his  tragedy,  of  which 
the  subject  is  the  distress  of  an  unfortunate 
princess,  there  is  not  a single  passage  that 
ever  drew  a tear. 

VARIOUS  READINGS  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  DRY- 
DEN. 

“ The  reason  olf  this  general  perusal, 
Addison  has  attempted  to  [find  in]  derive 
from  the  delight  which  the  mind  feels  in 
the  investigation  of  secrets. 

“ His  best  actions  are  but  [convenient] 
inability  of  wickedness. 

“ When  once  he  had  engaged  himself  in 
disputation  [matter],  thoughts  flowed  in  on 
either  side. 

“ The  abyss  of  an  un-ideal  [emptiness] 
vacancy. 

“ These,  like  [many  other  harlots]  the 
harlots  of  other  men,  had  his  love  though 
not  his  approbation. 

1  It  seems  to  me,  that  there  are  many  pathetic 
passages  in  Johnson’s  works  both  prose  and  verse. 
—Kearney. 


“He  [sometimes  displays]  descends  to  dis- 
play his  knowledge  with  pedantick  ostenta- 
tion. 

“ French  words  which  [were  then  used 
in]  had  then  crept  into  conversation.” 

The  Life  of  Pope2  was  written  by  John- 
son con  amore,  both  from  the  early  posses- 
sion which  that  writer  had  taken  of  his 
mind,  and  from  the  pleasure  which  he  must 
have  felt,  in  forever  silencing  all  attempts 
to  lessen  his  poetical  fame,  by  demonstrat- 
ing his  excellence,  and  pronouncing  the  fol- 
lowing triumphant  eulogium: — “After  all 
this,  it  is  surely  superfluous  to  answer  the 
question  that  has  once  been  asked,  Wheth 
er  Pope  was  a poet?  otherwise  than  by  ask- 
ing in  return,  if  Pope  be  not  a poet,  where  is 
poetry  to  be  found?  To  circumscribe  po- 
etry by  a definition,  will  only  show  the  nar- 
rowness of  the  definer;  though  a definition 
which  shall  exclude  Pope  will  not  easily  be 
made.  Let  us  look  round  upon  the  present 
time,  and  back  upon  the  past;  let  us  inquire 
to  whom  the  voice  of  mankind  has  decreed 
the  wreath  of  poetry;  let  their  productions 
be  examined,  and  their  claims  stated,  and 
the  pretensions  of  Pope  will  be  no  more 
disputed.” 

1 remember  once  to  have  heard  Johnson 
say,  “ Sir,  a thousand  years  may  elapse  be- 
fore there  shall  appear  another  man  with  a 
power  of  versification  equal  to  that  of  Pope.” 
That  power  must  undoubtedly  be  allowed 
its  due  share  in  enhancing  the  value  of  his 
captivating  composition. 

Johnson,  who  had  done  liberal  justice  tc 
Warburton  in  his  edition  of  Shakspeare, 
which  was  published  during  the  life  of  that 
powerful  writer,  with  still  greater  liberality 
took  an  opportunity,  in  the  Life  of  Pope,  of 
paying  the  tribute  due  to  him  when  he  was 
no  longer  in  “ high  place,”  but  numbered 
with  the  dead  3. 


2 [ “ Mr.  D’Israeli,”  as  Mr.  Chalmers  observes, 
“ has  in  the  third  volume  of  his  ‘ Literary  Curios- 
ities,’ favoured  the  public  with  an  original  memo- 
randum of  I)r.  Johnson’s,  of  hints  for  the  ‘ Life 
of  Pope,’  wiitten  down  as  they  were  suggested  to 
his  mind  in  the  course  of  his  researches.  This  is 
none  of  the  least  of  those  gratifications  which  Mr. 
D’Israeli  has  so  frequently  administered  to  the 
lovers  of  literary  history.” — Ed.] 

3 Of  Johnson’s  conduct  towards  Warburton,  a 
very  honourable  notice  is  taken  by  the  editor  of 
“ Tracts  by  Warburton , and  a Warburtoni- 
an,  not  admitted  into  the  collection  of  their  res- 
pective works .”  After  an  able  and  “ fond,  though 
not  undistinguishing,”  consideration  of  War- 
burton’s  character,  he  says,  “ In  two  immortal 
works,  Johnson  has  stood  forth  in  the  foremost 
rank  of  his  admirers.  By  the  testimony  of  such 
a man,  impertinence  must  be  abashed,  and  malig- 
nity itself  must  be  softened.  Of  literary  merit, 
Johnson,  as  we  all  know,  was  a sagacious  but  a 
most  severe  judge.  Such  was  his  discernment, 
that  he  pierced  into  the  most  secret  springs  cf  hu- 


272 


1781. — ASTAT.  72. 


It  seems  strange,  that  two  such  men  as 
Johnson  and  Warburton,  who  lived  in  the 
same  age  and  country,  should  not  only  not 
have  been  in  any  degree  of  intimacy,  but 
been  almost  personally  unacquainted.  But 
such  instances,  though  we  must  wonder  at 
them,  are  not  rare.  If  I am  rightly  in- 
formed, after  a careful  inquiry,  they  never 
met  but  once,  which  was  at  the  house  of 
Mrs.  French,  in  London,  well  known  for 
her  elegant  assemblies,  and  bringing  emi- 
nent characters  together.  The  interview 
proved  to  be  mutually  agreeable. 

Hawk.  [Sir  John  Hawkins,  however, 
Apoph.  relates  that  to  a person  who  asked 
p.  2i3.  a whether  he  had  ever  been  in 
company  with  Dr.  Warburton?”  he  an- 
swered, “ I never  saw  him  till  one  evening, 
about  a week  ago,  at  the  Bishop  of  St. 
[Asaph’s] : at  first  he  looked  surlily  at  me; 
but  after  we  had  been  jostled  into  conversa- 
tion, he  took  me  to  a window,  asked  me 
some  questions,  and  before  we  parted  was 
so  well  pleased  with  me,  that  he  patted  me.” 
“ You  always,  sir,  preserved  a respect  for 

man  actions;  and  such  was  his  integrity,  that  he 
always  weighed  the  moral  characters  of  his  fellow- 
creatures  in  the  ‘ balance  of  the  sanctuary  ’ He 
was  too  courageous  to  propitiate  a rival,  and  too 
proud  to  truckle  to  a superiour.  Warburton  he 
knew,  as  I know  him,  and  as  every  man  of  sense 
and  virtue  would  wish  to  be  known, — I mean, 
both  from  his  own  writings,  and  from  the  writings 
of  those  who  dissented  from  his  principles  or  who 
envied  his  reputation.  But,  as  to  favours,  he  had 
never  received  or  asked  any  from  the  bishop  of 
Gloucester;  and,  if  my  memory  fails  me  not,  he 
had  seen  him  only  once,  when  they  met  almost 
without  design,  conversed  without  much  effort, 
and  parted  without  any  lasting  impression  of  ha- 
tred or  affection.  Yet,  with  all  the  ardour  of  sym- 
pathetic genius,  Johnson  had  done  “that  spontane- 
ously and  ably,  which,  by  some  writers,  had  been 
before  attempted  injudiciously,  and  which,  by  oth- 
ers, from  whom  more  successful  attempts  might 
have  been  expected,  has  not  hitherto  been  done 
at  all.  He  spoke  well  of  Warburton,  without  in- 
sulting those  whom  Warburton  despised.  He 
suppressed  not  the  imperfections  of  this  extraordi- 
nary man,  while  he  endeavoured  to  do  justice  to 
his  numerous  and  transcendental  excellencies.  He 
defended  him  when  living,  amidst  the  clamours 
of  his  enemies  ; and  praised  him  when  dead, 
amidst  the  silence  of  his  friends .” — Having 
availed  myself  of  the  eulogy  of  this  editor  [Z)r. 
Parr]  on  my  departed  friend,  for  which  I warm- 
ly thank  him,  let  me  not  suffer  the  lustre  of  his 
reputation,  honestly  acquired  by  profound  learning 
and  vigorous  eloquence,  to  be  tarnished  by  a 
charge  of  illiberality.  Hie  has  been  accused  of 
invidiously  dragging  again  into  light  certain  wri- 
tings of  a person  [ Bishop  Hurd ] respectable  by 
his  talents,  his  learning,  his  station,  and  his  age, 
which  were  published  a great  many  years  ago, 
and  have  since,  it  is  said,  been  silently  given  up 
oy  their  authour.  But  when  it  is  considered  that 
these  writings  were  not  sins  of  youth , but  delih- 


him  ? ” <c  Yes,  and  justly ; when  as  yet  l was 
in  no  favour  with  the  world,  he  spoke  well  of 
me  h and  I hope  I never  forgot  the  obliga- 
tion.”] 

I am  well  informed,  that  Warburton  said 
of  Johnson,  “ I admire  him,  but  I cannot 
bear  his  style:”  and  that  Johnson  being 
told  of  this,  said,  “ That  is  exactly  my  case 
as  to  him.”  The  manner  in  which  he  ex 
pressed  his  admiration  of  the  fertility  of 
Warburton’s  genius  and  of  the  variety  of 
his  materials,  was  “ The  table  is  always 
full,  sir.  He  brings  things  from  the  north, 
and  the  south,  and  from  every  quarter.  In 
his  ‘ Divine  Legation,’  you  are  always  en- 
tertained. He  carries  you  round  and 
round,  without  carrying  you  forward  to  the 
point,  but  then  you  have  no  wish  to  be 
carried  forward.”  He  said  to  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Strahan,  “Warburton  is  perhaps  the 
last  man  who  has  written  with  a mind  full 
of  reading  and  reflection  ” 

[When  a Scotsman  was  talk-  Jb  2Q8 
ing  against  Warburton,  Johnson  ' p‘ 

erate  works  of  one  well  advanced  in  life,  over- 
flowing at  once  with  flattery  to  a great  man  of 
great  interest  in  the  church,  and  with  unjust  and 
acrimonious  abuse  of  two  men  of  eminent  merit; 
and  that,  though  it  would  have  been  unreasonable 
to  expect  an  humiliating  recantation,  no  apology 
whatever  has  been  made  in  the  cool  of  the  eve- 
ning, for  the  oppressive  fervour  of  the  heat  of  the 
day;  no  slight  relenting  indication  has  appeared 
in  any  note,  or  any  corner  of  later  publications;  is 
it  not  fair  to  understand  him  as  superciliously  per- 
severing ? When  he  allows  the  shafts  to  remain 
in  the  wounds,  and  will  not  stretch  forth  a lenient 
hand,  is  it  wrong,  is  it  not  generous  to  become  an 
indignant  avenger? — Boswell.  [Warburton 

himself  did  not  feel — as  Mr.  Boswell  was  disposed 
to  think  he  did — kindly  or  gratefully  towards 
Johnson:  for  in  one  of  his  letters  to  a friend,  he 
says,  “ The  remarks  he  (Dr.  Johnson)  makes  in 
every  page  on  my  commentaries,  are  full  of  inso- 
lent and  malignant  reflections,  which,  had  they  no* 
in  them  as  much  folly  as  malignity,  I should  hav0 
had  reason  to  be  offended  with.  As  it  is,  I think 
myself  obliged  to  him  in  thus  setting  before  the  pub- 
lick  so  many  of  my  notes,  with  his  remarks  upon 
them:  for  though  I have  no  great  opinion  of  the 
trifling  part  of  the  publick,  which  pretends  to  judge 
of  this  part  of  literature,  in  which  boys  and  girls 
decide,  yet  I think  nobody  can’  be  mistaken  in 
this  comparison:  though  I think  their  thoughts 
have  never  yet  extended  thus  far  as  to  reflect, 
that  to  discover  the  corruption  in  an  authour 's 
text,  and  by  a happy  sagacity  to  restore  it  to 
sense,  is  no  easy  task:  but  when  the  discovery  is 
made,  then  to  cavil  at  the  conjecture,  to  propose 
an  equivalent,  and  defend  nonsense,  by  producing 
out  of  the  thick  darkness  it  occasions  a weak  and 
faint  glimmering  of  sense  (which  has  been  the 
business  of  this  editor  throughout),  is  the  easiest, 
as  well  as  the  dullest,  of  all  literary  efforts.” — 
Warburton’ s Letters  published  by  Bp.  Hurd t 
8vo.  367.— Ed.] 

1 In  his  Preface  to  Shakspeare 


1781  — AETAT.  72. 


273 


said  he  had  more  literature  than  had  been 
imported  from  Scotland  since  the  days  of 
Buchanan.  Upon  his  mentioning  other 
eminent  writers  of  the  Scots — “ These  will 
not  do,”  said  Johnson;  “ let  us  have  some 
more  of  your  northern  lights;  these  are 
mere  farthing  candles.”] 

It  is  remarkable,  that  in  the  Life  of 
Broome,  Johnson  takes  notice  of  Dr.  War- 
burton’s  using  a mode  of  expression  which 
he  himself  used,  and  that  not  seldom,  to  the 
great  offence  of  those  who  did  not  know 
him.  Having  occasion  to  mention  a note, 
stating  the  different  parts  which  were  exe- 
cuted by  the  associated  translators  of  “ The 
Odyssey,”  he  says,  cc  Dr.  Warburton  told 
me,  in  his  warm  language,  that  he  thought 
the  relation  given  in  the  note  a lie .”  The 
language  is  warm  indeed;  and,  I must  own, 
cannot  be  justified  in  consistency  with  a 
decent  regard  to  the  established  forms  of 
speech.  Johnson  had  accustomed  himself 
to  use  the  word  lie,  to  express  a mistake  or 
an  errour  in  relation;  in  short,  when  the 
thing  was  not  so  as  told , though  the  relater 
did  not  mean  to  deceive.  When  he  thought 
there  was  intentional  falsehood  in  the  rela- 
ter, his  expression  was,  “ He  lies,  and  he 
knows  he  lies” 

Speaking  of  Pope’s  not  having  been 
known  to  excel  in  conversation,  Johnson 
observes,  that  “ traditional  memory  retains 
*o  sallies  of  raillery,  or  sentences  of  obser- 
.ation  ; nothing  either  pointed  or  solid, 
jvise  or  merry;  and  that  one  apophthegm 
only  is  recorded.”  In  this  respect,  Pope 
differed  widely  from  Johnson,  whose  con- 
versation was,  perhaps,  more  admirable 
than  even  his  writings,  however  excellent. 
Mr.  Wilkes  has,  however,  favoured  me 
with  one  repartee  of  Pope,  of  which  John- 
son was  not  informed.  Johnson,  after' 
justly  censuring  him  for  having  “ nursed  in 
his  mind  a foolish  disesteem  of  kings,”  tells 
us, tc  yet  a little  regard  shown  him  by  the 
Prince  of  Wales  molted  his  obduracy;  and 
he  had  not  much  to  say  when  he  was  asked 
by  his  royal  highness,  how  he  could  love  a 
prince  while  he  disliked  kings'!”  The 
answer  which  Pope  made  was,  “ The  young 
lion  is  harmless,  and  even  playful;  hut 
when  his  claws  are  full  grown,  he  becomes 
cruel,  dreadful,  and  mischievous.” 

But  although  we  have  no  collection  of 
Pope’s  sayings,  it  is  not  therefore  to  be  con- 
cluded, that  he  was  not  agreeable  in  social 
intercourse;  for  Johnson  has  been  heard  to 
say,  that  “ the  happiest  conversation  is  that 
of  which  nothing  is  distinctly  remembered, 
but  a general  effect  of  pleasing  impression.” 
The  late  Lord  Somerville1,  who  saw  much 


1  James  Lord  Somerville,  who  died  in  1763. — 
Malone  [He  was  the  13th  lord,  and  died  in 
1766. — Ed.]  Let  me  here  express  my  grateful 
vol  ii  35 


both  of  great  and  brilliant  life,  told  me, 
that  he  had  dined  in  company  with  Pope, 
and  that  after  dinner  the  little  man,  as  he 
called  him,  drank  his  bottle  of  Burgundy  2, 
and  was  exceedingly  gay  and  entertaining. 

I cannot  withhold  from  my  great  friend  a 
censure  of  at  least  culpable  inattention  to  a 
nobleman,  who,  it  has  been  shown,  behaved 
to  him  with  uncommon  politeness.  He 
says,  “ except  Lord  Bathurst,  none  of 
Pope’s  noble  friends  were  such  as  that  a 
good  man  would  wish  to  have  his  intimacy 
wjth  them  known  to  posterity.”  This  will 
not  apply  to  Lord  Mansfield,  who  was  not 
ennobled  in  Pope’s  life-time  ; but  Johnson 
should  have  recollected,  that  Lord  March- 
mont  was  one  of  those  noble  friends  3.  He 
includes  his  lordship  along  with  Lord  Bol- 
ingbroke,  in  a charge  of  neglect  of  the  pa- 
pers which  Pope  left  by  his  will;  when,  in 
truth,  as  I myself  pointed  out  to  him,  be- 
fore he  wrote  that  poet’s  life,  the  papers 
were  “committed  to  the  sole  care  and  judg- 
ment of  Lord  Bolingbroke,  unless  he  (Lord 
Bolingbroke)  shall  not  survive  me  ; ” so 
that  Lord  Marchmont  has  no  concern 
whatever  with  them.  After  the  first  edi- 
tion of  the  Lives,  Mr.  Malone,  whose  love 
of  justice  is  equal  to  his  accuracy,  made,  in 
my  hearing,  the  same  remark  to  Johnson  ; 
yet  he  omitted  to  correct  the  erroneous 
statement4.  These  particulars  I mention, 
in  the  belief  that  there  was  only  forgetful 
ness  in  my  friend  ; but  I owe  this  much  to 
the  Earl  of  Marchmont’s  reputation,  who, 
were  there  no  other  memorials,  will  be  im 


remembrance  of  Lord  Somerville’s  kindness  to 
me,  at  a very  early  period.  He  was  the  first  per 
son  of  high  rank  that  took  particular  notice  of  me 
in  the  way  most  flattering  to  a young  man,  fondly 
ambitious  of  being  distinguished  for  his  literary 
talents;  and  by  the  honour  of  his  encouragement 
made  me  think  well  of  myself,  and  aspire  to  de- 
serve it  better.  He  had  a happy  art  of  communi- 
cating his  varied  knowledge  of  the  world,  in  short 
remarks  and  anecdotes,  with  a quiet  pleasant 
gravity,  that  was  exceedingly  engaging.  Never 
shall  I forget  the  hours  which  I enjoyed  with  him 
at  his  apartments  in  the  royal  palace  of  Holyrood 
House,  and  at  his  seat  near  Edinburgh,  which 
he  himself  had  formed  with  an  elegant  taste. — 
Boswell. 

2 [This  must  surely  be  a mistake;  Pope  never 
could  have  been  in  the  habit  of  drinking  a bottle 
of  Burgundy  at  a sitting. — Ed.] 

3 [He  said,  on  a subsequent  occasion,  hat 
another  of  Pope’s  noble  friends,  “Lord  Peter- 
borough, was  a favourite  of  his.”  See  post, 
27th  June,  1784. — Ed.] 

4 This  neglect,  however,  assuredly  did  not  aiise 
from  any  ill-will  towards  Lord  Marchmont,  bu 
from. inattention;  just  as  he  neglected  to  correct 
his  statement  concerning  the  family  of  Thomson, 
the  poet,  after  it  had  been  shown  to  be  errcneom 
— Malone. 


274 


1781. — iETAT.  72 


mortalized  by  that  line  of  Pope,  in  the  ver- 
ses on  his  Grotto: 

‘ And  the  bright  flame  was  shot  through  March- 
mont’s  soul.” 

VARIOUS  READINGS  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  POPE. 

“ [Somewhat  free]  sufficiently  bold  in 
nis  criticism. 

“ All  the  gay  [niceties]  varieties  of  dic- 
tion. 

“ Strikes  the  imagination  with  far  [more] 
greater  force. 

“ It  is  [probably]  certainly  the  noblest 
version  of  poetry  which  the  world  has  ever 
seen. 

“ Every  sheet  enabled  him  to  write  the 
next  with  [less  trouble]  more  facility. 

“ No  man  sympathizes  with  [vanity  de- 
pressed] the  sorrows  of  vanity. 

££  It  had  been  [criminal]  less  easily  ex- 
cused. 

“ When  he  [threatened  to  lay  down] 
talked  of  laying  down  his  pen. 

“ Society  [is  so  named  emphatically  in 
opposition  to]  politically  regulated , is  a 
state  contra-distinguished  from  a state  of 
nature. 

“ A fictitious  life  of  an  [absurd]  infatu- 
ated scholar. 

“ A foolish  [contempt,  disregard,]  dises- 
teem  of  kings. 

“ His  hopes  and  fears,  his  joys  and  sor- 
rows [were  like  those  of  other  mortals] 
acted  strongly  upon  his  mind. 

“ Eager  to  pursue  knowledge  and  atten- 
tive to  [accumulate]  retain  it. 

“ A mind  [excursive]  active,  ambitious, 
and  adventurous. 

“ In  its  [noblest]  widest  searches  still 
longing  to  go  forward. 

“ He  wrote  in  such  a manner  as  might 
expose  him  to  few  [neglects]  hazards. 

“ The  [reasonableness]  justice  of  my  de- 
termination. 

“ A [favourite]  delicious  employment  of 
the  poets. 

“ More  terrifick  and  more  powerful  [be- 
.ngs]  phantoms  perform  on  the  stormy 
ocean. 

££  The  inventor  of  [those]  this  petty 
[beings]  nation. 

“ The  [mind]  heart  naturally  loves  truth.” 

In  the  Life  of  Addison  we  find  an  un- 
pleasing account  of  his  having  lent  Steele 
a hundred  pounds,  and  “ reclaimed  his  loan 
by  an  execution.”  In  the  new  edition  of 
the  Biographia  Britannica,  the  authentici- 
ty of  this  anecdote  is  denied.  But  Mr. 
Malone  has  obliged  me  with  the  fol- 
lowing note  concerning  it: — 

« 15th  March,  1781. 

“ Many  persons  having  doubts  concern- 
ng  this  fact,  I applied  to  Dr.  Johnson,  to 
earn  on  what  authority  lie  asserted  it.  He 


told  me,  he  had  it  from  Savage,  who  lived 
in  intimacy  with  Steele,  and  who  mentioned, 
that  Steele  told  him  the  story  with  tears  in 
his  eyes.  Ben  Victor,  Dr.  Johnson  said, 
likewise  informed  him  of  this  remarkable 
transaction,  from  the  relation  of  Mr. 
Wilkes  the  comedian,  who  was  also  an  in- 
timate of  Steele’s 1 . Some,  in  defence  of  Ad- 
dison, have  said,  that  ‘ the  act  was  done  with 
the  good-natured  view  of  rousing  Steele, 
and  correcting  that  profusion  which  always 
made  him  necessitous.’  ‘ If  that  were  the 
case,’  said  Johnson,  £ and  that  he  only 
wanted  to  alarm  Steele,  he  would  after- 
wards have  returned  the  money  to  his 
friend,  which  it  is  not  pretended  he  did.’ 
‘ This,  too,’  he  added,  ‘ might  be  retorted 
by  an  advocate  for  Steele,  who  might  al- 
lege, that  he  did  not  repay  the  loan  inten- 
tionally, merely  to  see  whether  Addison 
would  be  mean  and  ungenerous  enough  to 
make  use  of  legal  process  to  recover  it 2. 
But  of  such  speculations  there  is  no  end: 
we  cannot  dive  into  the  hearts  of  men;  but 
their  actions  are  open  to  observation.’ 

“ I then  mentioned  to  him  that  some  peo- 
ple thought  that  Mr.  Addison’s  character 
was  so  pure,  that  the  fact,  though  true, 
ought  to  have  been  suppressed.  He  saw 
no  reason  for  this.  £ If  nothing  but  the 
bright  side  of  characters  should  be  shown, 
we  should  sit  down  in  despondency,  and 
think  it  utterly  impossible  to  imitate  them 
in  any  thing.  The  sacred  writers,’  he  ob- 
served, £ related  the  vicious  as  well  as  the 
virtuous  actions  of  men;  which  had  this 
moral  effect,  that  it  kept  mankind  from  de- 
spair, into  which  otherwise  they  would  na- 
turally fall,  were  they  not  supported  by  the 
recollection  that  others  had  offended  like 
themselves,  and  by  penitence  and  amend- 
ment of  life  had  been  restored  to  the  favour 
of  Heaven3.’  c<  E.  M.’* 


1 The  late  Mr.  Burke  informed  me,  in  1792, 
that  Lady  Dorothea  Primrose,  who  died  at  a great 
age,  I think  in  1768,  and  had  been  well  acquaint- 
ed with  Steele,  told  him  the  same  story. — Ma 
lone. 

2 [If  the  story  be  at  all  true — the  most  proba 
ble  explanation  is  that  which  was  given  by  Mr. 
Thomas  Sheridan  (see  post,  15th  April,  1781), 
namely,  that  it  was  a friendly  execution  put  in 
to  screen  Steele’s  goods  from  hostile  creditors. 
A not  infrequent  practice,  nor  quite  unjustifiable, 
if  the  debt  be  real. — Ed.] 

3 I have  since  observed,  that  Johnson  has  fur 
ther  enforced  the  propriety  of  exhibiting  the  faults 
of  virtuous  and  eminent  men  in  their  true  colours, 
in  the  last  paragraph  of  the  164th  Number  of  his 
Rambler.  “ It  is  particularly  the  duty  of  those 
who  consign  illustrious  names  to  posterity,  to  take 
care  lest  their  readers  be  misled  by  ambiguous 
examples.  That  writer  may  be  justly  condemned 
as  an  enemy  to  goodness,  who  sutlers  fondness  or 
interest  to  confound  right  with  wrong,  or  to  she!- 


1781. — ASTAT.  72. 


275 


1 he  last  paragraph  of  this  note  is  of  great 
importance;  and  I request  that  my  readers 
may  consider  it  with  particular  attention. 
It  will  be  afterwards  referred  to  in  this 
work 

VARIOUS  READINGS  IN  THE  LIFE  OF 
ADDISON. 

“ [But  he  was  our  first  example.]  He 
was , however , one  of  our  earliest  examples 
of  correctness. 

“ And  [overlook]  despise  their  masters. 

" His  instructions  were  such  as  the  [state] 
character  of  his  [own  time]  readers  made 
[necessary]  proper. 

“ His  purpose  was  to  [diffuse]  infuse  lit- 
erary curiosity  by  gentle  and  unsuspected 
conveyance  [among]  into  the  gay,  the  idle, 
and  the  wealthy. 

“ Framed  rather  for  those  that  [wish] 
are  learning  to  write. 

“ Domestick  [manners]  scenes .” 

[In  the  Life  of  Gay,  the  “ female 
Pl°i25’  criticj”  as  he  ca^s  her  whose  obser- 
p'  ‘ vation  “ that  Gay  was  a poet  of  a 
lower  order 55  he  records,  was  his  own  wife.] 

In  his  Life  of  Parnell,  I wonder  that 
Johnson  omitted  to  insert  an  epitaph  which 
he  had  long  before  composed  for  that  amia- 
ble man,  without  ever  writing  it  down,  but 
which  he  was  so  good  as,  at  my  request,  to 
dictate  to  me,  by  which  means  it  has  been 
preserved. 

“ Hie  requiescit  Thomas  Parnell,  S.  T.  P. 

“ Q,ui  sacerdos  pariter  et  poeta, 

Utrasque  partes  ita  implevit, 

Ut  neque  sacerdoti  suavitas  poetae, 

Nec  poetae  sacerdotis  sanctitas,  deesset.” 

VARIOUS  READINGS  IN  THE  LIFE  OF 
PARNELL. 

“ About  three  years  [after]  afterwards. 

“ [Did  not  much  want]  was  in  no  great 
need  of  improvement. 

“ But  his  prosperity  did  not  last  long 
[was  clouded  with  that  which  took  away 
all  his  powers  of  enjoying  either  profit  or 
pleasure,  the  death  of  his  wife,  whom  he  is 
said  to  have  lamented  with  such  sorrow,  as 
hastened  his  end* 1.]  His  end,  whatever 
was  the  cause,  was  now  approaching. 

ter  the  faults  which  even  the  wisest  and  the  best 
have  committed,  from  that  ignominy  which  guilt 
ought  always  to  suffer,  and  with  which  it  should 
be  more  deeply  stigmatized,  when  dignified  by 
its  neighbourhood  to  uncommon  worth;  since  we 
shall  be  in  danger  of  beholding  it  without  abhor- 
rence, unless  its  turpitude  be  laid  open,  and  the 
eye  secured  from  the  deception  of  surrounding 
splendour.” — Malone. 

1 I should  have  thought  that  Johnson,  who  had 
felt  the  severe  affliction  from  which  Parnell  never 
recovered,  would  have  preserved  this  passage. 
He  omitted  it,  doubtless,  because  he  afterwards 
learned  that  however  he  might  have  lamented 


“In  the  Hermit,  the  [composition]  nar- 
rative,  as  it  is  less  airy,  is  less  pleasing.” 

In  the  Life  of  Blackmore,  we  find  tha 
writer’s  reputation  generously  cleared  by 
Johnson  from  the  cloud  of  prejudice  which 
the  malignity  of  contemporary  wits  had 
raised  around  it.  In  the  spirited  exertion 
of  justice,  he  has  been  imitated  by  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  in  his  praise  of  the  archi- 
tecture of  Vanburgh. 

We  trace  Johnson’s  own  character  in  his 
observations  on  Blackmore’s  “ magnanimi- 
ty as  an  authour.”  “ The  incessant  attacks 
of  his  enemies,  whether  serious  or  merry, 
are  never  discovered  to  have  disturbed  his 
quiet,  or  to  have  lessened  his  confidence  in 
himself.”  Johnson,  I recollect,  once  told 
me,  laughing  heartily,  that  he  understood  it 
has  been  said  of  him,  “ He  appears  not  to 
feel;  but  when  he  is  alone , depend  upon  it, 
he  suffers  sadly.”  I am  as  certain  as  I can 
be  of  any  man’s  real  sentiments,  that  he  en- 
joyed the  perpetual  shower  of  little  hostile 
arrows,  as  evidences  of  his  fame. 

VARIOUS  READINGS  IN  THE  LIFE  01 
BLACKMORE. 

“ To  [set]  engage  poetry  [on  the  side] 
in  the  cause  of  virtue. 

“ He  likewise  [established]  enforced  the 
truth  of  Revelation. 

“ [Kindness]  benevolence  was  ashamed  to 
favour. 

“ His  practice,  which  was  once  [very  ex 
tensive]  invidiously  great. 

“ There  is  scarcely  any  distemper  of 
dreadful  name  [of]  which  he  has  not 
[shown]  taught  his  reader  how  [it  is  to  be 
opposed]  to  oppose. 

“ Of  this  [contemptuous]  indecent  arro- 
gance. 

“ [He  wrote]  but  produced  likewise  a 
work  of  a diff  erent  kind. 

“ At  least  [written]  compiled  with  in- 
tegrity. 

“ Faults  which  many  tongues  [were  de- 
sirous] would  have  made  haste  to  publish. 

“ But  though  he  [had  not]  could  not  boast 
of  much  critical  knowledge. 

“ He  [used]  waited  for  no  felicities  of 
fancy. 

“ Or  had  ever  elated  his  [mind]  views  to 
that  ideal  perfection  which  every  [mind] 
genius  born  to  excel  is  condemned  always 
to  pursue  and  never  to  overtake. 

“ The  [first  great]  fundamental  principle 
of  wisdom  and  of  virtue.” 

VARIOUS  READINGS  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  PHILIPS. 

“ His  dreaded  [rival]  antagonist  Pope. 

“ They  [have  not  often  much]  are  not 
loaded  with  thought. 


his  wife,  his  end  wa » hastened  by  other  means.—* 
Malone. 


*76 


1781.— AETAT  72. 


“ In  his  translation  from  Pindar,  he  [will 
not  be  denied  to  have  reached]  found  the  art 
of  'tacking  ail  the  obscurity  of  the  Theban 
bard.” 

VARIOUS  READINGS  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  CON- 
GREVE. 

“ Congreve’s  conversation  must  surely 
have  been  at  least  equally  pleasing  with  his 
writings. 

“ It  apparently  [requires]  presupposes  a 
similar  knowledge  of  many  characters. 

“ Reciprocation  of  [similes]  conceits. 

“ The  dialogue  is  quick  and  [various] 
sparkling. 

“ Love  for  Love;  a comedy  [more  drawn 
from  life]  of  nearer  alliance  to  life. 

“ The  general  character  of  his  miscella- 
nies is,  that  they  show  little  wit  and  [no] 
little  virtue. 

“ [Perhaps]  certainly  he  had  not  the 
fire  requisite  for  the  higher  species  of  lyrick 
poetry.” 

VARIOUS  READINGS  IN  THE  LIFE  OF 
TICKELL 

“ [Longed]  long  wished  to  peruse  it. 

“ At  the  [accession]  arrival  of  King 
George  1. 

“ Fiction  [unnaturally]  unskilfully  com- 
pounded of  Grecian  deities  and  Gothick  fai- 
ries.” 

VARIOUS  READINGS  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  AKEN- 
SIDE. 

“For  [another]  a different  purpose. 

“ [A  furious]  an  unnecessary  and  outra- 
geous zeal. 

“ [Something  which]  what  he  called  and 
thought  liberty. 

“ [A  favourer  of  innovation]  lover  of  con- 
tradiction. 

“ Warburton’s  [censure]  objections. 

“ His  rage  [for  liberty]  of  patriotism. 

“ Mr.  Dyson  with  [a  zeal]  an  ardour  of 
friendship.” 

In  the  Life  of  Lyttelton,  Johnson  seems 
to  have  been  not  favourably  disposed  to- 
wards that  nobleman.  Mrs.  Thrale  sug- 
gests that  he  was  offended  by  [Miss  Hill 
Boothby ’s2]  preference  of  his  lordship  to 
him  3.  [After  mentioning  the  death  of  Mrs. 

1 [The  reader  will  observe  that  the  whig  term 
“ accession ,”  which  might  imply  legality , was 
altered  into  a statement  of  the  simple  fact  of  King 
George's  “ arrival .” — Ed.] 

2 [Mr.  Boswell  had,  instead  of  Miss  Boothby' s 
name,  inserted  that  of  Molly  Aston;  an  error 
which  he  would  not  have  forgiven  to  Mrs.  Piozzi. 
-Ed.] 

3 Let  not  my  readers  smile  to  think  of  Joh-» 
son's  being  a candidate  for  female  favour  ; M» 

Peter  Garrick  assured  me  that  he  was  told  by  i 
lady,  that,  in  her  opinion,  Johnson  was  “ a ver) 

t educing  man.”  Disadvantages  of  person  amf 


Fitzherbert  and  Johnson’s  high  ad- 
miration  of  her,  she  adds,  “ The 
friend  of  this  lady,  Miss  Boothby  4, 
succeeded  her  in  the  management  of  Mr. 
Fitzherbert’s  family,  and  in  the  esteem  of 
Dr.  Johnson;  though  he  told  me,  she  push 
ed  her  piety  to  bigotry,  her  devotion  to  en 
thusiasm;  that  she  somewhat  disqualified 
herself  for  the  duties  of  this  life,  by  her  per- 
petual aspirations  after  the  next:  such  was, 
however,  the  purity  of  her  mind,  he  said, 
and  such  the  graces  of  her  manner,  that 
Lord  Lyttelton  and  he  used  to  strive  for  her 
preference  with  an  emulation  that  occasion- 
ed hourly  disgust,  and  ended  in  lasting  ani 
mosity.  ‘ You  may  see,’  said  he  to  me, 
‘ when  the  Poets’  Lives  were  printed,  that 
dear  Boothby  is  at  my  heart  still.  She 
would  delight  on  that  fellow  Lyttelton’s 
company  all  I could  do,  and  I cannot  for- 
give even  his  memory  the  preference  given 
by  a mind  like  hers.’  ” Baretti  has  been 
heard  to  say,  that,  when  this  lady  died,  Dr 
Johnson  was  almost  distracted  with  grief, 
and  that  his  friends  about  him  had  much  to 
do  to  calm  the  violence  of  his  emotions  5.  ] 


manner  may  be  forgotten,  where  intellectual  plea- 
sure is  communicated  to  a susceptible  mind;  and 
that  Johnson  was  capable  of  feeling  the  most  del- 
icate and  disinterested  attachment  appears  from 
the  following  letter,  which  is  published  by  Mrs. 
Thrale,  with  some  others  to  the  same  person,  of 
which  the  excellence  is  not  so  apparent: 

“ TO  MISS  BOOTHBY. 

“January,  1755. 

“ Dearest  madam, — Though  I am  afrai f 
your  illness  leaves  you  little  leisure  for  the  recep 
tion  of  airy  civilities,  yet  I cannot  forbear  to  pay 
you  my  congratulations  on  the  new  year;  and  to 
declare  my  wishes  that  your  years  to  come  maj 
be  many  and  happy.  In  this  wish,  indeed,  I 
include  myself,  who  have  none  but  you  on 
whom  my  heart  reposes;  yet  surely  I wish  your 
good,  even  though  your  situation  were  such  aa 
should  permit  you  to  communicate  no  gratifica- 
tions to,  dearest,  dearest  madam,  your,  &c. 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

4 Miss  Hill  Boothby,  who  was  the  only  daugh- 
ter of  Brook  Boothby,  Esq.  and  his  wife,  Eliza- 
beth Fitzherbert,  was  somewhat  older  than  John- 
son. She  was  bom  October  27,  1708,  and  died 
January  16, 1757.  Six  Letters  addressed  to  her  by 
Johnson  in  the  year  1755  are  printed  in  Mrs.  Pi- 
ozzi’s  Collection;  and  a prayer  composed  by  him 
on  her  death  may  be  found  in  his  “ Prayers  and 
Meditations.”  His  affection  for  her  induced  him 
to  preserve  and  bind  up  in  a volume  thirty-three 
of  her  Letters,  which  were  purchased  from  the 

I widow  of  his  servant,  Francis  Barber,  and  pub- 
; lished  by  R.  Phillips  in  1805. — Malone. 

5 [Notwithstanding  the  mention  of  the  “ heart ” 
in  Mrs.  Piozzi’s  anecdote  and  in  the  foregoing 
letter,  there  seems  no  reason  to  suppose  that  (a» 
Miss  Seward  asserted)  this  was  really  an  affair  of 


1781. — A2TAT.  72. 


271 


l can  by  no  means  join  in  the  censure  ! 
bestowed  by  Johnson  on  his  lordship,  whom 
ne  calls  “ poor  Lyttelton,”  for  returning 
thanks  to  the  critical  reviewers,  for  having 
“kindly  commended”  his  “Dialogues  of 
the  Dead.”  Such  “ acknowledgments,” 
says  my  friend,  “ never  can  be  proper, 
since  they  must  be  paid  either  for  flattery 
or  for  justice.”  In  my  opinion,  the  most 
upright  man,  who  has  been  tried  on  a false 
accusation,  may,  when  he  is  acquitted, 
make  a bow  to  his  jury.  And  when  those, 
who  are  so  much  the  arbiters  of  literary 
merit,  as  in  a considerable  degree  to  influ- 
ence the  public  opinion,  review  an  au- 
thour’s  work,  placido  lumine , when  I am 
afraid  mankind  in  general  are  better  pleased 
with  severity,  he  may  surely  express  a 
grateful  sense  of  their  civility. 

VARIOUS  READINGS  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  LYT- 
TELTON. 

“ He  solaced  [himself]  his  grief  by  writ- 
ing a long  poem  to  her  memory. 

“ The  production  rather  [of  a mind  that 
means  well,  than  thinks  vigorously]  as  it 
seems  of  leisure  than  of  study , rather  effu- 
sions than  compositions. 

“ His  last  literary  [work]  production. 

[“  Found  the  way]  undertook  to  per- 
suade.” 

As  the  introduction  to  his  critical  exami- 
nation of  the  genius  and  writings  of  Young, 
he  did  Mr.  Herbert  Croft,  then  a barrister 

the  heart — “ an  early  attachment  ” (see  ante, 
vol.  i.  p.  29).  The  other  letters,  of  which  Bos- 
well says  that  “ their  merit  is  not  so  apparent,” 
(but  which  will  be  found  in  the  Appendix),  are 
written  in  still  warmer  terms  of  affection:  Miss 
Boothby  is  “ a sweet  angel,”  and  “ a dear  angel,” 
and  his  “ heart  is  full  of  tenderness;  ” but  when 
the  whole  series  of  letters  is  read,  it  will  be 
seen  that  the  friendship  began  late  in  the  life  of 
both  parties;  that  it  was  wholly  platonic,  or  to 
speak  more  properly,  spiritual;  and  that  the  let- 
ters in  which  these  very  affectionate  expressions 
occur,  were  written  when  Johnson  believed  that 
Miss  Boothby  was  dying.  It  must  also  be  ob- 
served, that  it  is  very  unlikely  that  Johnson  should 
seriously  confess  that  he  had  been  so  unjust  to 
Lord  Lyttelton  from  any  private  pique  ; and  it 
6eems,  by  his  letters  to  Mrs.  Thrale  (ante,  1st 
Aug.  1780,  p.  236),  that  he  had  no  such  feeling 
towards  Lyttelton,  and  that  he  had  applied  to  his 
lordship’s  friends,  to  write  the  life;  and  finally,  it 
is  to  be  noted,  Lord  Lyttelton  married  his  second 
lady  in  1749,  and  Johnson  does  not  seem  to  have 
known  Miss  Boothby  till  1754.  In  short,  the 
Editor  has  no  doubt,  nor  will  any  one  who  reads 
the  letters,  and  considers  how  little  personal  inter- 
course there  could  have  been  between  Miss  Booth- 
by and  Dr.  Johnson,  that  the  whole  story  is  a 
mistake,  founded,  perhaps,  on  some  confusion 
between  Miss  Boothby  and  Miss  Aston,  and  coun- 
tenanced, it  must  be  admitted,  by  the  warm  ex- 
pressions of  the  letters. — Ed.] 


of  Lincoln’s-inn,  now  a clergyman1,  the 
honour  to  adopt  a Life  of  Young,  wr  tten 
by  that  gentleman,  who  was  the  friend  of 
Dr.  Young’s  son,  and  wished  to  vindicate 
him  from  some  very  erroneous  remarks  to 
his  prejudice.  Mr.  Croft’s  performance 
was  subjected  to  the  revision  of  Dr.  John- 
son, as  appears  from  the  following  note  to 
Mr.  John  Nichols2  : 

“ This  Life  of  Dr.  Young  was  written 
by  a friend  of  his  son.  What  is  crossed 
with  black  is  expunged  by  the  authour, 
what  is  crossed  with  red  is  expunged  by 
me.  If  you  find  any  thing  more  that  can 
be  well  omitted,  I shall  not  be  sorry  to  see 
it  yet  shorter.” 

It  has  always  appeared  to  me  to  have  a con- 
siderable share  of  merit,  and  to  display  a pret- 
ty successful  imitation  of  Johnson’s  style. 
When  I mentioned  this  to  a very  eminent 
literary  character3,  he  opposed  me  vehe- 
mently, exclaiming,  “ No,  no,  it  is  not  a 
good  imitation  of  Johnson  ; it  has  all  his 
pomp  without  his  force  ; it  has  all  the 'no- 
dosities of  the  oak  without  its  strength.” 
This  was  an  image  so  happy,  that  one 
might  have  thought  he  would  have  been 
satisfied  with  it ; but  he  was  not.  And 
setting  his  mind  again  to  work,  he  added, 
with  exquisite  felicity,  “ It  has  all  the  con- 
tortions of  the  sibyl,  without  the  inspira- 
tion.” 

Mr.  Croft  very  properly  guards  us 
against  supposing  that  Young  was  a gloomy 
man  ; and  mentions,  that  “ his  parish  was 
indebted  to  the  good-humour  of  the  au- 
thour of  the  ‘ Night  Thoughts  ’ for  an  as- 
sembly and  a bowling-green.”  A letter 
from  a noble  foreigner  is  quoted,  in  which 
he  is  said  to  have  been  “ very  pleasant  in 
conversation.” 

Mr.  Langton,  who  frequently  visited  him, 
informs  me  that  there  was  an  air  of  benevo- 
lence in  his  manner,  but  that  he  could  ob- 
tain from  him  less  information  than  he  had 
hoped  to  receive  from  one  who  had  lived  so 
much  in  intercourse  with  the  brightest  men 
of  what  has  been  called  the  Augustan  age 
of  England  ; and  that  he  showed  a degree 
of  eager  curiosity  concerning  the  common 
occurrences  that  were  then  passing,  which 
appeared  somewhat  remarkable  in  a man 
of  such  intellectual  stores,  of  such  an  ad- 
vanced age,  and  who  had  retired  from  life 
with  declared  disappointment  in  his  expec- 
tations. 

An  instance  at  once  of  his  pensive  turn 
of  mind,  and  his  cheerfulness  of  temper, 

1 [Afterwards  Sir  Herbert  Croft,  bart.  He  died 
at  Paris,  after  a residence  of  fifteen  years  in  that 
city,  April  27,  1816.  See  Gent.  Mag.  for  May, 
1816.— Ed.] 

2 Gentleman’s  Magazine,  vol.  iv  p.  10  — 
Boswell. 

3 Mr.  Burke. — Malone. 


278 


1781.— jETAT.  72. 


appeared  in  a little  stoit , which  he  himself 
told  to  Mr.  Langton,  when  they  were  walk- 
ing in  his  garden  : “ Here  (said  he)  I had 
put  a handsome  sun-dial,  with  this  inscrip- 
tion, Eheu  fugaces  ! which  (speaking  with 
a smile)  was  sadly  verified,  for  by  the  next 
morning  my  dial  had  been  carried  off1.” 

It  gives  me  much  pleasure  to  observe, 
that  however  Johnson  may  have  casually 
talked,  yet  when  he  sits,  as  “ an  ardent 
judge  zealous  to  his  trust,  giving  sentence  ” 
upon  the  excellent  works  of  Young,  he 
allows  them  the  high  praise  to  which  they 
are  justly  entitled.  “ The  Universal  Pas- 
sion,” says  he,  “is  indeed  a very  great 
performance, — his  distichs  have  the  weight 
of  solid  sentiment,  and  his  points  the  sharp- 
ness of  resistless  truth.” 

[The  person  spoken  of  in  John- 
Pi“zi»  son’s  strictures  on  the  poetry  of 
p'  ' Young,  “ as  a lady  of  whose  praise 
he  would  have  been  justly  proud,”  was 
Mrs.  Thrale,  who  was  a great  admirer  of 
Young,  and  one  day  forced  Johnson  to  prefer 
Young’s  description  of  night  to  the  so-much- 
admired  ones  of  Dryden  and  Shakspeare, 
as  more  forcible  and  more  general.  Every 
reader  is  not  either  a lover  or  a tyrant,  but 
every  reader  is  interested  when  he  hears 
that 

“ Creation  sleeps;  ’t  is  as  the  general  pulse 
Of  life  stood  still,  and  nature  made  a pause — 
An  awful  pause — prophetic  of  its  end.” 

“ This,”  said  he,  “ is  true  ; but  remember 
that  taking  the  compositions  of  Young  in 
general,  they  are  but  like  bright  stepping- 
stones  over  a miry  road  : Young  froths, 
and  foams,  and  bubbles,  sometimes  very 
vigorously  ; but  we  must  not  compare  the 
noise  made  by  your  tea-kettle  here  with  the 
roaring  of  the  ocean.”] 

But  I was  mos,t  anxious  concerning  John- 
son’s decision  upon  “ Night  Thoughts,” 
which  I esteem  as  a mass  of  the  grandest 
and  richest  poetry  that  human  genius  has 
ever  produced  ; and  was  delighted  to  find 
this  character  of  that  work  : “In  his 
‘ Night  Thoughts,’  he  has  exhibited  a very 
wide  display  of  original  poetry,  variegated 
with  deep  reflection  and  striking  allusions  * 
a wilderness- of  thought,  in  which  the  fer- 
tility of  fancy  scatters  flowers  of  every  hue 
and  of  every  odour.  This  is  one  of  the 


1 The  late  Mr.  James  Ralph  told  Lord  Macart- 
ney, that  he  passed  an  evening  with  Dr.  Young  at 
Lord  Melcombe’s  (then  Mr.  Doddington),  at 
Hammersmith.  The  doctor  happening  to  go  out 
into  the  garden,  Mr.  Doddington  observed  to  him, 
on  his  return,  that  it  was  a dreadful  night,  as  in 
truth  it  was,  there  being  a violent  storm  of  rain 
and  wind.  “ No,  sir,”  replied  the  doctor,  “ it  is 
u very  fine  night.  The  Lord  is  abroad  ! ” — Bos- 

WELL. 


few  poems  in  whicn  blank  verse  could  not 
be  changed  for  rhyn  e,  but  with  disadvan- 
tage.” And  afterwards,  “ Particular  lines 
are  not  to  be  regarded  ; the  power  is  in  the 
whole  ; and  in  the  whole  there  is  a mag- 
nificence like  that  ascribed  to  Chinese 
plantation,  the  magnificence  of  vast  extent 
and  endless  diversity.” 

But  there  is  in  this  poem  not  only  all  that 
Johnson  so  well  brings  in  view,  but  a powei 
of  the  pathetic  beyond  almost  any  example 
that  I have  seen.  He  who  does  not  feel 
his  nerves  shaken,  and  his  heart  pierced  by 
many  passages  in  this  extraordinary  work, 
particularly  by  that  most  affecting  one, 
which  describes  the  gradual  torment  suffer- 
ed by  the  contemplation  of  an  object  of 
affectionate  attachment  visibly  and  certain- 
ly decaying  into  dissolution,  must  be  of  a 
hard  and  obstinate  frame. 

To  all  the  other  excellencies  of  “Night 
Thoughts  ” let  me  add  the  great  and  pecu- 
liar one,  that  they  contain  not  only  the  no- 
blest sentiments  of  virtue  and  contempla- 
tions on  immortality,  but  the  Christian 
sacrifice,  the  divine  propitiation , with  all 
its  interesting  circumstances,  and  consola- 
tions to  a “ wounded  spirit,”  solemnly  and 
poetically  displayed  in  such  imagery  and 
language,  as  cannot  fail  to  exalt,  animate, 
and  soothe  the  truly  pious.  No  book  what 
ever  can  be  recommended  to  young  per- 
sons, with  better  hopes  of  seasoning  their 
minds  with  vital  religion,  than  “ Young’s 
Night  Thoughts.” 

In  the  Life  of  Swift,  it  appears  to  me  that 
Johnson  had  a certain  degree  of  prejudice 
against  that  extraordinary  man,  of  which  I 
have  elsewhere  had  occasion  to  speak.  Mr. 
Thomas  Sheridan  imputed  it  to  a supposed 
apprehension  in  Johnson,  that  Swift  had 
not  been  sufficiently  active  in  obtaining  for 
him  an  Irish  degree  when  it  was  solicittd2; 
but  of  this  there  was  not  sufficient  evidence  ; 
and  let  me  not  presume  to  charge  Johnson 
with  injustice,  because  he  did  not  think  so 
highly  of  the  writings  of  this  authour,  as  I 
have  done  from  my  youth  upwards.  Yet 
that  he  had  an  unfavourable  bias  is  evident, 
were  it  only  from  that  passage  in  which 
he  speaks  of  Swift’s  practice  of  saving,  as 
“ first  ridiculous,  and  at  last  detestable 
and  yet,  after  some  examination  of 'circum- 
stances, finds  himself  obliged  to  own,  that 
“ it  will  perhaps  appear  that  he  only  liked 
one  mode  of  expense  better  than  another, 
and  saved  merely  that  he  might  have  some- 
thing to  give.” 

One  observation  which  Johnson  makes 
in  Swift’s  Life  should  be  often  inculcated : 
“It  may  be  justly  supposed,  that  there  wa* 
in  his  conversation  what  appears  so  fre- 
quently in  his  letters,  an  affectation  of 


See  vol.  i.  p.  50. 


1781.— iETAT.  72. 


familiarity  with  the  griat,  an  ambition  of 
momentary  equality,  sought  and  enjoyed 
by  the  neglect  of  those  ceremonies  which 
custom  has  established  as  the  barriers  be- 
tween one  order  of  society  and  another. 
This  transgression  of  regularity  was  by 
himself  and  his  admirers  termed  greatness 
of  soul ; but  a great  mind  disdains  to  hold 
any  thing  by  courtesy,  and  therefore  never 
usurps  what  a lawful  claimant  may  take 
away.  He  that  encroaches  on  another’s 
dignity,  puts  himself  in  his  power ; he  is 
either  repelled  with  helpless  indignity, 
or  endured  by  clemency  and  condescen- 
sion.” 

VARIOUS  READINGS  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  SWIFT 

“ Charity  may  be  persuaded  to  think 
that  it  might  be  written  by  a man  of  a pe- 
culiar [opinions]  character , without  ill  in- 
tention. 

“ He  did  not  [disown]  deny  it. 

“ [To]  ty  whose  kindness  it  is  not  un- 
likely that  he  was  [indebted  for]  advanced 
to  his  benefices. 

“ [With]  for  this  purpose  he  had  re- 
course to  Mr.  Harley. 

“ Sharpe,  whom  he  [represents]  de- 
scribes as  ‘the  harmless  tool  of  others’ 
hate.’ 

“ Harley  was  slow  because  he  was  [irres- 
olute] doubtful . 

“When  [readers  were  not  many]  we 
were  not  yet  a nation  of  readers. 

“ [Every  man  who]  he  that  could  say  he 
knew  him. 

“ Every  man  of  known  influence  has  so 
many  [more]  petitions  [than]  which  [he 
can]  cannot  grant,  that  he  must  necessarily 
offend  more  than  he  [can  gratify]  grati- 
fies. 

“ Ecclesiastical  [preferments]  benefi- 
ces. 

“ Swift  [procured]  contrived  an  inter- 
view. 

[“  As  a writer]  In  his  works  he  has 
given  very  different  specimens. 

“ On  all  common  occasions  he  habitually 
[assumes]  affects  a style  of  [superiority] 
arrogance. 

“ By  the  [omission]  neglect  of  those 
ceremonies. 

“ That  their  merits  filled  the  world  [and] 
or  that  there  was  no  [room  for]  hope  of 
more.” 

I have  not  confined  myself  to  the  order  of 
the  “ Lives,”  in  making  my  few  remarks. 
Indeed  a different  order  is  observed  in  the 
original  publication,  and  in  the  collection  of 
Johnson’s  works.  And  should  it  be  object- 
ed, that  many  of  my  various  readings  are 
inconsiderable,  those  who  make  an  objection 
will  be  pleased  to  consider,  that  such  small 
particulars  are  intended  for  those  who  are 


279 

nicely  critical  in  composition,  to  whom  they 
will  be  an  acceptable  selection 1. 

“ Spence’s  Anecdotes,”  which  are  fre- 
quently quoted  and  referred  to  in  Johnson’s 
“Lives  of  the  Poets,”  are  in  a manuscript 
collection,  made  by  the  Reverend  Mr 
Joseph  Spence2,  containing  a number  of 
particulars  concerning  eminent  men.  To 
each  anecdote  is  marked  the  name  of  the 
person  on  whose  authority  it  is  mentioned 
This  valuable  collection  is  the  property  of 
the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  who,  upon  the  ap- 
plication of  Sir  Lucas  Pepys,  was  pleased 
to  permit  it  to  be  put  into  the  hands  of  Dr 
Johnson,  who  I am  sorry  to  think  made 
but  an  awkward  return.  “ Great  assist 
ance,”  says  he,  “ has  been  given  me  by 
Mr.  Spence’s  Collection,  of  which  I con 
sider  the  communication  as  a favour  wor- 
tay  of  publiek  acknowledgment:”  but  he 
has  not  owned  to  whom  he  was  obliged  ; 
so  that  the  acknowledgment  is  unappropri 
ated  to  his  grace. 

While  the  world  in  general  was  filled 
with  admiration  of  Johnson’s  “ Lives  of 
the  Poets,”  there  were  narrow  circles  in 
which  prejudice  and  resentment  were  fos 
tered,  and  from  which  attacks  of  different 
sorts  issued  against  him3.  By  some  vio 
lent  whigs  he  was  arraigned  of  injustice  to 
Milton  ; by  some  Cambridge  men  of  de- 
preciating Gray  ; and  his  expressing  with 
a dignified  freedom  what  he  really  thought 
of  George,  Lord  Lyttelton,  gave  offence 
to  some  of  the  friends  of  that  nobleman, 
and  particularly  produced  a declaration  of 
war  against  him  from  Mrs.  Montagu,  the 
ingenious  essayist  on  Shakspeare,  between 


1 [Mr.  Chalmers  here  records  a curious  literary 
anecdote — that  when  a new  and  enlarged  edition  of 
the  “ Lives  of  the  Poets  ” was  published  in  1783, 
Mr.  Nichols,  in  justice  to  the  purchasers  of  the  pre- 
ceding editions,  printed  the  additions  in  a separate 
pamphlet,  and  advertised  thatit  might  be  had  gra- 
tis. Not  ten  copies  were  called  for.  It  may  be 
presumed  that  the  owners  of  the  former  editions 
had  bound  their  sets  ; but  it  must  also  be  observed, 
that  the  alterations  were  not  considerable. — Ed.] 

2 The  Rev.  Joseph  Spence,  A.  M.  Rector  of 
Great  Harwood  in  Buckinghamshire,  and  Pre- 
bendary of  Durham,  died  at  Byfleet  in  Surrey, 
August  20,  1768.  He  was  a fellow  of  New  Col- 
lege in  Oxford,  and  held  the  office  of  Professor  of 
Poetry  in  that  University  from  1728  to  1738.— 
Malone.  [See  ante,  p.  228.  n. — Ed.] 

3 From  this  disreputable  class,  I except  an  in- 
genious though  not  satisfactory  defence  of  Ham- 
mond, which  I did  not  see  till  lately,  by  the  fa- 
vour of  its  authour,  my  amiable  friend,  the  Rev- 
erend Mr.  Bevil,  who  published  it  without  his 
name.  It  is  a juvenile  performance,  but  elegant- 
ly written,  with  classical  enthusiasm  of  sentiment, 
and  yet  with  a becoming  modesty,  and  great  res- 
pect for  Dr.  Johnson. — Boswell. 


280 


1781.— MV  AT.  72. 


whom  and  his  lordship  a commerce  of*  re- 
ciprocal compliments  had  long  been  carried 
on.  In  this  war  the  smaller  powers  in  al- 
liance with  him  were  of  course  led  to  en- 
gage, at  least  on  the  defensive*  and  thus  I 
for  one  was  excluded 1 from  the  enjoyment 
of  “ A Feast  of  Reason,”  such  as  Mr. 
Cumberland  has  described,  with  a keen  yet 
just  and  delicate  pen,  in  his  “ Observer.” 
These  minute  inconveniences  gave  not  the 
least  disturbance  to  Johnson.  He  nobly 
said,  when  I talked  to  him  of  the  feeble 
though  shrill  outcry  which  had  been  raised, 
“ Sir,  I considered  myself  as  intrusted  with 
a certain  portion  of  truth.  I have  given 
my  opinion  sincerely  ; let  them  show  where 
they  think  me  wrong.” 

While  my  friend  is  thus  contemplated  in 
the  splendour  derived  from  his  last  and  per- 
haps most  admirable  work,  I introduce  him 
with  peculiar  propriety  as  the  correspondent 
of  Warren  Hastings!  a man  whose  regard 
refiects  dignity  even  upon  Johnson;  a man, 
the  extent  of  whose  abilities  was  equal  to 
that  of  his  power;  and  who,  by  those  who 
are  fortunate  enough  to  know  him  in  pri- 
vate life,  is  admired  for  his  literature  and 
taste,  and  beloved  for  the  candour,  modera- 
tion, and  mildness  of  his  character.  Were 
I capable  of  paying  a suitable  tribute  of  ad- 
miration to  him,  I should  certainly  not  with- 
hold it  at  a moment 2 when  it  is  not  possible 
that  I should  be  suspected  of  being  an  inter- 
ested flatterer.  But  how  weak  would  be 
my  voice  after  that  of  the  millions  whom 
he  governed ! His  condescending  and  obli- 
ging compliance  with  my  solicitation,  I 
with  humble  gratitude  acknowledge;  and 
while  by  publishing  his  letter  to  me,  accom- 
panying the  valuable  communication,  I do 
eminent  honour  to  my  great  friend,  I shall 
entirely  disregard  any  invidious  suggestions 
that,  as  I in  some  degree  participate  in  the 
honour,  I have,  at  the  same  time,  the  grati- 
fication of  my  own  vanity  in  view. 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ.. 

“ Park-lane,  2d  Dec.  1790. 

“ Sir, — I have  been  fortunately  spared 
the  troublesome  suspense  of  a long  search, 
to  which,  in  performance  of  my  promise,  I 
had  devoted  this  morning,  by  lighting  upon 
the  objects  of  it  among  the  first  papers  that 
I laid  my  hands  on;  my  veneration  for  your 
great  and  good  friend,  Dr.  Johnson,  and  the 
pride,  or  I hope  something  of  a better  senti- 
ment, which  I indulge  in  possessing  such 

1 [Mr.  Boswell  has  always  appeared  willing  to 
record  Dr.  Johnson’s  sarcasms  against  Mrs.  Mon- 
tagu, leaving  unnoticed  many  expressions  of  re- 
gard and  respect  of  which  he  could  not  have  been 
ignorant.  Could  the  circumstance  alluded  to  in 
the  text  have  biassed  him? — Ed.] 

2 January,  1791. — Boswell.  [Mr.  Hastings’s 
impeachment  was  still  pending. — Ed.] 


memorials  of  his  good  will  towards  me,  hav- 
ing induced  me  to  bind  them  in  a parcel 
containing  other  select  papers,  and  labelled 
with  the  titles  appertaining  to  them.  They 
consist  but  of  three  letters,  which  I believe 
were  all  that  I ever  received  from  Dr.  John- 
son. Of  these,  one,  which  was  written  in 
quadruplicate,  under  the  different  dates  of 
its  respective  despatches,  has  already  been 
made  publick,  but  not  from  any  communi- 
cation of  mine.  This,  however,  I have 
joined  to  the  rest;  and  have  now  the  plea- 
sure of  sending  them  to  you,  for  the  use  to 
which  you  informed  me  it  was  your  desire 
to  destine  them. 

“ My  promise  was  pledged  with  the  con- 
dition, that  if  the  letters  were  found  to  con- 
tain any  thing  which  should  render  them 
improper  for  the  publick  eye,  you  would 
dispense  with  the  performance  of  it.  You 
will  have  the  goodness,  I am  sure,  to  pardon 
my  recalling  this  stipulation  to  your  recol- 
lection, as  I shall  be  loth  to  appear  negli- 
gent of  that  obligation  which  is  always  im- 
plied in  an  epistolary  confidence.  In  the 
reservation  of  that  right  I have  read  them 
over  with  the  most  scrupulous  attention, 
but  have  not  seen  in  them  the  slightest 
cause  on  that  ground  to  withhold  them  from 
you.  But,  though  not  on  that,  yet  on  an- 
other ground  I own  I feel  a little,  yet  but  a 
little,  reluctance  to  part  with  them:  I mean 
on  that  of  my  own  credit,  which  I fear  will 
suffer  by  the  information  conveyed  by  them, 
that  I was  early  in  the  possession  of  sucli 
valuable  instructions  for  the  beneficial  em- 
ployment of  the  influence  of  my  late  station, 
and  (as  it  may  seem)  have  so  little  availed 
myself  of  them.  Whether  I could,  if  it 
were  necessary,  defend  myself  against  such 
an  imputation,  it  little  concerns  the  world 
to  know.  I look  only  to  the  effect  which 
these  relicks  may  produce,  considered  as 
evidences  of  the  virtues  of  their  authour: 
and  believing  that  they  will  be  found  to 
display  an  uncommon  warmth  of  pnvate 
friendship,  and  a mind  ever  attentive  to  the 
improvement  and  extension  of  useful  know- 
ledge, and  solicitous  for  the  interests  of 
mankind,  I can  cheerfully  submit  to  the  lit- 
tle sacrifice  of  my  own  fame,  to  contribute 
to  the  illustration  of  so  great  and  venerable 
a character.  They  cannot  be  better  applied 
for  that  end,  than  by  being  intrusted  to 
your  hands.  Allow  me,  with  this  offering, 
to  infer  from  it  a proof  of  the  very  great  es- 
teem with  which  I have  the  honour  to  pro 
fess  myself,  sir,  your  most  obedient  and 
most  humble  servant, 

“ Warren  Hastings. 

“ P.  S.  At  some  future  time,  and  wften 
you  have  no  fuither  occasion  for  these  pa 
pers,  I shall  be  obliged  to  you  if  you  will  re 
turn  them.” 

The  last  of  the  three  letters  thus  gracious 


1781. — /ETAT.  72. 


281 


ly  put  into  my  hands,  and  which  has  al- 
ready appeared  in  publick,  belongs  to  this 
year;  but  I shall  previously  insert  the  first 
two  in  the  order  of  their  dates.  They  alto- 
gether form  a grand  group  in  my  biogra- 
phical picture. 

“<TO  THE  HONOURABLE  WARREN 

HASTINGS,  ESQ. 

“30th  March,  1774. 

“ Sir,— Though  I have  had  but  little 
personal  knowledge  of  you,  I have  had 
enough  to  make  me  wish  for  more;  and 
though  it  be  now  a long  time  since  I was 
honoured  by  your  visit,  I had  too  much 
pleasure  from  it  to  forget  it.  By  those  whom 
we  delight  to  remember,  we  are  unwilling 
to  be  forgotten;  and  therefore  I cannot  omit 
this  opportunity  of  reviving  myself  in  your 
memory  by  a letter  which  you  will  receive 
from  the  hands  of  my  friend  Mr.  Cham- 
bers !;  a man  whose  purity  of  manners  and 
vigour  of  mind  are  sufficient  to  make  every 
thing  welcome  that  he  brings. 

“ That  this  is  my  only  reason  for  writing 
will  be  too  apparent  by  the  uselessness  of 
my  letter  to  any  other  purpose.  I have  no 
questions  to  ask;  not  that  I want  curiosity 
after  either  the  ancient  or  present  state  of 
regions  in  which  have  been  seen  all  the 
power  and  splendour  of  wide-extended  em- 
pire; and  which,  as  by  some  grant  of  natu- 
ral superiority,  supply  the  rest  of  the  world 
with  almost  all  that  pride  desires  and  luxu- 
ry enjoys.  But  my  knowledge  of  them  is 
too  scanty  to  furnish  me  with  proper  topicks 
of  inquiry : I can  only  wish  for  information; 
apd  hope  that  a mind  comprehensive  like 
yours  will  find  leisure,  amidst  the  cares  of 
your  important  station,  to  inquire  into  many 
subjects  of  which  the  European  world  ei- 
ther thinks  not  at  all,  or  thinks  with  deficient 
intelligence  and  uncertain  conjecture.  I 
shall  hope  that  he  who  once  intended  to  in- 
crease the  learning  of  his  country  by  the  in- 
troduction of  the  Persian  language  will  ex- 
amine nicely  the  traditions  and  histories  of 
the  East;  that  he  will  survey  the  wonders 
if  its  ancient  edifices,  and  trace  the  vestiges 
of  its  ruined  cities;  and  that,  at  his  return, 
we  shall  know  the  arts  and  opinions  of  a 
race  of  men  from  whom  very  little  has  been 
hitherto  derived. 

“ You,  sir,  have  no  need  of  being  told  by 
me  how  much  may  be  added  by  your  atten- 
tion and  patronage  to  experimental  know- 
ledge and  natural  history.  There  are  arts 
of  manufacture  practised  in  the  countries  in 
which  you  preside,  which  are  yet  very 
imperfectly  known  here,  either  to  artificers 
or  philosophers.  Of  the  natural  productions, 
animate  and  inanimate,  we  yet  have  so  lit- 


1 Afterwards  Sir  Robert  Chambers,  one  of  his 
majesty’s  judges  in  India. — Boswell, 
vol.  ii.  36 


tie  intelligence,  that  our  books  are  filled,  I 
fear,  with  conjectures  about  things  which 
an  Indian  peasant  knows  by  his  senses. 

<c  Many  of  those  things  my  first  wish  is  to 
see;  my  second  to  know,  by  such  accounts 
as  a man  like  you  will  be  able  to  give. 

“ As  I have  not  skill  to  ask  proper  ques 
tions,  I have  likewise  no  such  access  to 
great  men  as  can  enable  me  to  send  you  any 
political  information.  Of  the  agitations  of 
an  unsettled  government,  and  the  struggles 
of  a feeble  ministry,  care  is  doubtless  taken 
to  give  you  more  exact  accounts  than  I can 
obtain.  If  you  are  inclined  to  interest  your- 
self much  in  public  transactions,  it  is  no  mis- 
fortune to  you  to  be  distant  from  them. 

“ That  literature  is  not  totally  forsaking 
us,  and  that  your  favourite  language  is  not 
neglected,  will  appear  from  the  book2, 
which  I should  have  pleased  myself  more 
with  sending,  if  I could  have  presented  it 
bound:  but  time  was  wanting.  I beg, 
however,  sir,  that  you  will  accept  it  from 
a man  very  desirous  of  your  regard;  and 
that  if  you  think  me  able  to  gratify  you  by 
any  thing  more  important  you  will  employ 
me. 

“I  am  now  going  to  take  leave,  perhaps 
a very  long  leave,  of  my  dear  Mr.  Cham- 
bers. That  he  is  going  to  live  where  you 
govern  may  justly  alleviate  the  regard  of 
parting:  and  the  hope  of  seeing  both  him 
and  you  again,  which  I am  not  willing  to  min 
gle  with  doubt,  must  at  present  comfort  as  it 
can,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“dr.  JOHNSON  TO  MR.  HASTINGS. 

“ London,  20th  Dec.  1774. 

“ Sir, — Being  informed  that  by  the  de 
partureof  a ship  there  is  now  an  opportunity 
of  writing  to  Bengal,  I am  unwilling  to  slip 
out  of  your  memory  by  my  own  negligence, 
and  therefore  take  the  liberty  of  reminding 
you  of  my  existence  by  sending  you  a book 
which  is  not  yet  made  publick. 

“ I have  lately  visited  a region  less  re- 
mote and  less  illustrious  than  India,  which 
afforded  some  occasions  for  speculation. 
What  has  occurred  to  me,  I have  put  into 
the  volume  3,  of  which  I beg  your  accept- 
ance. 

“ Men  in  your  station  seldom  ha^e  pre- 
sents totally  disinterested:  my  book  is  re- 
ceived, let  me  now  make  my  request. 

“ There  is,  sir,  somewhere  within  your 
government,  a young  adventurer,  one 
Chauncey  Lawrence,  whose  father  is  one 
of  my  oldest  friends.  Be  pleased  to  show 
the  young  man  what  countenance  is  fit, 
whether  he  wants  to  be  restrained  by  youi 


2 Jones’s  “ Persian  Grammar.” — Boswell. 

3 “ The  Journey  to  the  Western  IslanJs  of 
Scotland.” — Boswell. 


282 


1781. — A5TAT.  72. 


authority,  or  encouraged  by  your  favour. 
His  father  is  now  president  of  the  college 
of  physicians;  a man  venerable  for  his  know- 
ledge, and  more  venerable  for  his  virtue. 

“I  wish  you  a prosperous  government,  a 
safe  return,  and  a long  enjoyment  of  plenty 
and  tranquillity.  I am,  sir,  your  most  obe- 
dient and  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

f DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MR.  HASTINGS. 

“ 9th  January,  1781. 

“ Sir, — Amidst  the  importance  and  mul- 
tiplicity of  affairs  in  which  your  great  office 
engages  you,  I take  the  liberty  of  recalling 
your  attention  for  a moment  to  literature,  and 
will  not  prolong  the  interruption  by  an  apo- 
logy which  your  character  makes  needless. 

“ Mr.  Hoole,  a gentleman  long  known 
and  long  esteemed  in  India-house,  after 
having  translated  Tasso,  has  undertaken 
Ariosto.  How  well  he  is  qualified  for  his 
undertaking  he  has  already  shown.  He  is 
desirous,  sir,  of  your  favour  in  promoting 
his  proposals,  and  flatters  me  by  supposing 
that  my  testimony  may  advance  his  in- 
terest. 

“ It  is  a new  thing  for  a clerk  of  the  In- 
dia-house to  translate  poets  ; — it  is  new  for 
a governor  of  Bengal  to  patronise  learning. 
That  he  may  find  his  ingenuity  rewarded, 
and  that  learning  may  flourish  under  your 
protection,  is  the  wish  of,  sir,  your  most 
humble  servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

I wrote  to  him  in  February,  complaining 
of  having  been  troubled  by  a recurrence  of 
the  perplexing  question  of  Liberty  and  Ne- 
cessity; and  mentioning  that  I hoped  soon 
to  meet  him  again  in  London. 

“ DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MR.  BOSWELL. 

“ 14th  March,  1781. 

“ Dear  sir, — I hoped  you  had  got  rid  of 
all  this  hypocrisy  of  misery.  What  have 
you  to  do  with  Liberty  and  Necessity?  Or 
what  more  than  to  hold  your  tongue  about 
it  ? Do  not  doubt  but  I shall  be  most  heart- 
ily glad  to  see  you  here  again,  for  I love 
every  part  about  you  but  your  affectation  of 
distress. 

“ I have  at  last  finished  my  Lives,  and 
have  laid  up  for  you  a load  of  copy,  all  out 
of  ordef ; so  that  it  will  amuse  you  a long 
time  to  set  it  right.  Come  to  me,  my  dear 
Bozzy,  and  let  us  be  as  happy  as  we  can. 
We  will  go  again  to  the  Mitre,  and  talk  old 
times  over.  I am,  dear  sir,  yours  affection- 
ately, “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

On  Monday,  March  19, 1 arrived  in  Lon- 
don, and  on  Tuesday,  the  ‘20th,  met  him  in 
Fleet-street,  walking,  rather  indeed  moving 
along;  for  his  peculiar  march  is  thus  de- 
scribed in  a very  just  and  picturesque  man- 


ner, in  a snort  Life  1 of  Urn  pubVish^d  very 
soon  after  his  death : — £c  When  he  walked 
the  streets,  what  with  the  constant  roll  of 
his  head,  and  the  concomitant  motion  of  his 
body,  he  appeared  to  make  his  way  by  that 
motion,  independent  of  his  feet 2.”  That 
he  was  often  much  stared  at  while  he  ad 
vanced  in  this  manner  may  easily  be,believ» 
ed;  but  it  was  not  safe  to  make  sport  of  one 
so  robust  as  he  was.  Mr.  Langton  saw 
him  one  day,  in  a fit  of  absence,  by  a sud- 
den start,  drive  the  load  off  a porter’s  back, 
and  walk  forward  briskly,  without  being 
conscious  of  what  he  had  done.  The  porter 
was  very  angry  , but  stood  still,  and  eyed 
the  huge  figure  with  much  earnestness,  till 
he  was  satisfied  that  his  wisest  course  was 
to  be  quiet,  and  take  up  his  burthen  again. 

Our  accidental  meeting  in  the  street  after 
a long  separation  was  a pleasing  surprise  to 
us  both.  He  stepped  aside  with  me  into 
F alcon-court,  and  made  kind  inquiries  about 
my  family;  and  as  we  were  in  a hurry,  go- 
ing different  ways,  I promised  to  call  on  him 
next  day.  He  said  he  was  engaged  to  go 
out  in  the  morning.  “ Early, sir? ” said  I. 
Johnson.  “ Why,  sir,  a London  morning 
does  not  go  with  the  sun.” 

I waited  on  him  next  evening,  and  he 
gave  me  a great  portion  of  his  original  man- 
uscript of  his  “ Lives  of  the  Poets,”  which 
he  had  preserved  for  me. 

I found  on  visiting  his  friend,  Mr.  Thrale, 
that  he  was  now  very  ill,  and  had  removed, 
I suppose  by  the  solicitation  of  Mrs.  Thrale, 
to  a house  in  Grosvenor-square.  I was 
sorry  to  see  him  sadly  changed  in  his  ap- 
pearance. 

He  told  me  I might  now  have  the  plea- 
sure to  see  Dr.  Johnson  drink  wine  again, 
for  he  had  lately  returned  to  it.  When  I 
mentioned  this  to  Johnson,  he  said,  “ I 
drink  it  now  sometimes,  but  not  socially.” 
The  first  evening  that  I was  with  him  at 
Thrale’s,  I observed  he  poured  a large  quan- 
tity of  it  into  a glass,  and  swallowed  it 
greedily.  Every  thing  about  his  character 
and  manners  was  forcible  and  violent;  there 
never  was  any  moderation.  Many  a day 
did  he  fast,  many  a year  did  he  refrain  from 
wine:  but  when  he  did  eat,  it  was  voraci- 
ously; when  he  did  drink  wine,  it  was  copi- 
ously. He  could  practise  abstinence3,  but 
not  temperance. 


1 Published  by  Keareley,  with  this  well-chosen 
motto  t 

“ —From  his  cradle 

He  was  a scholar,  and  a ripe  and  good  one 

And,  to  add  greater  honours  to  his  age 

Than  man  could  give  him,  he  died  fearing  Heaven. 

Shakspeare. 

2 [See  Miss  Reynolds’s  Recollections,  in  the 
Appendix^  for  a fuller  account  of  Johnson’s  ex 
traordinary  gestures. — Ed.] 

3 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  208. — Ed.] 


1781.— /ETAT.  /2. 


283 


Mrs.  Thrale  and  I had  a dispute  whether 
Shakspeare  or  Milton  had  drawn  the  most 
admirable  picture  of  a man L I was  for 
Shakspeare,  Mrs.  Thrale  for  Milton;  and, 
after  a fair  hearing,  Johnson  decided  for  my 
opinion. 

I told  him  of  one  of  Mr.  Burke’s  playful 
sallies  upon  Dean  Marlay1 2:  “ I do  n’t  like 
the  Deanery  of  Ferns ; it  sounds  so  like  a 
uarren  title.”  “ Dr.  Heath  should  have  it,” 
said  I.  Johnson  laughed,  and,  condescend- 
ing to  trifle  in  the  same  mode  of  conceit, 
suggested  Dr.  Moss. 

He  said,  “ Mrs.  Montagu  has  dropt  me  3. 
Now,  sir,  there  are  people  whom  one  should 
like  very  well  to  drop,  but  would  not  wish 
to  be  dropped  by.”  He  certainly  was  vain 
of  the  society  of  ladies,  and  could  make 
himself  very  agreeable  to  them  when  he 
chose  it:  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  agreed  with 
me  that  he  could.  Mr.  Gibbon,  with  his 
usual  sneer,  controverted  it,  perhaps  in  re- 
sentment of  Johnson’s  having  talked  with 


1 Shakspeare  makes  Hamlet  thus  describe  his 
father  : 

“ See  what  a grace  was  seated  on  this  brow : 
Hyperion’s  curls,  the  front  of  Jove  himself, 

An  eye  like  Mars,  to  threaten  and  command  ; 

A station  like  the  herald,  Mercury, 

New-lighted  on  a heaven-kissing  hill ; 

A combination  and  a form,  indeed, 

Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 

To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a man.” 

Milton  thus  portrays  our  first  parent,  Adam: 

“ His  fair  large  front  and  eye  sublime  declared 
Absolute  rule  ; and  hyacinthin  locks 
Round  from  his  parted  forelock  manly  hung 
Clust’ring,  but  not  beneath  his  shoulders  broad.” — 
Boswell. 

The  latter  part  of  this  description,  “ but  not  be- 
neath,” &c.  may  very  probably  be  ascribed  to 
Milton’s  prejudices  in  favour  of  the  puritans,  who 
had  a great  aversion  to  long  hair. — Malone. 
It  is  strange  that  the  picture  drawn  by  the  un- 
learned Shakspeare  should  be  full  of  classical  im- 
ages, and  that  by  the  learned  Milton  void  of  them. 
Milton’s  description  appears  to  be  more  picturesque. 
— Kearney.  [Dr.  Kearney  seems  to  have  for- 
gotten that  Milton  is  here  a mere  descriptive  poet, 
giving  a kind  of  abstract  delineation  of  the  first 
man,  while  Shakspeare  is  a dramatist,  speaking 
in  the  character  of  an  enthusiastic  youth,  fresh 
from  his  studies,  and  boiling  with  indignation  and 
grief,  which  he  endeavours  to  conceal,  or  at  least 
to  moderate  by  these  classical  and,  what  in  any 
other  case  would  be,  pedantic  allusions. — Ed.] 

2 Dr.  Richard  Marlay,  afterwards  Lord  Bishop  of 
Waterford;  a very  amiable,  benevolent,  and  in- 
genious man.  He  was  chosen  a member  of  the 
Literary  Club  in  1777,  and  died  in  Dublin,  July 
2,  1802,  in  his  seventy-fifth  year. — Malone. 
[The  Editor  had,  in  very  early  life,  the  honour 
of  the  bishop’s  acquaintance  and  indulgent  no- 
tice of  his  first  attempts  in  literature.  He  was  all 
that  Mr.  Malone  says  of  him. — Ed.] 

3 [Mrs.  Montagu,  with,  perhaps  an  over-nicety 
of  feeling,  dropped  him  on  account  of  his  Life  of 
Lord  Lyttelton.  See  ante , p.  276. — Ed. 


some  disgust  of  his  ugliness,  which  one 
would  think  a philosopher  woujd  not  mind. 
Dean  Marlay  wittily  observed,  “ A lady 
may  be  vain  when  she  can  turn  a wolf-dog 
into  a lap-dog.” 

The  election  for  Ayrshire,  my  own  coun- 
ty, was  this  spring  tried  upon  a petition 
before  a committee  of  the  house  of,  com- 
mons. I was  one  of  the  counsel  for  the 
sitting  member4,  and  took  the  liberty  of 
previously  stating  different  points  to  John- 
son, who  never  tailed  to  see  them  clearly, 
and  to  supply  me  with  some  good  hints 
He  dictated  to  me  the  following  note  upon 
the  registration  of  deeds: 

“All  laws  are  made  for  the  convenience  of 
the  community.  What  is  legally  done 
should  be  legally  recorded,  that  the  state 
of  things  may  be  known,  and  that  wherev- 
er evidence  is  requisite,  evidence  may  be 
had.  For  this  reason,  the  obligation  to 
frame  and  establish  a legal  register  is  en- 
forced by  a legal  penalty,  which  penalty  is 
the  want  of  that  perfection  and  plenitude 
of  right  which  a register  would  give. 
Thence  it  follows  that  this  is  not  an  objec- 
tion merely  legal;  for  the  reason  on  which 
the  law  stands  being  equitable  makes  it  an 
equitable  objection.” 

“ This,”  said  he,  “ you  must  enlarge  on, 
when  speaking  to  the  committee.  You 
must  not  argue  there  as  if  you  were  arguing 
in  the  schools;  close  reasoning  will  not  fix 
their  attention:  you  must  say  the  same 
thing  over  and  over  again  in  different  words. 
If  you  say  it  but  cnce,  they  miss  it  in  a mo- 
ment of  inattention.  It  is  unjust,  sir,  to 
censure  lawyers  for  multiplying  words  when 
they  argue;  it  is  often  necessary  for  them 
to  multiply  words.” 

His  notion  of  the  duty  of  a member  of 
parliament,  sitting  upon  an  election-com- 
mittee, was  very  high;  and  when  he  was 
told  of  a gentleman  upon  one  of  those  com- 
mittees, who  read  the  newspapers  part  of 
the  time,  and  slept  the  rest,  while  the  me- 
rits of  a vote  were  examined  by  the  counsel; 
and  as  an  excuse,  when  challenged  by  the 
chairman  for  such  behaviour,  bluntly  an- 
swered, “ I had  made  up  my  mind  upon 
that  case;”  Johnson,  with  an  indignant 
contempt,  said,  “ If  he  was  such  a rogue  as 
to  make  up  his  mind  upon  a case  without 
hearing  it,  he  should  not  have  been  such  a 
fool  as  to  tell  it.”  “ I think,”  said  Mr. 
Dudley  Long5,  now  North,  “ the  Doctor 
has  pretty  plainly  made  him  out  to  be  both 
rogue  and  fool.” 


4*  [Hugh  Montgomery,  Esq.  The  petitioner, 
however,  William  Macdowall,  Esq.,  was  declared 
duly  elected. — Ed.] 

5 [This  ingenious  and  very  pleasant  gentleman 
died  in  1829,  after  an  illness  which  had  for  some 
years  secluded  him  from  society  — Ed.] 


284 


1781.— jETAT.  72. 


Johnson’s  profound  reverence  for  the  hi- 
erarchy made  him  expect  from  bishops  the 
highest  degree  of  decorum;  he  was  offend- 
ed even  at  their  going  to  taverns:  “ A bish- 
0} ,”  said  he,  “ has  nothing  to  do  at  a tip- 
pling-house.  It  is  not  indeed  immoral  in 
him  to  go  to  a tavern;  neither  would  it  he 
immoral  in  him  to  whip  a top  in  Grosvenor- 
square:  bnt,  if  he  did,  I hope  the  boys 
would  fall  upon  him,  and  apply  the  whip  to 
him.  There  are  gradations  in  conduct; 
there  is  morality, — decency, — propriety. 
None  of  these  should  be  violated  by  a 
bishop.  A bishop  should  not  go  to  a house 
where  he  may  meet  a young  fellow  leading 
out  a wench.’5  Boswell.  “ But,  sir,  ev- 
ery tavern  does  not  admit  women.”  John- 
son. “ Depend  upon  it,  sir,  any  tavern  will 
admit  a well-dressed  man  and  a well-dressed 
woman.  They  will  not  perhaps  admit  a 
woman  whom  they  see  every  night  walk- 
ing by  their  door  in  the  street.  But  a well- 
dressed  man  may  lead  in  a well-dressed  wo- 
man to  any  tavern  in  London.  Taverns  sell 
meat  and  drink,  and  will  sell  them  to  any 
body  who  can  eat  and  can  drink.  You  may 
as  well  say  that  a mercer  will  not  sell  silks 
to  a woman  of  the  town.” 

He  also  disapproved  of  bishops  going  to 
routs ; at  least  of  their  staying  at  them 
longer  than  their  presence  commanded  re- 
spect. He  mentioned  a particular  bishop. 
“ Poh!  ” said  Mrs.  Thrale,  “ the  Bishop  of 

— 1 is  never  minded  at  a rout.” 

Boswell.  “ When  a bishop  places  himself 
in  a situation  where  he  has  no  distinct  char- 
acter, and  is  of  no  consequence,  he  degrades 
the  dignity  of  his  order.”  Johnson.  “Mr. 
Boswell,  madam,  has  said  it  as  correctly  as 
it  could  be.” 

Nor  was  it  only  in  the  dignitaries  of  the 
church  that  Johnson  required  a particular 
decorum  and  delicacy  of  behaviour;  he  just- 
ly considered  that  the  clergy,  as  persons  set 
apart  for  the  sacred  office  of  serving  at  the 
altar,  and  impressing  the  minds  of  men  with 
the  awful  concerns  of  a future  state,  should 
be. somewhat  more  serious  than  the  general- 
ity of  mankind,  and  have  a suitable  compo- 
sure of  manners.  A due  sense  of  the  digni- 
ty of  their  profession,  independent  of  higher 
motives,  will  ever  prevent  them  from  losing 
their  distinction  in  an  indiscriminate  social- 
ity; and  did  such  as  affect  this  know  how 
much  it  lessens  them  in  the  eyes  of  those 
whom  they  think  to  please  by  it,  they  would 
feel  themselves  much  mortified. 

Johnson  and  his  friend  Beauclerk  were 
once  together  in  company  with  several  cler- 
gymen, who  thought  that  they  should  appear 
to  advantage  by  assuming  the  lax  jollity  of 
men  of  the  world;  which,  as  it  may  be  ob- 
served in  similar  cases,  they  carried  to  noisy 


[St.  Asaph’s.  See  ante,  p.  233. — E^.]  , 


excess.  Johnson,  who  they  expected  woulc 
be  entertained,  sat  grave  and  silent  for  some 
time;  at  last,  turning  to  Beauclerk,  he  said, 
by  no  means  in  a whisper,  “ This  merri- 
ment of  parsons  is  mighty  offensive.” 

Even  the  dress  of  a clergyman  should  be 
in  character,  and  nothing  can  be  more  des- 
picable than  conceited  attempts  at  avoiding 
the  appearance  of  the  clerical  order;  at- 
tempts which  are  as  ineffectual  as  they  are 
pitiful.  Dr.  Porteus,  now  Bishop  of  Lon- 
don, in  his  excellent  charge  when  presiding 
over  the  diocese  of  Chester,  justly  animad- 
verts upon  this  subject;  and  observes  of  a 
reverend  fop,  that  he  “ can  be  but  half  a 
beany 

Addison,  in  “ The  Spectator,”  has  given 
us  a fine  portrait  of  a clergyman,  who  is 
supposed  to  be  a member  of  his  Club;  and 
Johnson  has  exhibited  a model,  in  the  char- 
acter of  Mr.  Mudge2,  which  has  escaped 
the  collectors  of  his  works,  but  which  he 
owned  to  me,  and  which  indeed  he  showed 
to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  at  the  time  when  it 
was  written.  It  bears  the  genuine  marks 
of  Johnson’s  best  manner,  and  is  as  follows* 

“ The  Reverend  Mr.  Zachariah  Mudge, 
prebendary  of  Exeter,  and  vicar  of  St.  An 
drew’s  in  Plymouth;  a man  equally  eminent 
for  his  virtues  and  abilities,  and  at  once  be 
loved  as  a companion  and  reverenced  as  a 
pastor.  He  had  that  general  curiosity  to 
which  no  kind  of  knowledge  is  indifferent 
or  superfluous;  and  that  general  benevo- 
lence by  which  no  order  of  men  is  hated  or 
despised. 

“ His  principles  both  of  thought  and  ac- 
tion were  great  and  comprehensive.  By  a 
solicitous  examination  of  objections,  and 
judicious  comparison  of  opposite  arguments, 
he  attained  what  inquiry  never  gives  but 
to  industry  and  perspicuity,  a firm  and  un- 
shaken settlement  of  conviction.  But  his 
firmness  was  without  asperity;  for,  know- 
ing with  how  much  difficulty  truth  was 
sometimes  found,  he  did  not  wonder  that 
many  missed  it. 

“ The  general  course  of  his  life  was  de 
termined  by  his  profession;  he  studied  the 
sacred  volumes  in  the  original  languages; 
with  what  diligence  and  success  his  ‘ Notes 
upon  the  Psalms  ’ give  sufficient  evidence 
He  once  endeavoured  to  add  the  knowledge 
of  Arabic  to  that  of  Hebrew;  but,  finding 
his  thoughts  too  much  diverted  from  other 
studies,  after  some  time  desisted  from  his 
purpose. 

“ His  discharge  of  parochial  duties  was 
exemplary.  How  his  sermons  were  com- 
posed, may  be  learned  from  the  excellent 
volume  which  he  has  given  to  the  publick; 
but  how  they  were  delivered  can  be  known 
only  to  those  that  heard  them;  for,  as  he 

* See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  164. — Bosweli? 


1781.— vETAT  72 


28  5 


appealed  in  the  pulpit,  words  will  not  easily 
describe  him.  His  delivery,  though  uncon- 
strained, was  not  negligent;  and  though 
forcible,  was  not  turbulent;  disdaining  anx- 
ious nicety  of  emphasis,  and  laboured  arti- 
fice of  action,  it  captivated  the  hearer  by  its 
natural  dignity;  it  roused  the  sluggish  and 
fixed  the  volatile,  and  detained  the  mind  up- 
on the  subject  without  directing  it  to  the 
speaker. 

“ The  grandeur  and  solemnity  of  the 
preacher  did  not  intrude  upon  his  general 
behaviour:  at  the  table  of  his  friends  he 
was  a companion  communicative  and  at- 
tentive, of  unaffected  manners,  of  manly 
cheerfulness,  willing  to  please,  and  easy  to 
be  pleased.  His  acquaintance  was  univer- 
sally solicited,  and  his  presence  obstructed 
no  enjoyment  which  religion  did  not  forbid. 
Though  studious,  he  was  popular;  though 
argumentative,  he  was  modest;  though  in- 
flexible, he  was  candid;  and  though  meta- 
physical, yet  orthodox1.55 

On  Friday,  March  30,  I dined  with  him 
at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s,  with  the  Earl  of 
Charlemont,  Sir  Annesley  Stewart,  Mr. 
Eliot  of  Port-Eliot,  Mr.  Burke,  Dean  Mar- 
lay,  Mr.  Langton;  a most  agreeable  day, 
of  which  I regret  that  every  circumstance  is 
not  preserved:  but  it  is  unreasonable  to  re- 
quire such  a multiplication  of  felicity. 

Mr.  Eliot,  with  whom  Dr.  Walter  Harte2 
had  travelled,  talked  to  us  of  his  “ History 
of  Gustavus  Adolphus,55  which  he  said  was 
a very  good  book  in  the  German  transla- 
tion. Johnson.  “ Harte  was  excessively 
vain.  He  put  copies  of  his  book  in  manu- 
script into  the  hands  of  Lord  Chesterfield 
and  Lord  Granville,  that  they  might  revise 
it.  Now  how  absurd  was  it  to  suppose  that 
two  such  noblemen  would  revise  so  big  a 
manuscript ! Poor  man ! he  left  London  the 
day  of  the  publication  of  his  book,  that  he 
might  be  out  of  the  way  of  the  great  praise 
he  was  to  receive;  and  he  was  ashamed  to 
return  when  he  found  how  ill  his  book  had 
succeeded.  It  was  unlucky  in  coming  out 
on  the  same  day  with  Robertson’s  e History 
of  Scotland.5  His  husbandry,  however,  is 
good.55  Boswell.  “ So  he  was  fitter  for 
that  than  for  heroick  history:  he  did  well, 
when  he  turned  his  sword  into  a plough- 
share.” 

Mr.  Eliot  mentioned  a curious  liquor  pe- 

1 “ London  Chronicle,”  May  2,  1769.  This 
respectable  man  is  there  mentioned  to  have  died 
on  the  third  of  April,  that  year,  at  Cofflect,  the 
seat  of  Thomas  Veale,  Esq.,  in  his  way  to  London. 
— Boswell. 

- 2 [Mr.  Elliot  had  accompanied  Mr.  Stanhope, 

the  natural  son  of  Lord  Chesterfield,  for  whom 
the  celebrated  letters  were  written,  and  is  frequent- 
ly mentioned  in  them.  Mr.  Harte  was  travelling 
tutor  to  both  these  young  gentlemen  : see  ante, 
*ol  i.  p.  168.— Ed.] 


culiar  to  his  country,  which  the  ODrnish 
fishermen  drink.  They  call  it  mahogany , 
and  it  is  made  of  two  parts  gin  and  one 
part  treacle,  well  beaten  together.  I begged 
to  have  some  of  it  made,  which  was  done 
with  proper  skill  by  Mr.  Eliot.  I thought 
it  very  good  liquor;  and  said  it  was  a coun- 
terpart of  what  is  called  Athol  porridge  in 
the  Highlands  of  Scotland,  which  is  a mix- 
ture of  whiskey  and  honey.  Johnson  said, 
“ that  must  be  a better  liquor  than  the 
Cornish,  for  both  its  component  parts  are 
better.”  He  also  observed,  “ Mahogany 
must  be  a modern  name;  for  it  is  not  long 
since  the  wood  called  mahogany  was  known 
in  this  country.”  I mentioned  his  scale  of 
liquors3  : — claret  for  boys, — port  for  men, — 
brandy  for  heroes.  cc  Then,”  said  Mr 
Burke,  “ let  me  have  claret:  I love  to  be 
a boy;  to  have  the  careless  gayety  of  boyish 
days.”  Johnson.  “ I should  drink  claret 
too,  if  it  would  give  me  that;  but  it  does  not : 
it  neither  makes  boys  men,  nor  men  boys. 
You  ’ll  be  drowned3  by  it  before  it  has  any 
effect  upon  you.” 

I ventured  to  mention  a ludicrous  para- 
graph in  the  newspapers,  that  Dr.  Johnson 
was  learning  to  dance  of  Vestris.  Lord 
Charlemont,  wishing  to  excite  him  to  talk, 
proposed,  in  a whisper,  that  he  should  be 
asked  whether  it  was  true.  “ Shall  I ask 
him?”  said  his  lordship.  We  were,  by  a 
great  majority,  clear  for  the  experiment. 
Upon  which  his  lordship  very  gravely,  and 
with  a courteous  air,  said,  “ Pray,  sir,  is  it 
true  that  you  are  taking  lessons  of  Ves- 
tris?” This  was  risking  a good  deal,  and 
required  the  boldness  of  a general  of  Irish 
volunteers  to  make  the  attempt.  Johnson 
was  at  first  startled,  and  in  some  heat  an- 
swered, “ How  can  your  lordship  ask  so  sim- 
ple a question?”  But  immediately  recov- 
ering himself,  whether  from  unwillingness 
to  be  deceived  or  to  appear  deceived,  or 
whether  from  real  good  humour,  he  kept  up 
the  joke:  “Nay,  but  if  any  body  were  to 
answer  the  paragraph,  and  contradict  it, 
I ’d  have  a reply,  and  would  say,  that  he 
who  contradicted  it  was  no  friend  either  to 
Vestris  or  me.  For  why  should  not  Dr. 
Johnson  add  to  his  other  po  wers  a little  cor- 
poreal agility?  Socrates  learnt  to  dance  at 
an  advanced  age,  and  Cato  learnt  Greek  at 
an  advanced  age.  Then  it  might  proceed  to 
say,  that  this  Johnson,  not  content  with 
dancing  on  the  ground,  might  dance  on  the 
rope;  and  they  might  introduce  the  ele- 
phant dancing  on  the  rope.  A nobleman  4 

3 [See  ante,  p.  207. — Ed.] 

4 William,  the  first  Viscount  Grimston.  [Lord 

Charlemont  was  far  from  being  pleased  with  Mr. 
Boswell’s  having  published  this  conversation 
“ Ilis  lordship  thought  the  whole  plan  of  Mr.  Bos- 
well’s work  incompatible  with  the  freedom  and  in 
deed  sacredness  of  aocial  intercourse.” — Hardy's 


286 


1781.— AT.  72. 


wrote  a play  called  ‘ Love  in  a Hollow 
Tree.’  He  found  out  that  it  was  a bad 
one,  and  therefore  wished  to  buy  up  all  the 
copies  and  burn  them.  The  Duchess  of 
Marlborough  had  kept  one;  and  when  he 
was  against  her  at  an  election,  she  had  a 
new  edition  of  it  printed,  and  prefixed  to 
it,  as  a frontispiece,  an  elephant  dancing  on 
a rope,  to  show  that  his  lordship’s  writing 
comedy  was  as  awkward  as  an  elephant 
dancing  on  a rope.” 

...  . [Dr.  Johnson  was  always  jealous 
Phwzi,  Gf  his  reputation  for  personal  activi- 
ty, and  sometimes  exhibited  it  with 
very  strange  vehemence.  One  day  when 
he  saw  Mr.  Thrale  leap  over  a cabriolet 
stool,  to  show  that  he  was  not  tired  after  a 
chase  of  fifty  miles  or  more,  he  suddenly 
jumped  over  it  too;  but  in  away  so  strange 
and  so  unwieldy,  that  our  terror,  lest  he 
should  break  his  bones,  took  from  us  even 
the  power  of  laughing.]  [Miss 
Recoil  Reynolds  relates  that  Dr.  Johnson 
was  very  ambitious  of  excelling  in 
common  acquirements,  as  well  as  the  un- 
common, and  particularly  in  feats  of  activi- 
ty. One  day,  as  he  was  walking  in  Gunis- 
bury  Park  (or  Paddock)  with  some  gentle- 
men and  ladies,  who  were  admiring  the 
extraordinary  size  of  some  of  the  trees,  one 
of  the  gentlemen  remarked  that,,  when  he 
was  a boy,  he  made  nothing  of  climbing 
(swarming,  she  thought  was  the  phrase) 
the  largest  there.  cc  Why,  I can  swarm  it 
now,”  replied  Dr.  Johnson,  which  excited 
a hearty  laugh — (he  was  then  between 
fifty  and  sixty)  ; on  which  he  ran  to  the 
tree,  clung  round  the  trunk,  and  ascended 
to  the  branches,  and,  Miss  Reynolds  be- 
lieves, would  have  gone  in  amongst  them, 
had  he  not  been  very  earnestly  entreated  to 
descend,  and  down  he  came  with  a trium- 
phant air,  seeming  to  make  nothing  of  it. 

At  another  time,  at  a gentleman’s  seat  in 
Devonshire,  as  he  and  some  company  were 
sitting  in  a saloon,  before  which  was  a spa- 
cious lawn,  it  was  remarked  as  a very 
proper  place  for  running  a race.  A young 
lady  present  boasted  that  she  could  outrun 
any  person;  on  which  Dr.  Johnson  rose  up 
and  said,  “ Madam,  you  cannot  outrun 
me;  ” and,  going  out  on  the  lawn,  they 
started.  The  lady  at  first  had  the  advan- 
tage; but  Dr.  Johnson  happening  to  have 
slippers  on  much  too  small  for  his  feet, 
kicked  them  off  up  into  the  air,  and  ran  a 
great  length  without  them,  leaving  the  lady 
far  behind  him,  and,  having  won  the  victo- 
ry, he  returned,  leading  her  by  the  hand, 

Life  of  Charlemont,  vol.  i.  p.  401.  Without 
stopping  here  to  discuss  Lord  Charlemont’s  princi- 
ple, the  Editor  may  observe  that  Mr.  Hardy  rep- 
resents Lord  Charlemont  as  having  felt  some  per- 
sonal dissatisfaction  on  this  occasion,  for  which 
turely  there  was  not  much  reason. — Ed.] 


with  looks  of  high  exultation  and  de 
light1.] 

On  Sunday,  April  1,  I dined  with  him  at 
Mr.  Thrale’s,  with  Sir  Philip  Jennings 
Clerk2  and  Mr.  Pei  kins3,  who  had  the  su- 
perintendence of  Mr.  Thrale’s  brewery, 
with  a salary  of  five  hundred  pounds  a 
year.  Sir  Philip  had  the  appearance  of  a 
gentleman  of  ancient  family,  well  advanced 
in  life.  He  wore  his  own  white  hair  in  a 
bag  of  goodly  size,  a black  velvet  coat, 
with  an  embroidered  waistcoat,  and  very 
rich  laced  ruffles;  which  Mrs.  Thrale  said 
were  old  fashioned,  but  which,  for  that 
reason,  I thought  the  more  respectable, 
more  like  a tory;  yet  Sir  Philip  was  then 
in  opposition  in  parliament.  “ Ah,  sir,” 
said  Johnson,  “ ancient  ruffles  and  modern 
principles  do  not  agree.”  Sir  Philip  de- 
fended the  opposition  to  the  American  war 
ably  and  with  temper,  and  I joined  him. 
He  said  the  majority  of  the  nation  was 
against  the  ministry.  Johnson.  “ J,  sir, 
am  against  the  ministry;  but  it  is  for  having 
too  little  of  that  of  which  opposition  thinks 
they  have  too  much.  Were  I minister, 
if  any  man  wagged  his  finger  against  me, 
he  should  be  turned  out;  for  that  which  it 
is  in  the  power  of  government  to  give  at 
pleasure  to  one  or  to  another  should  be 
given  to  the  supporters  of  government.  If 
you  will  not  oppose  at  the  expense  of  losing 
your  place,  your  opposition  will  not  be 
honest,  you  will  feel  no  serious  grievance; 
and  the  present  opposition  is  only  a contest 
to  get  what  others  have.  Sir  Robert  Wal- 
pole acted  as  I would  do.  As  to  the  Amer- 
ican war,  the  sense  of  the  nation  is  with 
the  ministry.  The  majority  of  those  who 
can  understand  is  with  it;  the  majority  of 
those  who  can  only  hear  is  against  it;  and 
as  those  who  can  only  hear  are  more  nu- 
merous than  those  who  can  understand, 
and  opposition  is  always  loudest,  a majority 
of  the  rabble  will  be  for  opposition.” 

This  boisterous  vivacity  entertained  us  ; 
but  the  truth  in  my  opinion  was  that  those 
who  could  understand  the  best  were  against 
the  American  war,  as  almost  every  man 
now  is,  when  the  question  has  been  coolly 
considered. 

Mrs.  Thrale  gave  high  praise  to  Mr 
Dudley  Long4  (now  North).  Johnson. 
“ Nay,  my  dear  lady,  do  n’t  talk  so.  Mr. 
Long’s  character  is  very  short.  It  is  no- 
thing. He  fills  a chair.  He  is  a man  of 

1 [This  exhibition  occurred  during  his  visit  to 
Devonshire  in  1762,  at  the  house  of  the  lady  to 
whom  he  made  the  avowal  mentioned  ante,  vol 
i.  p.  164. — Ed.] 

2 [Sir  P.  J.  Clerk,  Bart.,  member  for  Totnes* 
in  several  parliaments,  was,  at  this  tune,  in  very 
active  opposition  to  the  government—  Ed.] 

3 [See  vol.  i.  p.  494. — Ed.] 

4 [See  ante,  p.  283. — Ed.] 


1781.— JETAT.  72. 


287 


genteel  appearance,  and  that  is  all1.  I 
know  nobody  who  blasts  by  praise  as  you 
do  : for  whenever  there  is  exaggerated 
praise,  every  body  is  set  against  a character. 
They  are  provoked  to  attack  it.  Now 
there  is  Pepys2  : you  praised  that  man  with 
such  disproportion,  that  I was  incited  to 
lessen  him,  perhaps  more  than  he  deserves. 
His  blood  is  upon  your  head.  By  the  same 
principle,  your  malice  defeats  itself ; for 
your  censure  is  too  violent.  And  yet  (look- 
ing to  her  with  a leering  smile)  she  is  the 
first  woman  in  the  world,  could  she  but  re- 
strain that  wicked  tongue  of  hers  ; — she 
would  be  the  only  woman,  could  she  but 
command  that  little  whirligi'g.” 

Ed  [Between  Johnson  and  Pepys  there 
was  no  cordiality,  and  Johnson’s 
dislike  was  certainly  increased,  if  not  caus- 
ed, by  some  degree  of  jealousy  at  the  re- 
gard which  Mrs.  Thrale  had  for  Pepys ; 
and  as  the  latte-r  would  not  tamely  submit 
to  Johnson’s  violence,  there  were  sometimes 
Piozzi,  stormy  scenes  between  them.]  [On 
Auec.  one  occasion,  when  he  had  pro- 
P-109-  yoked  Mr.  Pepys,  till  something 
much  too  like  a quarrel  was  grown  up  be- 
tween them,  the  mome»nt  he  was  gone, 
“ Now,”  says  Dr.  Johnson,  “ is  Pepys  gone 
home  hating  me,  who  love  him  better  than 
I did  before.  He  spoke  in  defence  of  his 
dead  friend  ; but  though  I hope  I spoke 
better  who  spoke  against  him,  yet  all  my 
eloquence  will  gain  me  nothing  but  an  hon- 
est man  for  my  enemy  ! ” He  did  not, 
however,  cordially  love  Mr.  Pepys,  though 
he  respected  his  abilities.  “ I knew  the 
dog  was  a scholar,”  said  he,  when  they 
had  been  disputing  about  the  classics  for 
three  hours  together  one  morning  at  Streat- 
ham  ; “ but  that  he  had  so  much  taste  and 
so  much  knowledge  I did  not  believe  : I 
might  have  taken  Barnard’s  word  though, 
for  Barnard  would  not  lie.”] 

1 Here  Johnson  condescended  to  play  upon  the 
words  Long  and  short.  But  little  did  he  know 
that,  owing  to  Mr.  Long’s  reserve  in  his  presence, 
he  was  talking  thus  of  a gentleman  distinguished 
amongst  his  acquaintance  for  acuteness  of  wit  ; 
and  to  whom,  I think,  the  French  expression,  “ II 
petille  d’esprit ,”  is  particularly  suited.  He  has 
gratified  me  by  mentioning  that  he  heard  Dr.  John- 
son say,  “ Sir,  if  I were  to  lose  Boswell  it  would 
he  a limb  amputated.” — Boswell. 

2 William  Weller  Pepys,  Esq.,  one  of  the  mas- 
ters in  the  high  court  of  chancery , and  well  known 
in  polite  circles.  My  acquaintance  with  him  is 
not  sufficient  to  enable  me  to  speak  of  him  from 
my  own  judgment.  But  I know  that  both  at  Eton 
and  Oxford  he  was  the  intimate  friend  of  the  late 
Sir  James  Macdonald,  the  Marcellus  of  Scotland, 
whose  extraordinary  talents,  learning,  and  virtues 
will  ever  be  remembered  with  admiration  and  re- 
gret.— Boswell.  [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  285. — 
Fu.] 


Upon  the  subject  of  exaggerated  praise  I 
took  the  liberty  to  say,  that  I thought  there 
might  be  very  high  praise  given  to  a known 
character  which  deserved  it,  and  therefore 
it  would  not  be  exaggerated.  Thus,  r*ne 
might  say  of  Mr.  Edmund  Burke,  he  is  a 
very  wonderful  man.  Johnson.  “ No, 
sir,  you  would  not  be  safe,  if  another  man 
had  a mind  perversely  to  contradict.  He 
might  answer, c Where  is  all  the  wonder  ? 
Burke  is,  to  be  sure,  a man  of  uncommon 
abilities  ; with  a great  quantity  of  matter 
in  his  mind,  and  a great  fluency  of  language 
in  his  mouth.  But  we  are  not  to  be  stun- 
ned and  astonished  by  him.’  So  you  see, 
sir,  even  Burke  would  suffer,  not  from  any 
fault  of  his  own,  but  from  your  folly3.” 

Mrs.  Thrale  mentioned  a gentleman  who 
had  acquired  a fortune  of  four  thousand  a 
year  in  trade,  but  was  absolutely  misera- 
ble because  he  could  not  talk  in  company, 
so  miserable,  that  he  was  impelled  to  la 
ment  his  situation  in  the  street  to  ******, 
whom  he  hates,  and  who  he  knows  despi- 
ses him.  “ I am  a most  unhappy  man,” 
said  he.  “ I am  invited  to  conversations  ; 
I go  to  conversations  ; but,  alas  ! I have 
no  conversation.”  Johnson.  “Man  com- 
monly cannot  be  successful  in  different 
ways.  This  gentleman  has  spent,  in  get- 
ting. four  thousand  pounds  a year,  the  time 
in  which  he  might  have  learnt  to  talk  ; and 
now  he  cannot  talk.”  Mr.  Perkins  made  a 
shrewd  and  droll  remark  : “ If  he  had  got 
his  four  thousand  a year  as  a mountebank, 
he  might  have  learnt  to  talk  at  the  same 
time  that  he  was  getting  his  fortune.” 

Some  other  gentlemen  came  in.  The 
conversation  concerning  the  person  4 whose 
character  Dr.  Johnson  had  treated  so  slight- 
ingly, as  he  did  not  know  his  merit,  was 
resumed.  Mrs.  Thrale  said,  “You  think 
so  of  him,  sir,  because  he  is  quiet,  and  does 
not  exert  himself  with  force.  You’ll  be 
saying  the  same  thing  of  Mr.  *****  there, 
who  sits  as  quiet.”  This  was  not  well 
bred  ; and  Johnson  did  not  let  it  pass  with- 
out correction.  “ Nay,  madam,  what  right 
have  you  to  talk  thus  ? Both  Mr.  ***** 
and  I have  reason  to  take  it  ill.  You  may 
talk  so  of  Mr.  *****  ; but  why  do  you  make 
me  do  it  ? Have  I said  any  thing  against 
Mr.  *****  ? You  have  set  him,  that  I 
might  shoot  him  : but  I have  not  shot 
him.” 

One  of  the  gentlemen  said  he  had  seen 
three  folio  volumes  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  say- 


3 [This  is  a fresh  instance  (see  ante,  29th 
March,  1776)  of  Johnson’s  contradicting  his  own 
assertions  when  another  person  ventured  to  repeat 
them.  Boswell’s  supposed  folly  was  saying  ex- 
actly the  same  thing  that  Johnson  had  said  to  him 
on  the  20th  March,  1776.  Ante,  p.  38. — Ed.] 

4 fMr.  Dudley  North. — Ed.] 


288 


1781. — jETAT  72 


mgs  collected  by  me.  “ I must  put  you 
right,  sir,”  said  I ; “ for  I am  very  exact 
in  authenticity.  You  could  not  see  folio 
volumes,  for  I have  none:  you  might  have 
seen  some  in  quarto  and  octavo.  This  is 
an  inattention  which  one  should  guard 
against.”  Johnson.  £C  Sir,  it  is  a want 
of  concern  about  veracity.  He  does  not 
know  that  he  saw  any  volumes.  If  he  had 
seen  them  he  could  have  remembered  their 
size.” 

Mr.  Thrale  appeared  very  lethargick  to- 
day. I saw  him  again  on  Monday  evening, 
at  which  time  he  was  not  thought  to  be  in 
immediate  danger  : but  early  in  the  morn- 
ing of  Wednesday  the  4th  he  expired. 
Upon  that  day  there  was  a call  of  the  litera- 
ry Club  ; but  Johnson  apologised  for  his 
absence  by  the  following  note : 

“ Wednesday,  [4th  April.] 

“ Mr.  Johnson  knows  that  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  and  the  other  gentlemen  will  ex- 
cuse his  incompliance  with  the  call,  when 
they  are  told  that  Mr.  Thrale  died  this 
morning.” 

Johnson  was  in  the  house,  and  thus  men- 
tions the  event: 

[“Good  Friday,  13tli  April,  1781. 

“ On  Wednesday,  11th,  was  buried  my 
dear  friend  Thrale,  who  died  on  Wednes- 
day, 4th;  and  with  him  were  buried  many 
of  my  hopes  and  pleasures.  About  five,  I 
think,  on  Wednesday  morning  he  expired. 
I felt  almost  the  last  flutter  of  his  pulse,  and 
looked  for  the  last  time  upon  the  face  that 
for  fifteen  years  had  never  been  turned  up- 
on me  but  with  respect  or  benignity 1. 
Farewell.  May  God,  that  delighteth  in 
mercy,  have  had  mercy  on  thee ! 

“ I had  constantly  prayed  for  him  some 
time  before  his  death. 

“ The  decease  of  him,  from  whose  friend- 
ship I had  obtained  many  opportunities  of 
amusement,  and  to  whom  I turned  my 
thoughts  as  to  a refuge  from  misfortunes, 
has  left  me  heavy.  But  my  business  is 
with  myself.”] 

Ed  [At  a subsequent  date  he  added,  on 
D‘  the  same  paper, 

“ 18th  September. 

Fr.  and  “ My  first  knowledge  of  Thrale 
Med.  p.  was  in  1765.  I enjoyed  his  favour 
l88'  for  almost  a fourth  part  of  my  life.”] 


1 Johnson’s  expressions  on  this  occasion  remind 
us  of  Isaac  Walton’s  eulogy  on  Whitgift,  in  his 
Life  of  Hooker.  “ He  lived  to  be  present  at  the 
expiration  of  her  (Queen  Elizabeth’s)  last  breath, 
and  to  behold  the  closing  of  those  eyes  that  had 
long  looked  upon  him  with  reverence  and  affec- 
tion ’—Kearney. 


Mr.  Thrale’s  death  was  a very  essentia, 
loss  to  Johnson,  who,  although  he  did  not 
foresee  all  that  afterwards  happened,  was 
sufficiently  convinced  that  the  comforts 
which  Mr.  Thrale’s  family  afforded  him 
would  now  in  a great  measure  cease.  He, 
however,  continued  to  show  a kind  atten- 
tion to  his  widow  and  children  as  long  as  it 
was  acceptable;  and  he  took  upon  him, 
with  a very  earnest  concern,  the  office  of 
one  of  his  executors  ; the  importance  of 
which  seemed  greater  than  usual  to  him, 
from  his  circumstances  having  been  always 
such  that  he  had  scarcely  any  share  in  the 
real  business  of  life.  His  friends  of  the 
Club  were  in  hopes  that  Mr.  Thrale  might 
have  made  a liberal  provision  for  him  for 
his  life,  which,  as  Mr.  Thrale  left  no  son 
and  a very  large  fortune,  it  would  have 
been  highly  to  his  honour  to  have  done 
and,  considering  Dr.  Johnson’s  age,  could 
not  have  been  of  long  duration  ; but  he 
bequeathed  him  only  two  hundred  pounds, 
which  was  the  legacy  given  to  each  of  his 
executors.  I could  not  but  be  somewhat 
diverted  by  hearing  Johnson  talk  in  a pom- 
pous manner  of  his  new  office,  and  particu 
larly  of  the  concerns  of  the  brewery,  which 
it  was  at  last  resolved  should  be  sold.  Lord 
Lucan  tells  a very  good  story,  which,  if 
not  precisely  exact,  is  certainly  character- 
istical ; that  when  the  sale  of  Thrale’s 
brewery  was  going  fonvard,  Johnson  ap- 
peared bustling  about,  with  an  inkhorn  and 
pen  in  his  button-hole,  like  an  exciseman  • 
and  on  being  asked  what  he  really  consid- 
ered to  be  the  value  of  the  property  which 
was  to  be  disposed  of,  answered,  “ We  are 
not  here  to  sell  a parcel  of  boilers  and  vats, 
but  the  potentiality  of  growing  rich  beyond 
the  dreams  of  avarice.” 

[“  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  5th  April,  1781 

“ Dearest  madam, — Of  your  in-  Letters, 
junctions  to  pray  for  you  and  write  voi.  ii. 
to  you,  I hope  to  leave  neither  p>  191  ’ 
unobserved  ; and  I hope  to  find  you  willing 
in  a short  time  to  alleviate  your  trouble  by 
some  other  exercise  of  the  mind.  I am  not 
without  my  part  of  the  calamity.  No 
death  since  that  of  my  wife  has  ever  op- 
pressed me  like  this  But  let  us  remember 
that  we  are  in  the  hands  of  Him  who  knows 
when  to  give  and  when  to  take  away,  who 
will  look  upon  us  with  mercy  through  all 
our  variations  of  existence,  and  who  in- 
vites us  to  call  on  him  in  the  day  of  trouble. 
Call  upon  him  in  this  great  revolution  of 
life,  and  call  with  confidence.  You  will 
then  find  comfort  for  the  past,  and  support 
for  the  future.  He  that  has  given  you 
happiness  in  marriage,  to  a degree  of  which, 
without  personal  knowledge,  I should  have 
thought  the  description  fabulous,  can  give 


1781.— JETAT.  72. 


289 


you  another  mode  of  happiness  as  a mother, 
and  at  last  the  happiness  of  losing  all  tem- 
poral cares  in  the  thoughts  of  an  eternity  in 
heaven 

“ I do  not  exhort  you  to  reason  yourself 
into  tranquillity.  We  must  first  pray,  and 
then  labour;  first  implore  the  blessing  of 
God,  and  those  means  which  he  puts  into 
our  hands.  Cultivated  ground  has  few 
weeds;  a mind  occupied  by  lawful  business 
has  little  room  for  useless  regret. 

“ We  read  the  will  to-day;  but  I will  not 
fill  my  first  letter  with  any  account  than 
that,  with  all  my  zeal  for  your  advantage,  I 
am  satisfied;  and  that  the  other  executors, 
more  used  to  consider  property  than  I,  com- 
mended it  for  wisdom  and  equity.  Yet  why 
should  I not  tell  you  that  you  have  five 
hundred  pounds  for  your  immediate  ex- 
penses. and  two  thousand  pounds  a year, 
with  both  the  housps,  and  all  the  goods? 

“ Let  us  pray  for  one  another,  that  the 
time,  whether  long  or  short,  that  shall  yet 
be  granted  us,  may  be  well  spent;  and  that 
when  this  life,  which  at  the  longest  is  very 
short,  shall  come  to  an  end,  a better  may 
begin  which  shall  never  end.”] 

Hawk.  [The  death  of  Mr.  Thrale  dis- 
p.  551,  solved  the  friendship  between  him 
652'  and  Johnson;  but  it  abated  not  in 
the  latter  that  care  for  the  interests  of  those 
whom  his  friend  had  left  behind  him,  which 
he  thought  himself  bound  to  cherish,  as  a 
living  principle  of  gratitude.  The  favours 
he  had  received  from  Mr.  Thrale  were  to 
be  repaid  by  the  exercise  of  kind  offices  to- 
wards his  relict  and  her  child!  en,  and  these, 
circumstanced  as  Johnson  was,  could  only 
be  prudent  counsels,  friendly  admonition  to 
the  one,  and  preceptive  instruction  to  the 
others,  both  which  he  was  ever  ready  to  in- 
terpose. Nevertheless,  it  was  observed  by 
myself,  and  other  of  Johnson’s  friends,  that, 
soon  after  the  decease  of  Mr.  Thrale,  his 
visits  to  Streatham  became  les&  and  less  fre- 
quent, and  that  he  studiously  avoided  the 
mention  of  the  place  or  family.  It  seems 
that  between  him  and  the  widow  there  was 
a formal  taking  of  leave,  for  I find  in  his 
diary  the  following  note : 

“ April  5tli,  1783. 

“ I took  leave  of  Mrs.  Thrale.  I was 
much  moved.  I had  some  expostulations 
with  her.  She  said  that  she  was  likewise 
affected.  I commended  the  Thrales  with 
great  good-will  to  God.  May  my  petitions 
have  been  heard ! ”] 

On  Friday,  April  6,  he  carried  me  to  dine 
at  a club  which,  at  his  desire,  had  been  late- 
ly formed  at  the  Queen’s  Arms  in  St.  Paul’s 
Ed  Churchyard.  [Their  dining  at  a 

D club  on  the  next  day  but  one  after 
the  loss  of  such  a friend  as  Mr.  Thrale  ap- 

vol  ii.  37 


pears  at  first  sight  so  unfee.ing,  that  it  is 
but  justice  tc  insert  extracts  of  letters  to 
Mrs.  Thrale,  in  which  Johnson  accounts 
fbr  going  into  company  at  this  period.] 

[“  DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  April  9th,  1781. 

“ Dearest  madam, — That  you  Letterg 
are  gradually  recovering  your  tran-  voi.  ii.  ’ 
quillity  is  the  effect  to  be  humbly  P 195* 
expected  from  trust  in  God.  Do  not  repre- 
sent life  as  darker  than  it  is.  Your  loss  has 
been  very  great,  but  you  retain  more  than 
almost  any  other  can  hope  to  possess.  You 
are  high  in  the  opinion  of  mankind;  you 
have  children  from  whom  much  pleasure 
may  be  expected;  and  that  you  will  find 
many  friends  you  have  no  reason  to  doubt. 
Of  my  friendship,  be  it  more  or  less,  I hope 
you  think  yourself  certain,  without  much 
art  or  care.  It  will  not  be  easy  for  me  to 
repay  the  benefits  that  I have  received;  but 
I hope  to  be  always  ready  at  your  call.  Our 
sorrow  has  different  effects:  you  are  with- 
drawn into  solitude,  and  I am  driven  into 
company.  I am  afraid  of  thinking  what  I 
have  lost.  I never  had  such  a friend  before. 
Let  me  have  your  prayers  and  those  of  my 
dear  Queeney. 

“ The  pr.udence  and  resolution  of  your 
design  to  return  so  soon  to  your  business 
and  your  duty  deserves  great  praise  : I shall 
communicate  it  on  Wednesday  to  the  other 
executors.”] 

[£<  DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  THRALE^ 

“ Dearest  madam, — You  will  not  sup- 
pose that  much  has  happened  since  last 
night,  nor  indeed  is  this  a time  for  talking 
much  of  loss  and  gain.  The  business  of 
Christians  is  now  for  a few  days  in  their 
own  bosoms.  God  grant  us  to  do  it  pro- 
perly ! I hope  you  gain  ground  on  your  af- 
fliction: I hope  to  overcome  mine.  You 
and  Miss  must  comfort  one  another.  May 
you  long  live  happily  together ! I have  no- 
body whom  I expect  to  share  my  uneasi- 
ness; nor,  if  I could  communicate  it,  would 
it  be  less.  I give  it  little  vent,  and  amuse 
it  as  I can.  Let  us  pray  for  one  another; 
and  when  we  meet,  we  may  try  what  fideli- 
ty and  tenderness  will  do  for  us. 

“ There  is  no  wisdom  in  useless  and 
hopeless  sorrow;  but  there  is  something  in 
it  so  like  virtue,  that  he  who  is  wholly  with- 
out it  cannot  be  loved,  nor  will,  by  me  at 
least,  be  thought  worthy  of  esteem.”] 

He  had  told  Mr.  Hoole  that  he  wished  to 
have  a city  Club,  and  asked  him  to  collect 
one;  but,  said  he,  “Do n’t  let  thembejoa- 
triots .”  The  company  were  to-day  very 
sensible,  well-behaved  men.  I have  pre- 
served only  two  particulars  of  his  conversa 


290 


1781.— AST  AT.  72. 


tion.  He  said  he  was  glad  Lord  George 
Gordon  had  escaped,  rather  than  that  a 
precedent  should  be  established  for  hanging 
a man  for  constructive  treason , which,  in 
consistency  with  his  true,  manly,  constitu- 
tional toryism,  he  considered  would  be  a 
dangerous  engine  of  arbitrary  power.  And 
upon  its  being  mentioned  that  an  opulent 
and  very  indolent  Scotch  nobleman,  who 
totally  resigned  the  management  of  his  af- 
fairs to  a man  of  knowledge  and  abilities, 
had  claimed  some  merit  by  saying,  “ The 
next  best  thing  to  managing  a man’s  own 
affairs  well  is  being  sensible  of  incapacity, 
and  not  attempting  it,  but  having  full  con- 
fidence in  one  who  can  do  it: 55 — Johnson. 
“ Nay,  sir,  this  is  paltry.  There  is  a mid- 
dle course.  Let  a man  give  application; 
and  depend  upon  it  he  will  soon  get  above 
a despicable  state  of  helplessness,  and  attain 
the  power  of  acting  for  himself.” 

On  Saturday,  April  7,  I dined  with  him 
at  Mr.  Hoole’s  with  Governour  Bouchier 
and  Captain  Orme,  both  of  whom  had  been 
long  in  the  East  Indies;  and,  being  men  of 
good  sense  and  observation,  were  very  en- 
tertaining. Johnson  defended  the  oriental 
regulation  of  different  castes  of  men ],  which 
was  objected  to  as  totally  destructive  of  the 
hopes  of  rising  in  society  by  personal  merit. 
He  showed  that  there  was  a principle  in  it 
sufficiently  plausible  by  analogy.  “We 
see,”  said  he,  “ in  metals  that  there  are  dif- 
ferent species;  and  so  likewise  in  animals, 
though  one  species  may  not  differ  very 
widely  from  another,  as,  !n  the  species  of 
dogs,  the  cur,  the  spaniel,  the  mastiff.  Thet 
Bramins  are  the  mastiffs  of  mankind.” 

On  Thursday,  April  12,  I dined  with  him 
at  a bishop’s,  where  were  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, Mr.  Berenger,  and  some  more  com- 
pany. He  had  dined  the  day  before  at  an- 
other bishop’s1 2.  I have  unfortunately  re- 
corded none  of  his  conversation  at  the  bish- 
op’s where  we  dined  together:  but  I have 
preserved  his  ingenious  defence  of  his 

1 Rajapouts,  the  military  caste;  the  Bramins, 
pacifick  and  abstemious. — Kearney. 

2 [The  only  bishops  at  whose  houses  Johnson  is 
recorded  to  have  dined  were  Shipley  of  St. 
Asaph  and  Porteus  of  Chester,  afterwards  of  Lon- 
don. By  a letter  post,  April,  1782,  it  appears 
that  he  dined  two  consecutive  days,  in  April,  with 
the  Bishops  of  St.  Asaph’s^and  Chester.  It  seems 
so  unlikely  that  he  should,  in  two  succeeding 
Aprils,  have  dined  successively  with  these  two 
bishops,  that  the  Editor  suspected  that  the  letter 
placed  under  the  year  1782,  but  undated  in  Mrs. 
Piozzi’s  volume,  really  belonged  to  1781,  and  re- 
ferred to  the  dinners  mentioned  in  the  text;  but 
the  statement  in  that  letter,  that  the  second  of  May 
fell  on  a Thursday,  fixes  its  date  to  1782.  The 
matter  is  of  some  little  importance,  for  we  had 
rather  be  assured  that  Bishop  Porteus  were  not 
the  bishop  alluded  to. — Ed.] 


dining  twice  abroad  in  Passion-week;  a 
laxity  in  which  I am  convinced  he  would 
not  have  indulged  himself  at  the  time  when 
he  wrote  his  solemn  paper  in  “ The  Ram 
bier  ” upon  that  awful  season.  It  appeared 
to  me,  that  by  being  much  more  in  compa- 
ny, and  enjoying  more  luxurious  living,  he 
had  contracted  a keener  relish  for  pleasure, 
and  was  consequently  less  rigorous  in  his 
religious  rites.  This  he  would  not  acknow- 
ledge; but  he  reasoned  with  admirable 
sophistry  as  follows:  “ Why,  sir,  a bish- 
op’s calling  company  together  in  this  week 
is,  to  use  the  vulgar  phrase,  not  the  thing. 
But  you  must  consider  laxity  is  a bad  thing; 
but  preciseness  is  also  a bad  thing;  and 
your  general  character  may  be  more  hurt 
by  preciseness  than  by  dining  with  a bish- 
op in  Passion-week.  There  might  be  a 
handle  for  reflection.  It  might  be  said, 
‘ He  refuses  to  dine  with  a bishop  in  Pas- 
sion-week, but  was  three  Sundays  absent 
from  church.’  ” Boswell.  “ Very  true, 
sir.  But  suppose  a man  to  be  uniformly  of 
good  conduct,  would  it  not  be  better  that 
he  should  refuse  to  dine  with  a bishop  in 
this  week,  and  so  not  encourage  a bad  prac- 
tice by  his  example  ? ” Johnson.  “Why, 
sir,  you  are  to  consider  whether  you  might 
not  do  more  harm  by  lessening,  the  influ- 
ence of  a bishop’s  character  by  your  disap- 
probation in  refusing  him,  than  by  going 
to  him.” 

“TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER,  IN  LICHFIELD. 

“ London,  12th  April,  1781 

“D  ear  madam, — Life  is  full  of  troubles. 
I have  just  lost  my  dear  friend  Thrale.  I 
hope  he  is  happy;  but  I have  had  a great 
loss.  I am  otherwise  pretty  well.  I re- 
quire some  care  of  myself,  but  that  care  is 
not  ineffectual;  and  when  I am  out  of  or- 
der, I think  it  often  my  own  fault. 

“ The  spring  is  now  making  quick  ad- 
vances. As  it  is  the  season  in  which  the 
whole  world  is  enlivened  and  invigorated, 
I hope  that  both  you  and  I shall  partake  of  its 
benefits.  My  desire  is  to  see  Lichfield;  but 
being  left  executor  to  my  friend,  I know 
not  whether  I can  be  spared;  but  I will 
try,  for  it  is  now  long  since  we  saw  one 
another;  and  how  little  we  can  promise 
ourselves  many  more  interviews,  we  are 
taught  by  hourly  examples  of  mortality. 
Let  us  try  to  live  so  as  that  mortality  may 
not  be  an  evil.  Write  to  me  soon,  my  dear 
est:  your  letters  will  give  me  great  plea- 
sure. 

“ I am  sorry  that  Mr.  Porter  has  not  had 
his  box;  but  by  sending  it  to  Mr.  Mathias, 
who  very  readily  undertook  its  conveyance, 
I did  the  best  I could,  and  perhaps  beforr 
now  he  has  it. 

“Be  so  kind  as  to  make  my  compliment.* 
to  my  friends.  I have  a great  va.ue  foi 


1781. — dETAT.  72. 


291 


their  kindness  and  hope  to  enjoy  it  before 
summer  is  past.  Do  write  to  me.  I am, 
dearest  love,  your  most  humble  servant, 
Sam.  Johnson.” 

On  Friday,  April  13,  being  Good  Fri- 
day, I went  to  St.  Clement’s  church  with 
him  as  usual.  There  I saw  again  his  old 
fellow-collegian,  Edwards,  to  whom  I said, 
“ I think,  sir,  Dr.  Johnson  and  you  meet 
only  at  church.”  “ Sir,”  said  he,  “ it  is  the 
best  place  we  can  meet  in,  except  heaven, 
and  I hope  we  shall  meet  there  too.”  Dr. 
Johnson  told  me  that  there  was  very  little 
communication  between  Edwards  and  him 
after  their  unexpected  renewal  of  acquaint- 
ance. “ But,”  said  he,  smiling,  “ he  met  me 
once  and  said,  { I am  told  you  have  written  a 
very  pretty  book  called  “ The  Rambler.”  ’ 
1 was  unwilling  that  he  should  leave  the 
world  in  total  darkness,  and  sent  him  a set.” 

Mr.  Berenger 1 visited  him  to-day,  and 
was  very  pleasing.  We  talked  of  an  even- 
ing society  for  conversation  at  a house  in 
town,  of  which  we  were  all  members,  but 
of  which  Johnson  said,  “ It  will  never  do, 
sir.  There  is  nothing  served  about  there; 
neither  tea,  nor  coffee,  nor  lemonade,  nor 
any  thing  whatever;  and  depend  upon  it, 
sir,  a man  does  not  love  to  go  to  a place 
from  whence  he  comes  out  exactly  as  he 
went  in.”  I endeavoured,  for  argument’s 
6ake,  to  maintain  that  men  of  learning  and 
talents  might  have  very  good  intellectual 
society,  without  the  aid  of  any  little  grati- 
fications of  the  senses.  Berenger  joined 
with  Johnson,  and  said  that  without  these 
any  meeting  would  be  dull  and  insipid.  He 
would  therefore  have  all  the  slight  refresh- 
ments; nay,  it  would  not  be  amiss  to  have 
some  cold  meat,  and  a bottle  of  wine  upon 
a sideboard.  “ Sir,”  said  Johnson  to  me, 
with  an  air  of  triumph,  “ Mr.  Berenger 
knows  the  world.  Every  body  loves  to 
have  good  things  furnished  to  them  without 
any  trouble.  I told  Mrs.  Thrale  once,  that, 
as  she  did  not  choose  to  have  card-tables, 
she  should  have  a profusion  of  the  best 
sweetmeats,  and  she  would  be  sure  to  have 
company  enough  come  to  her.”  I agreed 
with  my  illustrious  friend  upon  this  subject; 
for  it  has  pleased  God  to  make  man  a com- 
posite animal,  and  where  there  is  nothing 
to  refresh  the  body,  the  mind  will  languish. 

On  Sunday,  April  15,  being  Easter  day, 
after  solemn  worship  in  St.  Paul’s  church, 
I found  him  alone.  Dr.  Scott,  of  the  Com- 
mons, came  in.  He  talked  of  its  having 
been  said,  th-at  Addison  wrote  some  of  his 

1 Richard  Berenger,  Esq.,  many  years  gentle- 
man of  the  horse  to  his  present  majesty,  and  au- 
thour  of  “ The  History  and  Art  of  Horseman- 
ship,” in  two  volumes,  4to.  1771. — Malonk 
[See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  258,  and  p.  158  of  this  vol. 

-Eo  ' 


best  papers  in  “ The  Spectator  ” when 
warm  with  wine.  Dr.  Johnson  did  not 
seem  willing  to  admit  this.  Dr.  Scott,  as 
a confirmation  of  it,  related,  that  Blackstone, 
a sober  man,  composed  his  “ Commenta- 
ries ” with  a bottle  of  port  before  him;  and 
found  his  mind  invigorated  and  supported 
in  the  fatigue  of  his  great  work,  by  a tem- 
perate use  of  it. 

I told  him,  that  in  a company  where  I 
had  lately  been,  a desire  was  expressed  to 
know  his  authority  for  the  shocking  story 
of  Addison’s  sending  an  execution  into 
Steele’s  house2.  “ Sir,”  said  he,  “ it  is 
generally  known;  it  is  known  to  all  who 
are  acquainted  with  the  literary  history  of 
that  period:  it  is  as  well  known  as  that  he 
wrote  ‘ Cato.’  Mr.  Thomas  Sheridan  once 
defended  Addison  to  me,  by  alleging  that 
he  did  it  in  order  to  cover  Steele’s  goods 
from  other  creditors,  who  were  going  to 
seize  them.” 

We  talked  of  the  difference  between 
the  mode  of  education  at  Oxford  and  that 
in  those  colleges  where  instruction  is  chiefly 
conveyed  by  lectures.  Johnson.  “ Lec- 
tures were  once  useful;  but  now,  when  all 
can  read,  and  books  are  so  numerous,  lec- 
tures are  unnecessary.  If  your  attention 
fails,  and  you  miss  a part  of  the  lecture,  it 
is  lost;  you  cannot  go  back  as  you  do  upon 
a book.”  Dr.  Scott  agreed  with  him. 
“ But  yet,”  said  I,  “ Dr.  Scott,  you  yourself 
gave  lectures  at  Oxford.”  He  smiled. 
“ You  laughed,”  then  said  I,  “ at  those  who 
came  to  you.” 

Dr.  Scott  left  us,  and  soon  afterwards  we 
went  to  dinner.  Our  company  consisted  of 
Mrs.  Williams,  Mrs.  Desmoulins,  Mr.  Lev- 
ett,  Mr.  Allen,  the  printer,  (Mr.  Macbean), 
and  Mrs.  Hall,  sister  of  the  Reverend  Mr. 
John  Wesley,  and  resembling  him,  as  I 
thought,  both  in  figure  and  manner.  John- 
son produced  now,  for  the  first  time,  some 
handsome  silver  salvers,  which  he  told  me 
he  had  bought  fourteen  years  ago;  so  it 
was  a great  day.  I was  not  a little  amused 
by  observing  Allen  perpetually  struggling 
to  talk  in  the  manner  of  Johnson,  like  the 
little  frog  in  the  fable  blowing  himself  up 
to  resemble  the  stately  ox. 

I mentioned  a kind  of  religious  Robin- 
Hood  society,  which  met  every  Sunday 
evening  at  Coachmakers’-hall,  for  free  de- 
bate; and  that  the  subject  for  this  night 
was,  the  text  which  relates,  with  other  mir- 
acles which  happened  at  our  Saviour’s  death 
“ And  the  graves  were  opened, 
and  many  bodies  of  the  saints 
which  slept  arose,  and  came  out 
of  the  graves  after  his  resurrection,  and 
went  into  the  holy  city,  and  appeared  unto 
many.”  Mrs.  Hall  said  it  was  a very  curi- 


[See  ante,  p.  274,  n. — Ed.] 


292 


1781.— AFTAT  72. 


ous  subject,  and  she  should  like  to  hear  it.  j 
discussed.  Johnson  (somewhat  warmly). 

One  would  not  go  to  such  a place  to  hear 
it, — one  would  not  be  seen  in  such  a place 
— to  give  countenance  to  such  a meeting/’ 
I,  however,  resolved  that  I would  go. 

“ But,  sir,”  said  she  to  Johnson,  “ I should 
like  to  hear  you  discuss  it.”  He  seemed 
reluctant  to  engage  in  it.  She  talked  of 
the  resurrection  of  the  human  race  in  gene- 
ral, and  maintained  that  we  shall  be  raised 
with  the  same  bodies.  Johnson.  “ Nay, 
madam,  we  see  that  it  is  not  to  be  the  same 
body;  for  the  Scripture  uses  the  illustration 
of  grain  sown,  and  we  know  that  the  grain 
which  grows  is  not  the  same  with  what  is 
sown.  You  cannot  suppose  that  we  shall 
rise  with  a diseased  body;  it  is  enough  if 
there  be  such  a sameness  as  to  distinguish 
identity  of  person.”  She  seemed  desirous 
of  knowing  more,  but  he  left  the  question 
in  obscurity. 

Of  apparitions  5,  he  observed,  “ A total 
disbelief  of  them  is  adverse  to  the  opinion 
of  the  existence  of  the  soul  between  death 
and  the  last  day;  the  question  simply  is, 
whether  departed  spirits  ever  have  the 
power  of  making  themselves  perceptible  to 
us:  a man  who  thinks  he  has  seen  an  ap- 
parition can  only  be  convinced  himself;  his 
authority  will  not  convince  another;  and 
his  conviction,  if  rational,  must  be  founded 
on  being  told  something  which  cannot  be 
known  but  by  supernatural  means.” 

He  mentianed  a thing  as  not  unfrequent, 
of  which  I had  never  heard  before, — being 
called , that  is,  hearing  one’s  name  pronounc- 
ed by  the  voice  of  a known  person  at  a great 
distance,  far  beyond  the  possibility  of  being 
reached  by  any  sound  uttered  by  human 
organs.  “ An  acquaintance,  on  whose  ve- 
racity I cau  depend,  told  me,  that  walking 


1 As  this  subject  frequently  recurs  in  these  vol- 
umes, the  reader  may  be  led  erroneously  to  sup- 
pose that  Dr.  Johnson  was  so  fond  of  such  dis- 
cussions as  frequently  to  introduce  them.  But  the 
truth  is,  that  the  authour  himself  delighted  in 
talking  concerning  ghosts  and  what  he  has  fre- 
quently denominated  the  mysterious  ; and  there- 
fore took  every  opportunity  of  leading  Johnson  to 
converse  on  such  subjects. — Malonje.  The  au- 
thour of  this  work  was  most  undoubtedly  fond  of 
the  mysterious , and  perhaps  upon  some  occasions 
may  have  directed  the  conversation  to  those  topics, 
when  they  would  not  spontaneously  have  suggest, 
ed  themselves  to  Johnson’s  mind;  but  that  he 
also  had  a love  for  speculations  of  that  nature  may 

be  gathered  from  his  writings  throughout. — J. 
Boswell.  [All  this  is  very  true,  and  we  have 
seen  (ante,  vol.  i.  p.  437,  n.)  that  Mr.  Boswell 

bad  some  faith  in  apparitions ; but  the  conversa- 

tion of  this  particular  evening  might  have  arisen 
amongst  men  not  at  all  inclined  to  the  mysterious, 
from  the  mention  of  the  subject  which  was  that 

oight  to  be  debated  at  Coachmakers’-hall. — Ed.] 


j home  one  evening  to  Kilmarnock,  he  heard 
himself  called  from  a wood,  by  the  voice  of 
a brother  who  had  gone,  to  America;  and 
the  next  packet  brought  accounts  of  that 
brother’s  death.”  Macbean  asserted  that 
this  inexplicable  calling  was  a thing  very 
well  known.  Dr.  Johnson  said,  that  one 
day  at  Oxford,  as  he  was  turning  the  key 
of  his  chamber,  he  heard  his  mother  dis- 
tinctly call — Sam.  She  was  then  at  Lich- 
field; but  nothing  ensued.  This  phenome- 
non is,  I think,  as  wonderful  as  any  other 
mysterious  fact,  which  many  people  are 
very  slow  to  believe,  or  rather,  indeed,  re- 
ject with  an  obstinate  contempt. 

[It  is  probably  another  version  of 
the  same  story  to  which  Mrs.  Piozzi  p1 * * *^1 
alludes,  when  she  says,  “ that  at 
Brighthelmstone  once,  when  Johnson  was 
not  present,  Mr.  Beauclerk  asserted  that 
he  was  afraid  of  spirits;  and  I,  who  was  se- 
cretly offended  at  the  charge,  asked  him, 
the  first  opportunity  I could  find,  what 
ground  he  had  ever  given  to  the  world  for 
such  a report?  * I can,’  replied  he,  recol- 
lect nothing  nearer  it,  than  my  telling  Dr 
Lawrence  many  years  ago,  that  a long  time 
after  my  poor  mother’s  death  I heard  her 
voice  call  Sam.’  ‘What  answer  did  the 
doctor  make  to  your  story,  sir.?’  said  I. 
‘ None  in  the  world,’  replied  he;  and  sud- 
denly changed  the  conversation.  Now  as 
Dr.  Johnson  had  a most  unshaken  faith, 
without  any  mixture  of  credulity,  this  story 
must  either  have  been  strictly  true,  or  his 
persuasion  of  its  truth  the  effect  of  disor- 
dered spirits.  I relate  the  anecdote  pre- 
cisely as  he  told  it  me;  but  could  not  pre- 
vail on  him  to  draw  out  the  talk  into  length 
for  farther  satisfaction  of  my  curiosity.”] 

Some  time  after  this,  upon  his  making  a 
remark  which  escaped  my  attention,  Mrs. 
Williams  and  Mrs.  Hall  were  both  together 
striving  to  answer  him.  He  grew  angry,  and 
called  out  loudly,  “Nay,  when  you  both 
speak  at  once,  it  is  intolerable.”  But  check- 
ing himself,  and  softening,  he  said,  “ This 
one  may  say,  though  you  are  ladies.”  Then 
he  brightened  into  gay  humour,  and  ad- 
dressed them  in  the  words  of  one  of  the 
songs  in  “ The  Beggar’s  Opera,” 

“ But  two  at  a time  there ’s  no  mortal  can  bear.” 

“ What,  sir,”  said  I,  “ are  you  going  to 
turn  Captain  Macheath  ?”  There  was 
something  as  pleasantly  ludicrous  in  this 
scene  as  oan  be  imagined.  The  contrast 
between  Macheath,  Polly,  and  Lucy — and 
Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,  blind,  peevish  Mrs. 
Williams,  and  lean,  lank,  preaching  Mrs. 
Hall,  was  exquisite. 

I stole  away  to  Coachmpkers’-hall,  and 
heard  the  difficult  text  of  which  we  had 
talked,  discussed  with  great  decency,  and 
some  intelligence,  by  several  speakers. 


1781.— jETAI.  72. 


293 


Theie  was  a difference  of  opinion  as  to  the 
appearance  of  ghosts  in  modern  times, 
though  the  arguments  for  it,  supported  by 
Mr.  Addison’s  authority,  preponderated. 
The  immediate  subject  of  debate  was  em- 
barrassed by  the  bodies  or  he  saints  having 
been  said  to  rise,  and  by  t.ie  question  what 
became  of  them  afterwards  : — did  they  re- 
turn again  to  their  graves  ? or  were  they 
translated  to  heaven?  Only  one  evange- 
list mentions  the  fact1,  and  the  commenta- 
tors whom  I have  looked  at  do  not  make 
the  passage  clear.  There  is,  however,  no 
occasion  for  our  understanding  it  farther 
than  to  know  that  it  was  one  of  the  extra- 
ordinary manifestations  of  divine  power 
which  accompanied  the  most  important 
event  that  ever  happened. 

On  Friday,  April  20,  I spent  with  him 
one  of  the  happiest  days  that  I remember 
to  have  enjoyed  in  the  whole  course  of  my 
life.  Mrs.  Garrick,  whose  grief  for  the 
loss  of  her  husband  was,  I believe,  as  sin- 
cere as  wounded  affection  and  admiration 
could  produce,  had  this  day,  for  the  first 
time  since  his  death,  a select  party  of  his 
friends  to  dine  with  her.  The  company 
was,  Miss  Hannah  More,  who  lived  with 
ner,  and  whom  she  called  her  chaplain  ; 
Mrs.  Boscawen,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Carter, 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Dr.  Burney,  Dr.  John- 
son, and  myself.  We  found  ourselves  very 
elegantly  entertained  at  her  house  in  the 
Adelphi,  where  I have  passed  many  a pleas- 
ing hour  with  him  “ who  gladdened  life.” 
She  looked  well,  talked  of  her  husband  with 
complacency,  and  while  she  cast  her  eyes 
on  his  portrait,  which  hung  over  the  chim- 
ney-piece, said,  that  “death  was  now  the 
most  agreeable  object  to  her.”  The  very 
semblance  of  David  Garrick  was  cheering. 
Mr.  Beauclerk,  with  happy  propriety,  in- 
scribed under  that  fine  portrait  of  him, 
which  by  Lady  Diana’s  kindness  is  now 
the  property  of  my  friend  Mr.  Langton,  the 
following  passage  from  his  beloved  Shaks- 
peare  : 

“ A merrier  man. 

Within  the  limit  of  becoming  mirth, 

I never  spent  an  hour’s  talk  withal. 

His  eye  begets  occasion  for  his  wit ; 

For  every  object  that  the  one  doth  catch 
The  other  turns  to  a mirth-moving  jest; 
Which  his  fair  tongue  (Conceit’s  expositor) 
Delivers  in  such  apt  and  gracious  words, 

That  aged  ears  play  truant  at  his  tales, 

And  younger  hearings  are  quite  ravished; 

So  sweet  and  voluble  is  his  discourse 2.” 

We  were  all  in  fine  spirits  ; and  I whis- 
pered to  Mrs.  Boscawen,  “ I believe  this  is 
as  much  as  can  be  made  of  life.”  In  addi- 

1  St.  Matthew,  chap.  xxvn.  v.  52,  53. — Bos- 

WEI.L 

3 [tvosaline’s  character  of  Biron.  Love's  Lo- 
bovs Lost,  act  2,  sc.  1. — Ed.] 


tion  to  a splendid  entertainment,  we  were 
regaled  with  Lichfield  ale,  which  had  a pe- 
culiar appropriate  value.  Sir  Joshua,  and 
Dr.  Burney,  and  I,  drank  cordially  of  it  to 
Dr.  Johnson’s  health ; and  though  he 
would  not  join  us,  he  as  cordially  answerea, 
“ Gentlemen,  I wish  you  all  as  well  as  you 
do  me.” 

The  general  effect  of  this  day  dwells  up- 
on my  mind  in  fond  remembrance ; but  I 
do  not  find  much  conversation  recorded 
What  I have  preserved  shall  be  faithfully 
given. 

One  of  the  company  mentioned  Mr. 
Thomas  Hollis,  the  strenuous  whig,  who 
used  to  send  over  Europe  presents  of  de- 
mocratical  books,  with  their  boards  stamp- 
ed with  daggers  and  caps  of  liberty.  Mrs. 
Carter  said,  “ He  was  a bad  man:  he  used 
to  talk  uncharitably.”  Johnson.  “ Poh  1 
poh  ! madam  ; who  is  the  worse  for  being 
talked  of  very  uncharitably  ? Besides,  he 
was  a dull  poor  creature  as  ever  lived:  and 
I believe  he  would  not  have  done  harm  to  a 
man  whom  he  knew  to  be  of  very  opposite 
principles  to  his  own.  I remember  once 
at  the  Society  of  Arts,  when  an  advertise- 
ment was  to  be  drawn  up,  he  pointed  me 
out  as  the  man  who  could  do  it  best.  This, 
you  will  observe,  was  kindness  to  me.  I 
however  slipt  away  and  escaped  it.” 

Mrs.  Carter  having  said  of  the  same  per- 
son, “ I doubt  he  was  an  atheist : ” John- 
son. “ I do  n’t  know  that.  He  might,  per- 
haps, have  become  one,  if  he  had  had  time  to 
ripen  (smiling).  He  might  have  exubera- 
ted into  an  atheist.” 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  praised  “ Mudge’s3 
Sermons.”  Johnson.  “ Mudge’s  Sermons 
are  good,  but  not  practical.  He  grasps 
more  sense  than  he  can  hold ; he  takes 
more  corn  than  he  can  make  into  meal ; he 
opens  a wide  prospect,  but  it  is  so  distant, 
it  is  indistinct.  I love  ‘ Blair’s  Sermons.’ 
Though  the  dog  is  a Scotchman,  and  a 
presbyterian,  and  every  thing  he  should  not 
be,  I was  the  first  to  praise  them.  Such 
was  my  candour”  (smiling).  Mrs.  Bos- 
cawen. “ Such  his  great  merit,  to  get 
the  better  of  all  your  prejudices.”  John- 
son. “ Why,  madam,  let  us  compound  the 
matter ; let  us  ascribe  it  to  my  candour, 
and  his  merit.” 

In  the  evening  we  had  a large  company 
in  the  drawing-room  ; several  ladies,  the 
Bishop  of  Killaloe,  [Dr.  Barnard]  Dr.  Per- 
cy, Mr.  Chamberlayne  of  the  treasury,  &c. 
&c.  Somebody  said-*  the  life  of  a mere  lit- 
erary man  could  not  be  very  entertaining. 
Johnson.  “ But  it  certainly  may.  This 
is  a remark  which  has  been  made,  and  re- 
peated, without  justice.  Why  shou’d  the 
life  of  a literary  man  be  less  entertaining 
than  the  life  of  any  other  man  ? Are  there 

3 [See  page  284  of  this  volume. — Ed.] 


294 


1781.— tETAT.  72. 


not  as  interesting  varieties  in  such  a life  ? 
As  a literary  life  it  may  be  very  entertain- 
ing.” Boswell.  “ But  it  must  be  better 
surely  when  it  is  diversified  with  a little  ac- 
tive variety — such  as  having  gone  to  Ja- 
maica ; — or — his  having  gone  to  the  Heb- 
rides.” Johnson  was  not  displeased  at 
this 

Talking  of  a very  respectable  authour, 
he  told  us  a curious  circumstance  in  his  life, 
which  was,  that  he  had  married  a printer’s 
devil.  Reynolds.  “ A printer’s  devil, 
sir  ! why,  I thought  a printer’s  devil  was  a 
creature  with  a black  face  and  in  rags.” 
Johnson.  “Yes,  sir.  But  I suppose  he 
had  her  face  washed,  and  put  clean  clothes 
on  her.  (Then  looking  very  serious,  and 
very  earnest)  And  she  did  not  disgrace 
him  ; — the  woman  had  a bottom  of  good 
sense.”  The  word  bottom  thus  introduced 
was  so  ludicrous  when  contrasted  with  his 
gravity,  that  most  of  us  could  not  forbear 
tittering  and  laughing  ; though  I recollect 
that  the  Bishop  of  Killaloe  kept  his  coun- 
tenance with  perfect  steadiness,  while  Miss 
Hannah  More  slyly  hid  her  face  behind  a 
lady’s  back  who  sat  on  the  same  settee  with 
her.  His  pride  could  not  bear  that  any 
expression  of  his  should  excite  ridicule, 
when  he  did  not  intend  it : he  therefore 
resolved  to  assume  and  exercise  despotick 
power,  glanced  sternly  around,  and  called 
out  in  a strong  tone,  “ Where ’s  the  merri- 
ment ? ” Then  collecting  himseif,  and 
looking  awful,  to  make  us  feel  how  he 
could  impose  restraint,  and  as  it  were 
searching  his  mind  for  a still  more  ludicrous 
word,  he  slowly  pronounced,  “ I say  the 
woman  was  fundamentally  sensible  ; ” as 
if  he  had  said,  hear  this  now,  and  laugh  if 
you  dare.  We  all  sat  composed  as  at  a 
funeral  h 

He  and  I walked  away  together  ; we 
stopped  a little  while  by  the  rails  of  the 
Adelphi,  looking  on  the  Thames,  and  I 
said  to  him  with  some  emotion,  that  I was 
now  thinking  of  two  friends  we  had  lost, 
who  once  lived  in  the  buildings  behind  us, 
Beauclerk  and  Garrick.  “ Ay,  sir  (said  he, 
tenderly),  and  two  such  friends  as  cannot 
be  supplied.” 

For  some  time  after  this  day  I did  not 
see  him  very  often,  and  of  the  conversation 
which  I did  enjoy,  I am  sorry  to  find  I have 
preserved  but  little.  I was  at  this  time  en- 
gaged in  a variety  of  other  matters  which 
required  exertion  and  assiduity,  and  neces- 
sarily occupied  almost  all  my  time. 

One  day  having  spoken  very  freely  of 
those  who  wer.e  then  in  power,  he  said  to 
me,  “ Between  ourselves,  sir,  I do  not  like. 


1 [The  Editor  hopes  that  such  a scene  as  this 
could  not  now  occur  in  any  respectable  company 
Ed.] 


to  give  Opposition  the  satisfaction  of  know 
ing  how  much  I disapprove  of  the  minis 
try.”  And  when  I mentioned  that  Mr. 
Burke  had  boasted  how  quiet  the  nation 
was  in  George  the  Second’s  reign,  when 
whigs  were  in  power,  compared  with  the 
present  reign,  when  tories  governed ; — 
“ Why,  sir,”  said  he,  “ you  are  to  consider 
that  tories  having  more  reverence  for 
government,  will  not  oppose  with  the  same 
violence  as  whigs,  who,  being  unrestrained 
by  that  principle,  will  oppose  by  any 
means.” 

This  month  he  lost  not  only  Mr.  Thrale, 
but  another  friend,  Mr.  William  Strahan, 
jiunior,  printer,  the  eldest  son  of  his  old 
and  constant  friend,  printer  to  his  majes- 
ty- 

“TO  MRS.  STRAHAN. 

“23d  April,  1/81. 

“ Dear  madam, — The  grief  which  I 
feel  for  the  loss  of  a very  kind  friend  is  suf- 
ficient to  make  me  know  how  much  you 
suffer  by  the  death  of  an  amiable  son  : a 
man  of  whom  I think  it  may  be  truly  said, 
that  no  one  knew  him  who  does  not  lament 
him  I look  upon  myself  as  having  a friend, 
another  friend,  taken  from  me. 

“ Comfort,  dear  madam,  I would  give 
you,  if  I could  ; but  I know  how  little  the 
forms  of  consolation  can  avail.  Let  me, 
however,  counsel  you  not  to  waste  your 
health  in  unprofitable  sorrow,  but  go  to 
Bath,  and  endeavour  to  prolong  your  own 
life;  but  when  we  have  all  done  all  that 
we  can,  one  friend  must  in  time  lose  the 
other.  I am,  dear  madam,  your  most  hum 
ble  servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

On  Tuesday,  May  8,  I had  the  pleasure 
of  again  dining  with  him  and  Mr.  Wilkes, 
at  Mr.  Dilly’s.  No  negotiation  was  now 
required  to  bring  them  together  ; for  John- 
son was  so  well  satisfied  with  the  former 
interview,  that  he  was  very  glad  to  meet 
Wilkes  again,  who  was  this  day  seated 
between  Dr.  Beattie  and  Dr.  Johnson ; 
(between  Truth  2 and  Reason,  as  General 
Paoli  said,  when  I told  him  of  it.)  Wilkes. 
“ I have  been  thinking,  Dr.  Johnson,  that 
there  should  be  a bill  brought  into  parlia- 
ment that  the  controverted  elections  for 
Scotland  should  be  tried  in  that  country,  at 
their  otvn  Abbey  of  Holy  rood-house,  and 
not  here  ; for  the  consequence  of  trying 
them  here  is,  that  we  have  an  inundation 
of  Scotchmen,  who  come  up  and  never  go 
back  again.  Now  here  is  Boswell,  who  is 
come  upon  the  election  for  his  own  county, 
which  will  not  last  a fortnight.”  Johnson 
“ Nay,  sir,  I see  no  reason  why  they  should 
be  tried  at  all ; for,  you  know,  one  Scotch- 

2 [In  allusion  to  Dr.  Beattie’s  Essay  on  Truth 
—Ed.] 


1781. — iETAT.  72. 


man  is  as  good  as  another.”  "Wilkes. 
“ Pray,  Boswell,  how  much  may  be  got  in 
a year  by  an  advocate  at  the  Scotch  bar  i ” 
Boswell.  “I  believe,  two  thousand 
pounds.”  Wilkes.  “ How  can  it  be 
possible  to  spend  that  money  in  Scotland  ?” 
Johnson.  “Why,  sir,  the  money  may 
be  spent  in  England  ; but  there  is  a harder 
question.  If  one  man  in  Scotland  gets 
possession  of  two  thousand  pounds,  what 
remains  for  all  the  rest  of  the  nation  ? ” 
Wilkes.  “ You  know,  in  the  last  war, 
the  immense  booty  which  Thurot  carried 
off  by  the  complete  plunder  of  seven  Scotch 
isles  ; he  re-embarked  with  three  and  six- 
pence” Here  again  Johnson  and  Wilkes 
joined  in  extravagant  sportive  raillery  upon 
the  supposed  poverty  of  Scotland,  which 
Dr.  Beattie  and  I did  not  think  it  worth 
our  while  to  dispute. 

The  subject  of  quotation  being  intro- 
duced, Mr.  Wilkes  censured  it  as  pedantry. 
Johnson.  “ No,  sir,  it  is  a good  thing  ; 
there  is  a community  of  mind  in  it.  Clas- 
sical quotation  is  the  parole  of  literary  men 
all  over  the  world.”  Wilkes.  “Upon 
the  continent  they  all  quote  the  vulgate 
Bible.  Shakspeare  is  chiefly  quoted  here  ; 
and  we  quote  also  Pope,  Prior,  Butler, 
Waller,  and  sometimes  Cowley.” 

We  talked  of  letter-writing.  Johnson. 
“ It  is  now  become  so  much  the  fashion  to 
publish  letters  that,  in  order  to  avoid  it,  I 
put  as  little  into  mine  as  I can.”  Bos- 
well. “ Do  what  you  will,  sir,  you  can- 
not avoid  it.  Should  you  even  write  as  ill 
as  you  can,  your  letters  would  be  published 
as  curiosities  : 

‘ Behold  a miracle ! instead  of  wit. 

See  two  dull  lines  with  Stanhope’s  pencil  writ.’  ” 

He  gave  us  an  entertaining  account  of 
Bet  Flint,  a woman  of  the  town,  who,  with 
some  ecceptrick  talents  and  much  effronte- 
ry, forced  herself  upon  his  acquaintance. 
“Bet,”  said  he,  “wrote  her  own  Life  in 
verse  *,  which  she  brought  to  me,  wishing 
that  I would  furnish  her  with  a preface  to 
it  (laughing).  I used  to  say  of  her,  that 
she  was  generally  slut  and  drunkard  ; — 
occasionally  whore  and  thief.  She  had, 
however,  genteel  lodgings,  a sninnet  on 
which  she  played,  and  a boy  that  walked 
before  her  chair.  Poor  Bet  was  taken  up 
on  a charge  of  stealing  a counterpane,  and 
tried  at  the  Old  Bailey.  Chief  Justice 
[Willes,]  who  loved  a wench,  summed  up 


1  Johnson,  whose  memory  was  wonderfully  re- 
tentive, remembered  the  first  four  lines  of  this  cu- 
rious production,  which  have  been  communicated 
o me  by  a young  lady  of  his  acquaintance: 

u When  first  I drew  my  vital  breath, 

A little  minikin  I came  upon  earth; 

And  then  I came  from  a dark  abode, 

Into  this  gay  and  gaudy  world.” — Boswell 


cl9h 

favourably,  and  she  was  acquitted  2.  After 
which,  Bet  said,  with  a gay  and  satisfied 
air,  £Now  that  the  counterpane  is  my  own , 
I shall  make  a petticoat  of  it.5  ” 

Talking  of  oratory,  Mr.  Wilkes  de 
scribed  it  as  accompanied  with  all  the 
charms  of  poetical  expression.  Johnson 
“ No,  sir;  oratory  is  the  power  of  beating 
down  your  adversary’s  arguments,  and  put- 
ting better  in  their  place.”  Wilkes. 
“But  this  does  not  move  the  passions.” 
Johnson.  “ He  must  be  a weak  man  who 
is  to  be  so  moved.”  Wilkes  (naming  a cel- 
ebrated orator).  “ Amidst  all  the  brilliancy 

of ’s  3 imagination,  and  the  exuberance 

of  his  wit,  there  is  a strange  want  of  taste. 
It  was  observed  of  Apelles’s  Venus4,  thal 
her  flesh  seemed  as  if  she  had  been  nour- 
ished by  roses : his  oratory  would  sometimes 
make  one  suspect  that  he  eats  potatoes  and 
drinks  whiskey.” 

Mr.  Wilkes  observed,  how  tenacious  we 
are  of  forms  in  this  country  , and  gave  as 
an  instance,  the  vote  of  the  house  of  com- 
mons for  remitting  money  to  pay  the  army 
in  America  in  Portugal  pieces,  when,  in 
reality,  the  remittance  is  made  not  in  Por- 
tugal money,  but  in  our  specie.  Johnson. 
“ Is  there  not  a law,  sir,  against  export- 
ing the  current  coin  of  the  realm  ? ” 
Wilkes.  “Yes,  sir;  but  might  not  the 
house  of  commons,  in  case  of  real  evident 
necessity,  order  our  own  current  coin  to  be 
sent  into  our  own  colonies  ?”  Here  Johnson, 
with  that  quickness  of  recollection  which  dis- 
tinguished him  so  eminently,  gave  the  Mid- 

2 The  account  which  Johnson  had  received  on 
this  occasion  was  not  quite  accurate.  Bet  was 
tried  at  the  Old  Bailey  in  September,  1758,  not  by 
the  chief  justice  [Willes. — Ed.]  here  alluded  to 
( who  however  tried  another  cause  on  the  same  day) , 
but  before  Sir  William  Moreton,  recorder;  and 
she  was  acquitted,  not  in  consequence  of  any  fa- 
vourable summing  up  of  the  judge,  but  because 
the  prosecutrix,  Mary  Walthow,  could  not  prove 
that  the  goods  charged  to  have  been  stolen  (a  coun- 
terpane, a silver  spoon,  two  napkins,  &c.)  were  hei 
property.  Bet  does  not  appear  to  have  lived  at 
that  time  in  a very  genteel  style;  for  she  paid  foi 
her  ready-furnished  room  in  Meard’s-court,  Dean- 
street,  Soho,  from  which  these  articles  were  al- 
leged to  be  stolen,  only  five  shillings  a week. 
Mr.  James  Boswell  took  the  trouble  to  examine 
the  sessions  paper  to  ascertain  these  particulars. — 
Malone. 

3 [Mr.  Burke’s — Ed.] 

4 [Mr.  Wilkes  mistook  the  objection  of  Eu 
phranor  to  the  Theseus  of  Parrhasius  for  a de- 
scription of  the  Venus  of  Appelles.  Vide  Plu- 
tarch. “ Bellone  an  pace  clariores  Athenienses.” 
— Kearney.  [“  Euphranor,  comparing  his 
own  representation  of  Theseus  with  that  by  Par- 
rhasius,  said  that  the  latter  looked  as  if  the  hero 
had  been  fed  on  roses,  but  that  his  showed  that 
he  had  lived  on  beef,i  Plut.  Xyl  v.  ii.  p 

346. — Ed.] 


296 


1781. — iETAT.  72. 


llesex  patriot  an  admirable  retort  upon  his 
own  ground.  “ Sure,  sir,  you  don’t  think 
a resolution  of  the  house  of  commons  equal 
to  the  law  of  the  land .”  Wilkes  (at 
once  perceiving  the  application).  “ God 
forbid,  sir.” — To  hear  what  had  been 
treated  with  such  violence  in  “ The  False 
Alarm  ” now  turned  into  pleasant  repartee, 
was  extremely  agreeable.  Johnson  went 
on: — “Locke  observes  well,  that  a prohi- 
bition to  export  the  current  coin  is  impoli- 
tick;  for  when  the  balance  of  trade  happens 
to  be  against  a state,  the  current  coin  must 
be  exported.” 

Mr.  Beauclerk’s  great  library  was  this 
season  sold  in  London  by  auction.  Mr. 
Wilkes  said,  he  wondered  to  find  in  it  such 
a numerous  collection  of  sermons:  seeming 
to  think  it  strange  that  a gentleman  of  Mr. 
Beauclerk’s  character  in  the  gay  world 
should  have  chosen  to  have  many  compo- 
sitions of  that  kind.  Johnson.  “ Why, 
sir,  you  are  to  consider,  that  sermons  make 
a considerable  branch  of  English  literature; 
so  that  a library  must  be  very  imperfect  if 
it  has  not  a numerous  collection  of  ser- 
mons1: and  in  all  collections,  sir,  the  de- 

1  Mr.  Wilkes  probably  did  not  know  that  there 
is  in  an  English  sermon  the  most  comprehensive 
and  lively  account  of  that  entertaining  faculty  for 
which  he  himself  was  so  much  admired.  It  is  in 
Dr.  Barrow’s  first  volume,  and  fourteenth  sermon, 
“ Against  foolish  Talking  and  Jesting.”  My  old 
acquaintance,  the  late  Corbyn  Morris,  in  his  in- 
genious “ Essay  on  Wit,  Humour,  and  Ridicule,” 
calls  it  “ a profuse  description  of  wit:”  but  I do 
not  see  how  it  could  be  curtailed,  without  leaving 
out  some  good  circumstance  of  discrimination. 
As  it  is  not  generally  known,  and  may  perhaps 
dispose  some  to  read  sermons,  from  which  they 
may  receive  real  advantage,  while  looking  only 
for  entertainment,  I shall  here  subjoin  it. 

“ But  first  (says  the  learned  preacher)  it  may 
be  demanded , what  the  thing  we  speak  of  is  ? 
Or  what  this  facetiousness  (or  wit,  as  he  calls  it 
before)  doth  import?  To  which  questions  I might 
reply,  as  Democritus  did  to  him  that  asked  the 
definition  of  a man,  * ’Tis  that  which  we  all  see 
and  know.’  Any  one  better  apprehends  what  it 
is  by  acquaintance  that  I can  inform  him  by  de- 
scription. It  is,  indeed,  a thing  so  versatile  and 
multiform,  appearing  in  so  many  shapes,  so  many 
postures,  so  many  garbs,  so  variously  apprehended 
by  several  eyes  and  judgments,  that  it  seemeth  no 
less  hard  to  settle  a clear  and  certain  notion  there- 
of, than  to  make  a portrait  of  Proteus,  or  to  de- 
fine the  figure  of  the  fleeting  air.  Sometimes  it 
lieth  in  pat  allusion  to  a known  story,  or  in 
seasonable  application  of  a trivial  saying,  or  in 
forging  an  apposite  tale;  sometimes  it  playeth  in 
words  and  phrases,  taking  advantage  from  the 
ambiguity  of  their  sense,  or  the  affinity  of  their 
sound:  sometimes  it  is  wrapped  in  a dress  of 
humourous  expression:  sometimes  it  lurketh  under 
an  odd  similitude:  sometimes  it  is  lodged  in  a sly 
question,  in  a smart  answer,  in  a quirkish  reason,  j 


sire  of  augmenting  tnem  grows  stronger  m 
proportion  to  the  advance  in  acquisition;  as 
motion  is  accelerated  by  the  continuance 
of  the  impetus.  Besides,  sir,”  looking  at 
Mr.  Wilkes,  with  a placid  but  significant 
smile,  “ a man  may  collect  sermons  with 
intention  of  making  himself  better  by  them. 
I hope  Mr.  Beauclerk  intended  that  some 
time  or  other  that  should  be  the  case  with 
him.” 

Mr.  Wilkes  said  to  me,  loud  enough  for  Dr. 
Johnson  to  hear,  “ Dr.  Johnson  should  make 
me  a present  of  his  ‘ Lives  of  the  Poets,* 
as  I am  a poor  patriot,  who  cannot  afford 
to  buy  them.”  Johnson  seemed  to  take  no 
notice  of  this  hint;  but  in  a little  while  he 
called  to  Mr.  Dilly,  “ Pray,  sir,  be  so  good 
as  to  send  a set  of  my  Lives  to  Mr.  Wiikes, 
with  my  compliments.”  This  was  accord- 


in  a shrewd  intimation,  in  cunningly  diverting  or 
cleverly  retorting  an  objection:  sometimes  it  is 
couched  in  a bold  scheme  of  speech,  in  a tart 
irony,  in  a lusty  hyperbole,  in  a startling  meta- 
phor, in  a plausible  reconciling  of  contradictions, 
or  in  acute  nonsense:  sometimes  a scenical  rep- 
resentation of  persons  or  things,  a counterfeit 
speech,  a mimical  look  or  gesture,  passeth  for  it: 
sometimes  an  affected  simplicity,  sometimes  a 
presumptuous  bluntness  giveth  it  being:  sometimes 
it  riseth  only  from  a lucky  hitting  upon  what  is 
strange:  sometimes  from  a crafty  wresting  obvious 
matter  to  the  purpose.  Often  it  consisteth  in  one 
knows  not  what,  and  springeth  up  one  can  hardly 
tell  how.  Its  ways  are  unaccountable  and  inex- 
plicable; being  answerable  to  the  numberless 
rovings  of  fancy  and  windings  of  language.  It  is, 
in  short,  a manner  of  speaking  out  of  the  simple 
and  plain  way  (such  as  reason  teacheth 
and  proveth  things  by),  which,  by  a pretty 
surprising  uncouthness  in  conceit  of  expres- 
sion, doth  affect  and  amuse  the  fancy,  stir- 
ring in  it  some  wonder,  and  breeding  some  de- 
light thereto.  It  raiseth  admiration,  as  signifying 
a nimble  sagacity  of  apprehension,  a special  felici- 
ty of  invention,  a vivacity  of  spirit,  and  reach  of 
wit  more  than  vulgar;  it  seeming  to  argue  a rare 
quickness  of  parts,  that  one  can  fetch  in  remote 
conceits  applicable;  a notable  skill,  that  he  can 
dexterously  accommodate  them  to  the  purpose 
before  him:  together  with  a lively  briskness  of 
humour,  not  apt  to  damp  those  sportful  flashes  of 
imagination.  (Whence  in  Aristotle  such  persons 
are  termed  trtJ'tj'ioi,  dexterous  men,  and 
men  of  facile  or  versatile  manners,  who  can  easily 
turn  themselves  to  all  things,  or  turn  all  things  to 
themselves.)  It  also  procureth  delight,  by  grati- 
fying curiosity  with  its  rareness,  as  semblance  of 
difficulty:  (as  monsters,  not  for  their  beauty,  but 
their  rarity;  as  juggling  tricks,  not  for  their  use, 
but  their  abstruseness,  are  beheld  with  pleasure  :) 
by  diverting  the  mind  from  its  road  of  serious 
thoughts;  by  instilling  gayety  and  airiness  of  spirit; 
by  provoking  to  such  dispositions  of  spirit  in  way 
of  emulation  or  complaisance;  and  by  seasoning 
matters,  otherwise  distasteful  or  insipid,  with  an 
unusual  and  thence  grateful  tang.” — Boswell. 


1781.— JETAT.  72. 


297 


ugly  done ; and  Mr.  "Wilkes  paid  Dr. 
rohnson  a visit,  was  courteously  received, 
and  sat  with  him  a long  time. 

The  company  gradually  dropped  away. 
Mr.  Dilly  himsel’f  was  called  down  stairs 
upon  business;  I left  the  room  for  some 
time;  when  I returned,  I was  struck  with 
observing  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  and  John 
Wilkes,  Esq.  literally  tete-a-tete ; for  they 
were  reclined  upon  their  chairs,  with  their 
heads  leaning  almost  close  to  each  other, 
and  talking  earnestly,  in  a kind  of  confiden- 
tial whisper,  of  the  personal  quarrel  be- 
tween George  the  Second  and  the  King  of 
Prussia.  Such  a scene  of  perfectly  easy 
sociality  between  two  such  opponents  in 
the  war  of  political  controversy,  as  that 
which  I now  beheld,  would  have  been  an 
excellent  subject  for  a picture.  It  pre- 
sented to  my  mind  the  happy  days  which 
are  foretold  in  the  Scripture,  when  the  lion 
shall  lie  down  with  the  kid 

After  this  day  there  was« another  pretty 
long  interval,  during  which  Dr.  Johnson 
and  I did  not  meet.  When  I mentioned  it 
to  him  with  regret,  he  was  pleased  to  say, 
“ Then,  sir,  let  us  live  double.” 

About  this  time  it  was  much  the  fashion 
for  several  ladies  to  have  evening  assemblies, 
where  the  fair  sex  might  participate  in  con- 
versation with  literary  and  ingenious  men, 
animated  by  a desire  to  please.  These  so- 
cieties were  denominated  Bluestocking 
Clubs;  the  origin  of  which  title  being  little 
known,  it  may  be  worth  while  to  relate  it. 
One  of  the  most  eminent  members  of  those 
societies,  when  they  first  commenced,  was 
Mr.  Stillingfleet1 2,  whose  dress  was  remark- 
ably grave,  and  in  particular  it  was  observed 
that  he  wore  blue  stockings.  Such  was 
the  excellence  of  his  conversation,  that  his 
absence  was  felt  as  so  great  a loss,  that  it 
used  to  be  said,  “We  can  do  nothing 
without  the  blue  stockings;  ” and  thus  by 
degrees  the  title  was  established.  Miss 
Hannah  More  has  admirably  described  a 
Blue-stocking  Club  in  her  cc  Bas  Bleu,”  a 
poem  in  which  many  of  the  persons  who 
were  most  conspicuous  there  are  men- 
tioned. 

Johnson  was  prevailed  with  to  come 
sometimes  into  these  circles,  and  did  not 
think  himself  too  grave  even  for  the  lively 
Miss  Monckton3  (now  Countess  of  Corke), 
who  used  to  have  the  finest  bit  of  blue  at 


1 When  I mentioned  this  to  the  Bishop  of  Killa- 
loe,  [Dr.  Barnard,]  “ With  the  goat,”  said  his 
lordship.  Such,  however,  was  the  engaging  po- 
liteness and  pleasantry  ef  Mr.  Wilkes,  and  such 
the  social  good  humour  of  the  bishop,  that  when 
they  dined  together  at  Mr.  Dilly ’s,  where  I also 
was,  they  were  mutually  agreeable. — Boswell. 

2 Mr.  Benjamin  Stillingfleet,  authour  of  tracts 
relating  to  natural  history,  &c. — Boswell. 

3 [See  ante,  p.  231,  n. — Ed.] 

V1L  II 


the  house  < ? her  mother,  Lady  Galway. 
Her  vivacity  enchanted  the  sage,  and  they 
used  to  talk  together  with  all  imaginable 
ease.  A singular  instance  happened  one  eve- 
ning, when  she  insisted  that  some  of  Sterne’s 
writings  were  very  pathetick.  Johnson 
bluntly  denied  it.  “I  am  sure,”  said  she, 
“ they  have  affected  me.”  “ Why,”  said 
Johnson,  smiling,  and  rolling  himself  about, 
“ that  is  because,  dearest,  you  ’re  a dunce.” 
When  she  some  time  afterwards  mentioned 
this  to  him,  he  said,  with  equal  truth  and 
politeness,  “ Madam,  if  I had  thought  so, 
I certainly  should  not  have  said  it.” 

Another  evening  Johnson’s  kind  indul- 
gence towards  me  had  a pretty  difficult 
trial.  I had  dined  at  the  Duke  of  Mont- 
rose’s with  a very  agreeable  party;  and 
his  grace,  according  to  his  usual  custom, 
had  circulated  the  bottle  very  freely.  Lord 
Graham  and  I went  together  to  Miss  Monck 
ton’s,  where  I certainly  was  in  extraordina- 
ry spirits,  and  above  all  fear  or  awe.  I n the 
midst  of  a great  number  of  persons  of  the 
first  rank,  amongst  whom  I recollect,  with 
confusion,  a noble  lady  of  the  most  stately 
decorum,  I placed  myself  next  to  Johnson, 
and  thinking  myself  now  fully  his  match, 
talked  to  him  in  a loud  and  boisterous  man- 
ner, desirous  to  let  the  company  know  how 
I could  contend  with  Ajax.  1 particularly 
remember  pressing  him  upon  the  value  of 
the  pleasures  of  the  imagination,  and,  as  an 
illustration  of  my  argument,  asking  him, 
u What,  sir,  supposing  I were  to  fancy  that 

the (naming  the  most  charming  duchess 

in  his  majesty’s  dominions)  were  in  love 
with  me,  should  I not  be  very  happy?” 
My  friend  with  much  address  evaded  my 
interrogatories,  and  kept  me  as  quiet  as 
possible;  but  it  may  easily  be  conceived 
how  he  must  have  felt4.  However,  when 

• 4 Next  day  I endeavoured  to  give  what  had 
happened  the  most  ingenious  turn  I could  by  the 
following  verses: 

TO  THE  HONOURABLE  MISS  MONCKTON 

Not  that  with  th’  excellent  Montrose 
I had  the  happiness  to  dine ; 

Not  that  I late  from  table  rose, 

From  Graham’s  wit,  from  generous  wine. 

It  was  not  these  alone  which  led 
On  sacred  manners  to  encroach ; 

And  made  me  feel  what  most  I dread, 

Johnson’s  just  frown,  and  self-reproach, 

But  when  I enter’d,  not  abash’d, 

From  your  bright  eyes  were  shot  such  rays 
At  once  intoxication  flash’d, 

And  all  my  frame  was  in  a blaze 
But  not  a brilliant  blaze  I own, 

Of  the  dull  smoke  I ’in  yet  ashamed  ; 

I was  a dreary  ruin  grown, 

And  not  enlighten’d,  though  inflamed. 

Victim  at  once  to  wine  and  love, 

1 hope,  Maria,  you’ll  forgive  ; 

While  1 invoke  the  powers  above, 

That  henceforth  I may  wiser  live. 

The  lady  was  generously  forgiving,  returned 
me  an  obliging  answer,  and  1 thus  obtained  an 
act  of  oblivion,  and  took  care  never  to  offe'.d 
again. — Boswell. 


298 


1781. — /ETAT.  72 


a few  days  afterwards  I wa.ted  upon  him 
and  rr  ado  an  apology,  he  behaved  with  the 
most  friendly  gentleness. 

While  I remained  in  London  this  year, 
Johnson  and  I dined  together  at  several 
places.  I recollect  a placid  day  at  Dr. 
Butter’s1,  who  had  now  removed  from 
Derby  to  Lower  Grosvenor-street,  London; 
out  of  his  conversation  on  that  and  other 
occasions  during  this  period  I neglected  to 
keep  any  regular  record,  and  shall  therefore 
insert  here  some  miscellaneous  articles 
which  I find  in  my  Johnsonian  notes. 

His  disorderly  habits,  when  “making  pro- 
vision for  the  day  that  was  passing  over 
him,”  appear  from  the  following  anecdote, 
communicated  to  me  by  Mr.  John  Nichols: 
“ In  the  year  1763  a young  bookseller,  who 
was  an  apprentice  to  Mr.  Whiston,  waited 
on  him  with  a subscription  to  his  ‘ Shaks- 
peare;  ’ and  observing  that  the  Doctor 
made  no  entry  in  any  book  of  the  subscri- 
ber’s name,  ventured  diffidently  to  ask  whe- 
ther he  would  please  to  have  the  gentle- 
man’s address,  that  it  might  be  properly  in- 
serted in  the  printed  list  of  subscribers.  c I 
shall  print  no  list  of  subscribers ,’  said  John- 
son, with  great  abruptness:  but  almost  im- 
mediately recollecting  himself,  added,  very 
complacently,  c Sir,  I have  two  very  cogent 
reasons  for  not  printing  any  list  of  subscri- 
bers: one,  that  I have  lost  all  the  names; 
the  other,  that  I have  spent  all  the  mon- 
ey.’ ” 

Johnson  could  not  brook  appearing  to  be 
worsted  in  argument,  even  when  he  had 
taken  the  wrong  side,  to  show  the  force  and 
dexterity  of  his  talents.  When,  therefore, 
he  perceived  that  his  opponent  gained 
ground,  he  had  recourse  to  some  sudden 
mode  of  robust  sophistry.  Once  when  I 
was  pressing  upon  him  with  visible  advan- 
tage, he  stopped  me  thus:  “ My  dear  Bos- 
well, let’s  have  no  more  of  this;  you’ll 
make  nothing  of  it.  I ’d  rather  have  you 
whistle  a Scotch  tune.” 

Care,  however,  must  be  taken  to  distin- 
guish between  Johnson  when  he  “ talked 
for  victory,”  and  Johnson  when  he  had  no 
desire  but  to  inform  and  illustrate.  “ One 
of  Johnson’s  principal  talents,”  says  an  emi- 
nent friend  of  his2,  “ was  shown  in  main- 
taining the  wrong  side  of  an  argument,  and 
in  a splendid  perversion  of  the  truth.  If 
you  could  contrive  to  have  his  fair  opinion 
on  a subject,  and  without  any  bias  from 
personal  prejudice,  or  from  a wish  to  be  vie 
torious  in  argument,  it  was  wisdom  itself, 
not  only  convincing,  but  overpowering.” 

He  had,  however,  all  his  lile  habituated 
himself  to  consider  conversation  as  a trial 


1 TSee  ante , p.  117.— Ed.] 

2 'The  late  Riglt  Hon.  William  Gerrard  Ham- 
ilton.— Malone. 


of  intellectual  vigour  and  skill:  and  to  tms, 
I think,  we  may  venture  to  ascribe  that  un 
exampled  richness  and  brilliancy  which  ap 
peared  in  his  own.  As  a proof  at  once  of 
his  eagerness  for  colloquial  distinction,  and 
his  high  notion  of  this  eminent  friend,  he 

once  addressed  him  thus:  “ , we  now 

have  been  several  hours  together,  and  you 
have  said  but  one  thing  for  which  I envied 
you  3.” 

He  disliked  much  all  speculative  despond 
ing  considerations,  which  tended  to  dis 
courage  men  from  diligence  and  exertion 
He  was  in  this  like  Dr.  Shaw,  the  great 
traveller,  who,  Mr.  D>aines  Barrington  told 
me,  used  to  say,  “ I hate  a cui  bono  man.” 
Upon  being  asked  by  a friend  what  he 
should  think  of  a man  who  was  apt  to  say 
non  est  tanti;  “ That  he ’s  a stupid  fellow, 
sir,”  answered  Johnson.  “ What  would 
these  tanti  men  be  doing  the  while?” 
When  I,  in  a low-spirited  fit,  was  talking 
to  him  with  indifference  of  the  pursuits 
which  generally  engage  us  in  a course  of 
action,  and  inquiring  a reason  for  taking  so 
much  trouble;  “ Sir,”  said  he,  in  an  ani- 
mated tone,  “ it  is  driving  on  the  system  of 
life.” 

He  told  me  that  he  was  glad  that  I had, 
by  General  Oglethorp’s  means,  become  ac- 
quainted with  Dr.  Shebbeare.  Indeed  that 
gentleman,  whatever  objections  were  made 
to  him,  had  knowledge  and  abilities  much 
above  the  class  of  ordinary  writers,  and  de- 
serves to  be  remembered  as  a respectable 
name  in  literature,  were  it  only  for  his  ad- 
mirable “ Letters  on  the  English  Nation,” 
under  the  name  of  “ Battista  Angeloni,  a 
Jesuit.” 

Johnson  and  Shebbeare  4 were  frequently 
named  together,  as  having  in  former  reigns 
had  no  predilection  for  the  family  of  Han- 
over. The  authour5of  the  celebrated  “ He- 
roick  Epistle  to  Sir  William  Chambers” 
introduces  them  in  one  line6,  in  a list  of 
those  “ who  tasted  the  sweets  of  his  present 
majesty’s  reign.”  Such  was  Johnson’s  can- 
did relish  of  the  merit  of  that  satire,  that  he 
allowed  Dr.  Goldsmith,  as  he  told  me,  to 
read  it  to  him  from  beginning  to  end,  and 
did  not  refuse  his  praise  to  its  execution. 

Goldsmith  could  sometimes  take  adventu- 
rous liberties  with  him,  and  escape  unpun- 

3 [It  seems  a strange  war  of  expressing  a high 
notion  of  a man’s  powers  ir.  conversation  to  say, 
that  “ in  several  hours  he  had  said  but  one  good 
thing.” — Ed.] 

4 I recollect  a ludicrous  paragraph  in  the  news 
papers,  that  the  king  had  pensioned  both  a He- 
bear  and  a SAe-bear. — Boswell.  [See  ante 
vol.  i.  p.  252. — Ed.] 

5 [There  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  the  joint 
production  of  Mason  and  Walpole;  Mason  sup- 
plying the  poetry,  and  Wa’po'e  ilie  points.—  Ed.] 

6 [See  ante,  p.  178,  u —Ed  ] 


1780  — /ETAT.  71. 


-299 


ished.  Beauclerk  told  me,  that  when  Gold- 
smith talked  of  a project  for  having  a third 
*heatre  in  London  solely  for  the  exhibition 
of  new  plays,  in  order  to  deliver  authours 
from  the  supposed  tyranny  of  managers, 
Johnson  treated  it  slightingly,  upon  which 
Goldsmith  said,  “ Ay,  ay,  this  may  be  no- 
thing to  you,  who  can  now  shelter  yourself 
behind  the  corner  of  a pension;  ” and  John- 
son bore  this  with  good-humour. 

Johnson  praised  the  Earl  of  Carlisle’s 
poems  which  his  lordship  had  published 
with  his  name,  as  not  disdaining  to  be  a 
candidate  lor  literary  fame.  My  friend  was 
of  opinion  that  when  a man  of  rank  appear- 
ed in  that  character,  he  deserved  to  have 
his  merit  handsomely  allowed 1  2.  In  this  I 

1 [Frederic,  fifth  Earl  of  Carlisle,  born  in  17-18; 
died  in  1825. — Ed.] 

2 Men  of  rank  and  fortune,  however,  should  be 
pretty  well  assured  of  having  a real  claim  to  the 
approbation  of  the  publick,  as  writers,  before  they 
venture  to  stand  forth.  Dryden,  in  his  preface  to 
“ All  for  Love,”  thus  expresses  himself: — “ Men 
of  pleasant  conversation  (at  least  esteemed  so) 
and  endued  with  a trilling  kind  of  fancy,  perhaps 
helped  out  by  a smattering  of  Latin,  are  ambitious 
to  distinguish  themselves  from  the  herd  of  gentle- 
men by  their  poetry: 

‘ Rams  enim  fermd  sensus  communis  in  ilia 
Fortuna.’ 

And  is  not  this  a wretched  affectation,  not  to  be 
contented  with  what  fortune  has  done  for  them, 
and  sit  down  quietly  with  their  estates,  but  they 
must  call  their  wits  in  question,  and  needlessly 
expose  their  nakedness  to  publick  view  ? Not 
considering  that  they  are  not  to  expect  the  same 
approbation  from  sober  men  which  they  have 
found  from  their  flatterers  after  the  third  bottle:  if 
a little  glittering  in  discourse  has  passed  them  on 
us  for  witty  men,  where  was  the  necessity  of  un- 
deceiving the  world  ? Would  a man  who  has  an 
ill  title  to  an  estate,  but  yet  is  in  possession  of  it — 
would  he  bring  it  out  of  his  own  accord  to  be 
tried  at  Westminster?  We  who  write,  if  we 
want  the  talents,  yet  have  the  excuse  that  we 
do  it  for  a poor  subsistence;  but  what  can  be 
urged  in  their  defence,  who,  not  having  the  voca- 
tion of  poverty  to  scribble,  out  of  mere  wanton- 
ness take  pains  to  make  themselves  ridiculous  ? 
Horace  was  certainly  in  the  right  where  he  said, 
* That  no  man  is  satisfied  with  his  own  condition.’ 
A poet  is  not  pleased  because  he  is  not  rich;  and 
the  rich  are  discontented  because  the  poets  will 
not  admit  them  of  their  number.” — Boswell. 
[Mr.  Boswell  seems  to  insinuate  that  Lord  Car- 
lisle had  no  claim  to  the  approbation  of  the  public 
as  a writer,  and  that  he  exposed  himself  to  ridi- 
cule by  this  publication;  and  Lord  Byron,  in  one 
of  those  wayward  fits  which  too  often  distorted 
the  views  of  that  extraordinary  person,  recorded 
the  same  opinion  with  the  bitterness  and  exaggera- 
tion of  a professed  satirist.  In  these  judgments 
the  Editor  cannot  concur.  Lord  Carlisle  was  not, 
indeed,  a great  poet , but  he  was  superior  to 
many  whom  Mr.  Boswell  was  ready  enough  to 

idmit  into  the  “ sacred  choir.”  His  verses  have 


think  he  was  more  liberal  than  Mr.  William 
Whitehead,  in  his  “ Elegy  to  Lord  Villiers,” 
in  which,  under  the  pretext  of  <f  superiour 
toils,  demanding  all  their  care,”  he  discov 
ers  a jealousy  of  tiie  great  paying  their  court 
to  the  Muses: 

“ to  the  chosen  few 

Who  dare  excel,  thy  fost’ring  aid  afford; 

Their  arts,  their  magick  powers,  with  honours  due 
Exalt; — but  be  thyself  what  they  record.” 
Johnson  had  called  twice  on  [Dr.  Bar- 
nard] the  Bishop  of  Killaloe  before  his  lord- 
ship  set  out  for  Ireland,  having  missed  him 
the  first  time.  He  said,  “ It  would  have 
hung  heavy  on  my  heart  if  I had  not  seen 
him.  No  man  ever  paid  more  attention  to 
another  than  he  has  done  to  me;  and  I have 
neglected  him,  not  wilfully,  but  from  being 
otherwise  occupied.  Always,  sir,  set  a high 
value  on  spontaneous  kindness.  He  whose 
inclination  prompts  him  to  cultivate  youi 
friendship  of  his  own  accord,  will  love  you 
more  than  one  whom  you  have  been  at  pains 
to  attach  to  you.” 

This  gave  me  very  great  pleasure,  for 
there  had  been  once  a pretty  smart  alterca- 
tion 3 between  Dr.  Barnard  and  him,  upon  a 
question,  whether  a man  could  improve 
himself  after  the  age  of  forty-five;  when 
Johnson  in  a hasty  humour  expressed  him- 
self in  a manner  not  quite  civil.  Dr.  Bar- 
nard made  it  the  subject  of  a copy  of  plea- 
sant verses,  in  which  he  supposed  himself  to 
learn  different  perfections  from  different 
men.  The  concluding  stanza  is  a delicate 
irony4  on  Dr  Johnson. 

I know  not  whether  Johnson  ever  saw 
the  poem,  but  I had  occasion  to  find  that, 
as  Dr.  Barnard  and  he  knew  each  other 
better,  their  mutual  regard  increased5. 

[This,  as  Miss  Reynolds  remarks,  Eq 
was  one  of  the  few  occasions  in  which  D 
Johnson  appeared  anxious  to  make  atone- 
ment for  conversational  rudeness,  and  she 
adds  the  following  account  of  it: 

“ I shall  never  forget  with  what 
regret  he  spoke  of  the  rude  reply  he 
made  to  Dr.  Barnard,  on  his  saying 


good  sense,  sweetness,  and  elegance.  It  should 
be  added,  in  justice  both  to  Lord  Carlisle  and 
Lord  Byron,  that  the  latter  very  much  regretted 
the  flippant  and  unjust  sarcasms  he  had  uttered 
against  his  noble  friend  and  relation. — Ed.] 

3 [This  incident  took  place  about  1776. — Ed.] 

4 [The  Editor  does  not  think  the  last  stanza 
very  happy,  as  it  seems  to  mix  up  awkwardly 
enough  truth  and  irony. — Ed.] 

5 [This  account  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  rudeness  to 
Dr.  Barnard,  Mr.  Boswell  had  thrown  into  n note, 
and  had  quoted  only  the  last  stanza  of  the  dean’s 
poetical  retaliation;  but  as  an  interesting  incidee* 
in  the  history  of  Johnson’s  social  life,  the  Editor 
has  removed  it  to  the  text,  and  has  added  t.ie 
whole  anecdote  from  Miss  Reynolds’s  Recoils 
tions. — Ed.] 


son 


1781  — tETAT.  72. 


that  men  never  improved  after  the  age  of 
forty-five.  ‘ That ’s  not  true,  sir,’  said  John- 
son.^ ‘ You,  who  perhaps  are  forty-eight, 
may  still  improve,  if  you  will  try:  I wish 
you  would  set  about  it;  and  I am  afraid,’  he 
added,  ‘ there  is  great  room  for  it; 5 and 
this  was  said  in  rather  a large  party  of  la- 
dies and  gentlemen  at  dinner.  . Soon  after 
the  ladies  withdrew  from  the  table,  Dr. 
Johnson  followed  them,  and,  sitting  down 
by  the  lady  of  the  house  1,  he  said,  ‘ I am 
very  sorry  for  having  spoken  so  rudely  to 
the  dean.’  c You  very  well  may,  sir.’  Yes,’ 
he  said,  c it  was  highly  improper  to  speak  in 
that  style  to  a minister  of  the  gospel,  and  I 
am  the  more  hurt  on  reflecting  with  what 
mild  dignity  he  received  it.’  When  the 
dean  came  up  into  the  drawing-room,  Dr. 
Johnson  immediately  rose  from  his  seat,  and 
made  him  sit  on  the  sofa  by  him,  and  with 
such  a beseeching  look  for  pardon,  and 
with  such  fond  gestures — literally  smoothing 
down  his  arms  and  his  knees — tokens  of 
penitence,  which  were  so  graciously  receiv- 
ed by  the  dean  as  to  make  Dr.  Johnson 
very  happy,  and  not  a little  added  to  the  es- 
teem and  respect  he  had  previously  enter- 
tained for  his  character. 

“ The  next  morning  the  dean  called  on 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  with  the  following 
verses : — 

“ I lately  thought  no  man  alive 
Could  e’er  improve  past  forty-five, 

And  ventured  to  assert  it. 

The  observation  was  not  new, 

But  seem’d  to  me  so  just  and  true 
That  none  could  controvert  it. 

* No,  sir,’  says  Johnson,  * ’tis  not  so; 

’Tis  your  mistake,  and  I can  show 
An  instance,  if  you  doubt  it. 

You,  who  perhaps  are  forty-eight, 

May  still  improve,  ’tis  not  too  late: 

I wish  you’d  set  about  it.’ 

Encouraged  thus  to  mend  my  faults, 

I turn’d  his  counsel  in  my  thoughts 
Which  way  I could  apply  it; 

Genius  I knew  was  past  my  reach, 

For  who  can  learn  what  none  can  teach  ? 

And  wit — I could  not  buy  it. 

Then  come,  my  friends,  and  try  your  skill; 
You  may  improve  me  if  you  will, 

(My  books  are  at  a distance); 

With  you  I’ll  live  and  learn,  and  then 
Instead  of  books  I shall  read  men; 

So  lend  me  your  assistance. 

Dear  knight  of  Plympton  2,  teach  me  how 
To  suffer  with  unclouded  brow, 

And  smile  serene  as  thine, 

The  jest  uncouth  and  truth  severe; 

Like  thee  to  turn  my  deafest  ear, 

And  calmly  drink  my  wine. 


1 [Probably  Miss  Reynolds  herself. — Ed.] 

* [Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  was  born  at  Plympton 
ia  Devon. — Ed.] 


Thou  say’st  not  only  skill  is  gam’d. 

But  genius,  too,  may  be  attain’d. 

By  studious  invitation; 

Thy  temper  mild,  thy  genius  fine. 

I’ll  study  till  I make  them  mine 
By  constant  meditation. 

Thy  art  of  pleasing  teach  me,  Garrick, 

Thou  who  reversest  odes  Tindarick  3 * 
A second  time  read  o’er; 

Oh!  could  we  read  thee  backwards  too, 

Last  thirty  years  thou  should’st  review. 

And  charm  us  thirty  more. 

If  I have  thoughts  and  can’t  express  ’em, 
Gibbon  shall  teach  me  how  to  dress  ’em 
In  terms  select  and  terse ; 

Jones  teach  me  modesty  and  Greek; 

Smith,  howto  think;  Burke,  how  to  speak 
And  Beauclerk  to  converse. 

Let  Johnson  teach  me  how  to  place 
In  fairest  light  each  borrow’d  grace: 

From  him  I’ll  learn  to  write- 
Copy  his  free  and  easy  style, 

And  from  the  roughness  of  his  file 
Grow,  like  himself,  polite.”] 

Johnson  told  me  that  he  was  once  much 
pleased  to  find  that  a carpenter  who  lived 
near  him  was  very  ready  to  show  him  some 
things  in  his  business  which  he  wished  to 
see:  “ It  was  paying,”  said  he,  “ respect  to 
literature.” 

I asked  him  if  he  was  not  dissatisfied  with 
having  so  small  a share  of  wealth,  and  none 
of  those  distinctions  in  the  state  which  are 
the  objects  of  ambition.  He  had  only  a 
pension  of  three  hundred  a year.  Why 
was  he  not  in  such  circumstances  as  to  keep 
his  coach  ? Why  had  he  not  some  considera- 
ble office?  Join  son.  “ Sir,  I have  never 
complained  of  the  world;  nor  do  I think 
that  I have  reason  to  complain.  It  is  rather 
to  be  wondered  at  that  I have  so  much. 
My  pension  is  more  out  of  the  usual  course 
of  things  than  any  instance  that  I have 
known.  Here,  sir,  was  a man  avowedly  no 
friend  to  government  at  the  time,  who  got 
a pension  without  asking  for  it.  I never 
courted  the  great;  they  sent  for  me;  but  I 
think  they  now  give  me  up.  They  are 
satisfied:  they  have  seen  enough  of  me.” 
Upon  my  observing  that  I could  not  believe 
this,  for  they  must  certainly  be  highly  pleas- 
ed by  his  conversation;  conscious  of  his 
own  superiority,  he  answered,  “ No,  sir; 
great  lords  and  great  ladies  don ’t  love  to 
have  their  mouths  stopped.”  This  w-as 
very  expressive  of  the  effect  which  the  force 
of  his  understanding  and  brilliancy  of  his 
! fancy  could  not  but  produce;  and,  to  be 
sure,  they  must  have  found  themselves 
strangely  diminished  in  his  company. 
When  I warmly  declared  how  happy  I was 

3 [A  humorous  attempt  of  Garrick’s  to  read 

one  of  Cumberland's  odes  backwards.  Sec  ante 

d.  65. — Ed.] 


1781. — .JET  AT.  71. 


301 


at  aft  times  to  hear  him, — “ Yes,  sir,”  said  j 
ne;  “ hut  if  you  were  lord  chancellor  it 
woultl  not  be  so : you  would  then  consider 
your  own  dignity.” 

There  was  much  truth  and  knowledge  of 
human  nature  in  this  remark.  But  certain- 
ly one  should  think  that  in  whatever  eleva- 
ted state  of  life  a man  who  knew  the  value 
of  the  conversation  of  Johnson  might  be 
placed,  though  he  might  prudently  avoid  a 
situation  in  which  he  might  appear  lessened 
by  comparison,  yet  he  would  frequently 
gratify  himself  in  private  with  the  participa- 
tion of  the  rich  intellectual  entertainment 
which  Johnson  could  furnish.  Strange, 
however,  is  it,  to  consider  how  few  of  the 
great  sought  his  society;  so  that  if  one 
were  disposed  to  take  occasion  for  satire  on 
that  account,  very  conspicuous  objects  pre- 
sent themselves.  His  noble  friend,  Lor.d 
Elibank,  well  observed,  that  if  a great  man 
procured  an  interview  with  Johnson,  and 
did  not  wish  to  see  him  more,  it  showed  a 
mere  idle  curiosity,  and  a wretched  want  of 
relish  for  extraordinary  powers  of  mind. 
Mrs.  Thrale  justly  and  wittily  accounted  for 
such  conduct  by  saying,  that  Johnson’s  con- 
versation was  by  much  too  strong  for  a per- 
son accustomed  to  obsequiousness  and  flat- 
tery; it  was  mustard  in  a young  child’s 
mouth! 

One  day,  when  I told  him  that  I was  a 
zealous  tory,  but  not  enough  “ according  to 
knowledge,”  and  should  be  obliged  to  him 
for  “a  reason,”  he  was  so  candid,  and  ex- 
pressed himself  so  well,  that  I begged  of 
him  to  repeat  what  he  had  said,  and  I wrote 
lown  as  follows*: 

OF  TORY  AND  WHIG. 

tC  A wise  tory  and  a wise  whig,  I believe, 
will  agree.  Their  principles  are  the  same, 
though  their  modes  of  thinking  are  differ- 
ent. A high  tory  makes  government  unin- 
telligible ; it  is  lost  in  the  clouds.  A violent 
whig  makes  it  ^practicable  : he  is  for  al- 
lowing so  much  liberty  to  every  man,  that 
there  is  not  power  enough  to  govern  any 
man.  The  prejudice  of  the  tory  is  for 
establishment,  the  prejudice  of  the  whig  is 
for  innovation.  A tory  does  not  wish  to 
give  more  real  power  to  government ; but 
that  government  should  have  more  reve- 
rence. Then  they  differ  as  to  the  church. 
The  tory  is  not  for  giving  more  legal  power 
to  the  clergy,  but  wishes  they  should  have 
a considerable  influence,  founded  on  the 
opinion  of  mankind  : the  whig  is  for  limit- 
ing and  watching  them  with  a narrow 
jealousy.” 

“TO  MR.  PERKINS. 

“2d  June,  1731. 

*c  Sir, — However  often  I have  seen  you, 
I have  hitherto  forgotten  the  note  . bn>t  1 


have  now  sent  it,  with  my  good  wishes  for 
the  prosperity  of  you  and  your  partner l, 
of  whom,  from  our  short  conversation,  I 
could  not  judge  otherwise  than  favourably. 
I am,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

On  Saturday,  June  2,  I set  out  for  Scot- 
land, and  had  promised  to  pay  a visit,  in  my 
way,  as  I sometimes  did,  at  Southill,  in 
Bedfordshire,  at  the  hospitable  mansion  of 
Squire  Dilly,  the  elder  brother  of  my  wor- 
thy friends,  the  booksellers,  in  the  Poultry. 
Dr.  Johnson  agreed  to  be  of  the  party  this 
year,  with  Mr.  Charles  Dilly  and  me,  and 
to  go  and  see  Lord  Bute’s  seat  at  Luton 
Hoe.  He  talked  little  to  us  in  the  carriage, 
being  chiefly  occupied  in  reading  Dr.  Wat- 
son’s2 3 second  volume  of  “ Chemical  Es- 
says,” which  he  liked  very  well,  and  his 
own  “ Prince  of  Abyssinia,”  on  which  he 
seemed  to  be  intensely  fixed  ; having  told 
us,  that  he  had  not  looked  at  it  since  it  was 
first  finished.  I happened  to  take  it  out  of 
my  pocket  this  day,  and  he  seized  upon  if 
with  avidity.  He  pointed  out  to  me  the 
following  remarkable  passage  : “ By  what 
means  (said  the  prince)  are  the  Europeans 
thus  powerful  ? or  why,  since  they  can  so 
easily  visit  Asia  and  Africa  for  trade  or  con- 
quest, cannot  the  Asiaticks  and  Africans 
invade  their  coasts,  plant  colonies  a in  their 
ports,  and  give  laws  to  their  natural 
princes  ? The  same  wind  that  carried  them 
back  would  bring  us  thither.”  cc  They  are 
more  powerful,  sir,  than  we  (answered  Im- 
lac),  because  they  are  wiser.  Knowledge 
will  always  predominate  over  ignorance,  as 
man  governs  the  other  animals.  But  why 
their  knowledge  is  more  than  ours,  I know 
not  what  reason  can  be  given  but  the  un- 
searchable will  of  the  Supreme  Being.” 
He  said,  “ This,  sir,  no  man  can  explain 
otherwise.” 

We  stopped  at  Welwin,  where  I wished 
much  to  see,  in  company  with  Johnson, 
the  residence  of  the  authour  of  “ Night 
Thoughts,”  which  was  then  possessed  by 

1 Mr.  Barclay,  a descendant  of  Robert  Barclay, 
of  Ury,the  celebrated  apologist  of  the  people  call- 
ed Quakers,  and  remarkable  for  maintaining  the 
principles  of  his  venerable  progenitor,  with  as 
much  of  the  elegance  of  modern  manners  as  is 
consistent  with  primitive  simplicity — Boswell. 

2 Now  Bishop  of  Llandaff,  one  of  the  poorest 
bishopricks  in  this  kingdom.  His  lordship  has 
written  with  much  zeal  to  show  the  propriety  of 
equalizing  the  revenues  of  bishops.  He  has  in 
formed  us  that  he  has  burnt  all  his  chemical  pa 
pers.  The  friends  of  our  excellent  constitution 
now  assailed  on  every  side  by  innovators  and  lev 
ellers,  would  have  less  regretted  the  suppression  of 
some  of  his  lordship’s  other  writings. — Boswell 

3 The  Phoenicians  and  Carthaginians  di'1  plan 
colonies  in  Kurope. — Kearney. 


302 


1781 . — ^F.TAT.  72. 


his  son,  Mr  Young.  Here  some  address  was 
requisite,  for  I was  not  acquainted  with 
Mr.  Young,  and  had  I proposed  to  Dr. 
Johnson  tha+  we  should  send  to  him,  he 
would  have  checked  my  wish,  and  perhaps 
been  offended.  I therefore  concerted  with 
Mr.  Dilly,  that  I should  steal  away  from 
Dr.  Johnson  and  him,  and  try  what  recep- 
tion I could  procure  from  Mr.  Young  : if 
unfavourable,  nothing  was  to  be  said  ; but 
if  agreeable,  I should  return  and  notify  it  to 
them.  I hastened  to  Mr.  Young’s,  found 
he  was  at  home,  sent  in  word  that  a gen- 
tleman desired  to  wait  upon  him,  and  was 
shown  into  a parlour,  where  he  and  a young 
lady,  his  daughter,  were  sitting.  He  ap- 
peared to  be  a plain,  civil,  country  gentle- 
man ; and  when  I begged  pardon  for  pre- 
suming to  trouble  him,  but  that  I wished 
much  to  see  his  place,  if  he  would  give  me 
leave,  he  behaved  very  courteously,  and 
answered,  “By  all  means,  sir.  We  are 
just  going  to  drink  tea ; will  you  sit 
down  ? 55  I thanked  him,  but  said  that  Dr 
Johnson  had  come  lvith  me  from  London, 
and  I must  return  to  the  inn  to  drink  tea 
with  him  : that  my  name  was  Boswell ; I 
had  travelled  with  him  in  the  Hebrides. 
c Sir,”  said  he,  “ I should  think  it  a great 
honour  to  see  Dr.  Johnson  here.  Will  you 
allow  me  to  send  for  him  ? ” Availing  my- 
self of  this  opening,  I said  that  “ I would 
go  myself  and  bring  him  when  he  had  drunk 
tea  ; he  knew  nothing  of  my  calling  here.” 
Having  been  thus  successful,  I hastened 
back  to  the  inn,  and  informed  Dr.  Johnson 
that  “ Mr.  Young,  son  of  Dr.  Young,  the 
authour  of  c Night  Tnoughts,’  whom  I 
had  just  left,  desired  to  have  the  honour  of 
seeing  him  at  the  house  where  his  father 
lived.”  Dr.  Johnson  luckily  made  no  in- 
quiry how  this  invitation  had  arisen,  but 
agreed  to  go ; and  when  we  entered  Mr. 
Young’s  parlour,  he  addressed  him  with  a 
very  polite  bow,  “ Sir,  I had  a curiosity  to 
come  and  see  this  place.  I had  the  honour 
to  know  that  great  man  your  father.”  We 
went  into  the  garden,  where  we  found  a 
gravel  walk,  on  each  side  of  which  was  a 
row  of  trees,  planted  by  Dr.  Young,  which 
formed  a handsome  Gothick  arch.  Dr. 
Johnson  called  it  a fine  grove.  I beheld  it 
with  reverence. 

We  sat  some  time  in  the  summer-house, 
on  the  outside  wall  of  which  was  inscribed, 
“ Ambulantes  in  horto  audiebant  vocem 
Dei  1 ; ” and  in  the  reference  to  a brook 
by  which  it  is  situated,  “ Vivendi  recte  qui 
prorogat  horam  2,”  &c.  I said  to  Mr. 

1 [“  Walking  in  the  garden  they  heard  the 
vo  oc  of  God.”  Genesis,  iii.  8. — Ed.] 

2 [“ The  man  who  has  it  in  his  power 

To  practise  virtue,  and  protracts  the  hour, 

Waits  till  the  river  pass  away:  but,  lo  ! 

Ceaseless  it  f ows  and  vwl'  for  ever  flow.” 
Francis,  h woce  Epist.  lib.  i.  ep  2,  v.  41. — Ed.] 


Young,  that  I had  been  told  his  father  was 
cheerful.  “ Sir,”  said  he,  “ he  was  too 
well  bred  a man  not  to  be  cheerful  in  com- 
pany ; but  he  was  gloomy  when  alone 
He  never  was  cheerful  after  my  mother’s 
death,  and  he  had  met  with  many  disap- 
pointments.” Dr.  Johnson  observed  to  me 
afterwards,  “ That  this  was  no  favourable 
account  of  Dr.  Young  ; for  it  is  not  becom- 
ing in  a man  to  have  so  little  acquiescence 
in  the  ways  of  Providence,  as  to  be  gloomy 
because  he  has  not  obtained  as  much  pre- 
ferment as  he  expected  ; nor  to  continue 
gloomy  for  the  loss  of  his  wife.  Grief  has 
its  time.”  The  last  part  of  this  censure 
was  theoretically  made.  Practically,  we 
know  that  grief  for  the  loss  of  a wife  may 
be  continued  very  long,  in  proportion  as 
affection  has  been  sincere.  No  man  knew 
this  better  than  Dr.  Johnson. 

We  went  into  the  church,  and  looked  at 
the  monument  erected  by  Mr.  Young  to 
his  father.  Mr.  Young  mentioned  an  an- 
ecdote, that  his  father  had  received  several 
thousand  pounds  of  subscription-money  for 
his  “ Universal  Passion,”  but  had  lost  it  in 
the  South  Sea3.  Dr.  Johnson  thought 
this  must  be  a mistake,  for  he  had  never 
seen  a subscription-book. 

Upon  the  road  we  talked  of  the  uncer- 
tainty of  profit  with  which  authours  and 
booksellers  engage  in  the  publication  of 
literary  works.  Johnson.  “ My  judg- 
ment I have  found  is  no  certain  rule  as  to  the 
sale  of  a book.”  Boswell.  “ Pray,  sir, 
have  you  been  much  plagued  with  authours 
sending  you  their  works  to  revise  ? ” John- 
son. “ No,  sir;  I have  been  thought  a 
sour  surly  fellow.”  Boswell.  “Very 
lucky  for  you,  sir, — in  that  respect.”  I 
must  however  observe,  that,  notwithstand- 
ing what  he  now  said,  which  he  no  doubt 
imagined  at  the  time  to  be  the  fact,  there 
was,  perhaps,  no  man  who  more  frequently 
yielded  to  the  solicitations  even  of  very  ob- 
scure authours  to  read  their  manuscripts, 
or  more  liberally  assisted  them  with  advice 
and  correction. 

He  found  himself  very  happy  at  Squire 
Dilly’s,  where  there  is  always  abundance 
of  excellent  fare,  and  hearty  welcome. 

On  Sunday,  June  3,  we  all  went  to 
Southill  church,  which  is  very  near  to  Mr. 
Dilly’s  house.  It  being  the  first  Sunday 
in  the  month,  the  holy  sacrament  was  ad- 
ministered, and  I staid  to  partake  of  it. 
When  I came  afterwards  into  Dr.  Johnson’s 
room,  hie  said,  “You  did  right  to  stay  and 
receive  the  communion:  I had  not  thought 
of  it.”  This  seemed  to  imply  that  he  did 
not  choose  to  approach  the  altar  without  a 

3 This  assertion  is  disproved  by  a comparison  of 
dates.  The  first  four  satires  of  Young  were  pub- 
lished in  1725.  The  South  Sea  scheme  (which 
appears  to  be  meant)  was  in  1720. — Malone. 


1781. — yETAT  72.  303 


previous  preparation,  as  to  which  good  men 
entertain  different  opinions,  some  holding 
that  it  is  irreverent  to  partake  of  that  ordi- 
nance without  considerable  premeditation; 
others,  that  whoever  is  a sincere  Christian, 
and  in  a proper  frame  of  mind  to  discharge 
any  other  ritual  duty  of  our  religion,  may, 
without  scruple,  discharge  this  most  sol- 
emn one.  A middle  notion  I believe  to  be 
the  just  one,  which  is,  that  communicants 
need  not  think  a long  train  of  preparatory 
forms  indispensably  necessary;  but  neither 
should  they  rashly  and  lightly  venture  upon 
so  awful  and  mysterious  an  institution. 
Christians  must  judge,  each  for  himself 
what  degree  of  retirement  and  self-exami- 
nation is  necessary  upon  each  occasion. 

Being  in  a frame  of  mind  which  I hope, 
for  the  felicity  of  human  nature,  many  ex- 
perience,— in  fine  weather, — at  the  country- 
hoifce  of  a friend, — consoled  and  elevated 
by  pious  exercises, — I expressed  myself 
with  an  unrestrained  fervour  to  my  “ Guide, 
Philosopher,  and  Friend.”  “ My  dear  sir, 

I would  fain  be  a good  man;  and  I am  very 
good  now.  I fear  God,  and  honour  the 
king;  I wish  to  do  no  ill,  and  to  be  benevo- 
lent to  all  mankind.”  He  looked  at  me 
with  a benignant  indulgence;  but  took  oc- 
casion to  give  me  wise  and  salutary  cau- 
tion. “ Do  not,  sir,  accustom  yourself  to 
trust  to  impressions.  There  is  a middle 
state  of  mind  between  conviction  and  hy- 
pocrisy, of  which  many  are  unconscious. 
By  trusting  to  impressions,  a man  may 
gradually  come  to  yield  to  them,  and  at 
length  be  subject  to  them,  so  as  not  to  be  a 
free  agent,  or  what  is  the  same  thing  in 
effect,  to  suppose  that  he  is  not  a free 
agent.  A man  who  is  in  that  state  should 
not  be  suffered  to  live;  if  he  declares  he 
cannot  help  acting  in  a particular  way,  and 
is  irresistibly  impelled,  there  can  be  no  con- 
fidence in  him,  no  more  than  in  a tiger. 
But,  sir,  no  man  believes  himself  to  be  im- 
pelled irresistibly;  we  know  that  he  who 
says  he  believes  it,  lies.  Favourable  im- 
pressions at  particular  moments,  as  to  the 
state  of  our  souls,  may  be  deceitful  and 
dangerous.  In  general  no  man  can  be  sure 
of  his  acceptance  with  God;  some,  indeed, 
may  have  had  it  revealed  to  them.  St. 
Paul,  who  wrought  miracles,  may  have  had 
a miracle  wrought  on  himself,  and  may 
have  obtained  supernatural  assurance  of 
pardon,  and  mercy,  and  beatitude;  yet  St. 
Paul,  though  he  expresses  strong  hope, 
also  expresses  fear,  lest  having  preached  to 
others,  he  himself  should  be  a castaway.” 
The  opinion  of  a learned  bishop  of  our 
acquaintance,  as  to  there  being  merit  in  re- 
ligious faith,  being  mentioned: — Johnson. 
{<  Why,  yes,  sir,  the  most  li  entious  man, 
were  hell  open  before  him,  would  not  take 
the  most  beautiful  strumpet  to  his  arms. 


We  must,  as  the  apostle  says,  live  by 
faith,  not  by  sight1.” 

I talked  to  him  of  original  sin  2,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  fall  of  man,  and  of  the  atone- 
ment made  by  our  Saviour.  After  some 
conversation,  which  he  desired  me  to  re- 
member, he,  at  my  request,  dictated  to  me 
as  follows: 

“With  respect  to  original  sin,  the  in- 
quiry is  not  necessary;  for  whatever  is  the 
cause  of  human  corruption,  men  are  evi- 
dently and  confessedly  so  corrupt,  that  all 
the  laws  of  heaven  and  earth  are  insufficient 
to  restrain  them  from  crimes. 

“ Whatever  difficulty  there  may  be  in 
the  conception  of  vicarious  punishments,  it 
is  an  opinion  which  has  had  possession  of 
mankind  in  all  ages.  There  is  no  nation 
that  has  not  used  the  practice  of  sacrifices 
Whoever,  therefore,  denies  the  propriety 
of  vicarious  punishments,  holds  an  opinion 
which  the  sentiments  and  practice  of  man- 
kind have  contradicted  from  the  beginning 
of  the  world.  The  great  sacrifice  for  the 
sins  of  mankind  was  offered  at  the  death 
of  the  Messiah,  who  is  called  in  Scripture 
4 The  Lamb  of  God,  that  taketh  away  the 
sins  of  the  world.’  To  judge  of  the  reason- 
ableness of  the  scheme  of"  redemption  it 

1 [There  seems  much  obscurity  here.  If  the 

bishop  used  the  word  merit  in  a popular  sense,  and 
meant  only  to  say,  colloquially,  that  “ a religious 
faith  was  meritorious  or  praiseworthy ,”  the  ob- 
servation was  hardly  worth  recording;  yet,  it  is 
not,  on  the  other  hand,  likely  that  he  meant, 
speaking  theologically,  to  attribute  merit  towards 
salvation  to  any  act  or  operation  of  the  human 
mind,  “ for  that  were  ” (as  the  Homily  forbids) 
“ to  count  ourselves  to  be  justified  by  some  act  or 
virtue  which  is  within  us.”  But  on  either  inter- 
pretation it  seems  hard  to  discover  the  connexion 
or  meaning  of  the  reply,  attributed  to  Dr.  Johnson. 
The  bishop’s  opinion  is  evidently  very  imperfect- 
ly stated,  and  there  must  have  been  some  connect- 
ing links  in  the  chain  of  Johnson’s  reasoning 
which  Mr.  Boswell  has  lost.  The  passage — not 
quite  accurately  quoted  by  Dr.  Johnson — is  m 
St.  Paul’s  second  epistle  to  the^  Corinthians,  v. 
7.  “ We  walk  by  faith,  and  not  by  sight.” — 

Ed.] 

2 Dr.  Ogden,  in  his  second  sermon  “ On  the 
Articles  of  the  Christian  Faith,”  with  admirable 
acuteness  thus  addresses  the  opposers  of  that  doc- 
trine, which  accounts  for  the  confusion,  sin,  and 
misery,  which  we  find  in  this  life:  “ It  would  be 
severe  in  God,  you  think,  to  degrade  us  to  such 
a sad  state  as  this,  for  the  offence  of  our  first  pa- 
rents : but  you  can  allow  him  to  place  us  in  it 
without  any  inducement.  Are  our  calamities  les- 
sened for  not  being  ascribed  to  Adam  ? If  your 
condition  be  unhappy,  is  it  not  still  unhappy, 
whatever  was  the  occasion  ? with  the  aggravation 
of  this  reflection,  that  if  it  was  as  good  as  it  was 
at  first  designed,  there  seems  to  be  somewhat  the 
less  reason  to  look  for  its  amendment.” — Bob- 
well. 


304 


1781. — yETAT.  72. 


must  be  considered  as  necessary  to  the 
government  of  the  universe  that  God  should 
make  known  his  perpetual  and  irreconcila- 
ble detestation  of  moral  evil.  He  might 
indeed  punish,  and  punish  only  the  offend- 
ers ; but  as  the  end  of  punishment  is  not 
revenge  of  crimes  but  propagation  of  vir- 
tue, it  was  more  becoming  the  divine  clem- 
ency to  find  another  manner  of  proceeding, 
css  destructive  to  man,  and  at  least  equally 
powerful  to  promote  goodness.  The  end 
of  punishment  is  to  reclaim  and  warn. 
That  punishment  will  both  reclaim  and 
warn,  which  shows  evidently  such  abhor- 
rence of  sin  in  God,  as  may  deter  us  from 
it,  or  strike  us  with  dread  of  vengeance 
when  we  have  committed  it.  This  is 
effected  by  vicarious  punishment.  Nothing 
could  more  testify  the  opposition  between  the 
nature  of  God  and  moral  evil,  or  more  am- 
ply display  his  justice,  to  men  and  angels, 
to  all  orders  and  successions  of  beings,  than 
that  it  was  necessary  for  the  highest  ana 
purest  nature,  even  for  Divin’ty  itself,  to 
pacify  the  demands  of  venf/eance  by  a 
painful  death;  of  which  the  natural  effect 
will  be,  that  when  justice  is  appeased, 
there  is  a proper  place  for  the  exercise  of 
mercy;  and  that  such  propitiation  shall  sup- 
ply, in  some  degree,  the  imperfections  of 
our  obedience  and  the  inefficacy  of  our  re- 
pentance: for  obedience  and  repentance, 
such  as  we  can  perform,  are  still  ne- 
cessary. Our  Saviour  has  told  us,  that 
he  did  not  come  to  destroy  the  law  but  to 
fulfil : to  fulfil  the  typical  law,  by  the  per- 
formance of  what  those  types  had  fore- 
shown, and  the  moral  law,  by  precepts  of 
greater  purity  and  higher  exultation.” 

Here  he  said  “ God  bless  you  with  it.” 
I acknowledged  myself  much  obliged  to 
him;  but  I begged  that  he  would  go  on  as 
to  the  propitiation  being  the  chief  object  of 
our  most  holy  faith.  He  then  dictated  this 
one  other  paragraph. 

“ The  peculiar  doctrine  of  Christianity  is, 
that  of  an  universal  sacrifice  and  perpetual 
propitiation  1.  Other  prophets  only  pro- 
claimed the  *vill  and  the  threatenings  of 
God.  Christ  satisfied  his  justice.” 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Palmer2,  fellow  of 


1 [See  ante,  p.  127,  n.  This  passage  proves 
the  justice  of  the  observation  which  the  Editor 
made  in  that  note  as  to  Johnson’s  opinion  on  this 
important  point. — Ed.] 

2 This  unfortunate  person,  whose  full  name  was 
Thomas  l’ysche  Palmer,  afterwards  went  to  Dun- 
dee, in  Scotland,  where  he  officiated  as  minister 
to  a congregation  <.f  the  sect  who  call  themselves 
Unitarians,  from  a notion  that  they  distinctively 
worsmp  one  God,  because  they  deny  the  mysteri- 
ous doctrine  of  the  Trinity.  They  do  not  advert 
that  the  great  body  of  the  Christian  church  in 
maintaining  that  mystery  maintain  also  the  unity 
of  the  Godhead:  “the  Trinity  in  Unity! — three 


Queen’s  College,  Cambridge,  dined  with 
us.  He  expressed  a wish  that  a better  pro- 
vision were  made  for  parish-clerks.  John- 
son. “ Yes,  sir,  a parish-clerk  should  be  a 
man  who  is  able  to  make  a will  or  write  a 
letter  for  any  body  in  the  parish.” 

I mentioned  Lord  Monboddo’s  notion 3 
that  the  ancient  Egyptians,  with  all  their 
learning  and  all  their  arts,  were  not  only 
black,  but  woolly-haired.  Mr.  Palmer 
asked  how  did  it  appear  upon  examining 
the  mummies?  Dr.  Johnson  approved  of 
this  test. 

Although  upon  most  occasions  I never 
heard  a more  strenuous  advocate  for  the 
advantages  of  wealth  than  Dr.  Johnson,  he 
this  day,  I know  not  from  what  caprice,  took 
the  other  side.  “ I have  not  observed,”  said 
he,  (t  that  men  of  very  large  fortunes  enjoy 
any  thing  extraordinary  that  makes  happi- 
ness. What  has  the  Duke  of  Bedford? 
What  has  the  Duke  of  Devonshire?  The 
only  great  instance  that  I have  ever  known 
of  the  enjoyment  of  wealth  was  that  of  Ja 
maica  Dawkins,  who  going  to  visit  Pal 
myra,  and  hearing  that  the  way  was 
infested  by  robbers,  hired  a troop  of  Turk- 
ish horse  to  guard  him4.” 

Dr.  Gibbons  5 the  dissenting  minister,  be- 
ing mentioned,  he  said,  cc  I took  to  Dr. 
Gibbons.”  And  addressing  himself  to  Mr. 
Charles  Dilly,  added,  “ I shall  be  glad  to 
see  him.  Tell  him,  if  he  ’ll  call  on  me,  and 
dawdle  over  a dish  of  tea  in  an  afternoon, 
I shall  take  it  kind.” 

persons  and  one  God.”  The  church  humbly 
adores  the  Divinity  as  exhibited  in  the  holy  scrip- 
tures. The  Unitarian  sect  vainly  presumes  to 
comprehend  and  define  the  Almighty.  Mr. 
Palmer  having  heated  his  mind  with  political 
speculations,  became  so  much  dissatisfied  with  our 
excellent  constitution  as  to  compose,  publish,  and 
circulate  writings,  which  were  found  to  be  so  se- 
ditious and  dangerous,  that  upon  being  found 
guilty  by  a jury,  the  court  of  justiciary  in  Scotland 
sentenced  him  to  transportation  for  fourteen  years. 
A loud  clamour  against  this  sentence  was  made 
by  some  members  of  both  houses  of  parliament; 
but  both  houses  approved  of  it  by  a great  majori- 
ty, and  he  was  conveyed  to  the  settlement  for 
convicts  in  New  South  Wales. — Boswell.  Mr. 
T.  F.  Palmer  was  of  Queen’s  College  in  Cam- 
bridge, where  he  took  the  degree  of  master  of  arts 
in  1772,  and  that  of  S.  T.  B.  in  1781.  He  died 

on  his  return  from  Botany  Bay  in  the  year  1803 
— Malone. 

3 Taken  from  Herodotus. — Boswell. 

4 [Henry  Dawkins,  Esq.,  the  companion  of 
Wood  and  Bouverie  in  their  travels,  and  the 
patron  of  the  Athenian  Stuart. — Ed.] 

5 [Thomas  Gibbons,  “ a Calvinist  ” (says  the 
Biog.  Diet.)  “ of  the  old  stamp,  and  a man  of 
great  piety  and  primitive  manners.”  He  wrote 
a Life  of  Dr.  Watts,  and  assisted  Dr.  Johnson  with 
some  materials  for  the  Life  of  Watts  in  the  Eng- 
lish Poets.  He  died  by  a strike  of  apoplexy  in 
1785,  aetat.  sixty-five. — Ed.] 


1 *81. — /ETAJL.  1 2. 


305 


The  Reverend  Mr.  Smith,  vicar  of  South- 
ill,  a very  respectable  man,  with  a very 
agreeable  family,  sent  an  invitation  to  us  to 
drink  tea.  I remarked  Dr.  Johnson’s  very 
respectful  politeness.  Though  always  fond 
of  changing  the  scene,  he  said,  “We  must 
have  Mr.  Dilly’s  leave.  We  cannot  go  from 
your  house,  sir,  without  your  permission.” 
We  aJl  went,  and  were  well  satisfied  with 
our  visit.  I,  however,  remember  nothing 
particular,  except  a nice  distinction  which 
Dr.  Johnson  made  with  respect  to  the  pow- 
er of  memory,  maintaining  that  forgetful- 
ness was  a man’s  own  fault.  “ To  remem- 
ber and  to  recollect,”  said  he,  “ are  different 
things.  A man  has  not  the  power  to  recol- 
lect what  is  not  in  his  mind,  but  when  a 
thing  is  in  his  mind  he  may  remember  it  h” 

The  remark  was  occasioned  by  my  lean- 
ing back  on  a chair,  which  a little  before  I 
had  perceived  to  be  broken,  and  pleading 
forgetfulness  as  an  excuse.  “ Sir,”  said 
he,  “ its  being  broken  was  certainly  in  your 
mind.” 

When  I observed  that  a housebreaker 
was  in  general  very  timorous:  Johnson. 
“ No  wonder,  sir;  he  is  afraid  of  being  shot 
getting  into  a house,  or  hanged  when  he 
has  got  out  of  it.” 

He  told  us,  that  he  had  in  one  day  writ- 
ten six  sheets  of  a translation  from  the 
French;  adding,  “ I should  be  glad  to  see 
it  now.  I wish  that  I had  copies  of  all  the 
pamphlets  written  against  me,  as  it  is  said 
Pope  had.  Had  I known  that  I should 
make  so  much  noise  in  the  world,  I should 
have  been  at  pains  to  collect  them.  I be- 
lieve there  is  hardly  a day  in  which  there 
is  not  something  about  me  in  the  newspa- 
pers.” 

On  Monday,  June.4>  we  all  went  to  Lu- 
ton-Hoe,  to  see  Lord  Bute’s  magnificent 
seat,  for  which  I had  obtained  a ticket.  As 
we  entered  the  park,  I talked  in  a high  style 
of  my  old  friendship  with  Lord  Mountstu- 
art,  and  said,  “ I shall  probably  be  much  at 
this  place.”  The  sage,  aware  of  human 
vicissitudes,  gently  checked  me:  “Don’t 


1 [Mr.  Boswell’s  note  must  have  been  imper- 
fect. Dr.  Johnson  certainly  never  talked  such 
nonsense  as  is  here  attributed  to  him — a man  can 
no  more  remember  “ what  is  not  on  his  mind  ” 
than  he  can  recollect  it,  and  “ when  a thing  is 
in  his  mind  ” he  can  just  as  well  recollect  as  re- 
member it.  In  his  Dictionary,  lohnson  defines 
“ remember , to  bear  in  mind,  to  recollect,  to 
enll  to  mind.”  This  would  seem  to  imply  that 
be  considered  the  words  as  nearly  synonymous  ; 
but  in  his  definition  of  “ recollect , to  recover 
memory,  to  gather  what  is  scattered,”  he  makes 
the  true  distinction.  When  the  words  are  to  be 
contradistinguished,  it  may  be  said  that  remem- 
brance is  spontaneous , and  recollection  an  ef 
fort. — Ed.] 

vol.  n.  39 


you  be  too  sure  of  that2.”  He  made  two 
or  three  peculiar  observations;  as,  when 
shown  the  botanical  garden,  £t  Is  not  every 
garden  a botanical  garden?”  When  told 
that  there  was  a shrubbery  to  the  extent  of 
several  miles;  “ That  is  making  a very 
foolish  use  of  the  ground;  a little  of  it  is 
very  well.”  When  it  was  proposed  that 
we  should  walk  on  the  pleasure-ground; 
“Don’t  let  us  fatigue  ourselves.  Why 
should  we  walk  there?  Here ’s  a fine  tree, 
let ’s  get  to  the  top  of  it.”  But  upon  the 
whole,  he  was  very  much  pleased.  He 
said,  “ This  is  one  of  the  places  I do  not 
regret  having  come  to  see.  It  is  a very 
stately  place,  indeed;  in  the  house  magnifi- 
cence is  not  sacrificed  to  convenience,  nor 
convenience  to  magnificence.  The  library 
is  very  splendid;  the  dignity  of  the  rooms 
is  very  great;  and  the  quantity  of  pictures 
is  beyond  expectation,  beyond  hope.” 

It  happened  without  any  previous  con 
cert  that  we  visited  the  seat  of  Lord  Bute 
upon  the  king’s  birthday;  we  dined  and 
drank  his  majesty’s  health  at  an  inn  in  the 
village  of  Luton. 

In  the  evening  I put  him  in  mind  of  his 
promise  to  favour  me  with  a copy  of  his 
celebrated  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Chester- 
field, and  he  was  at  last  pleased  to  comply 
with  this  earnest  request,  by  dictating  it  to 
me  from  his  memory;  for  he  believed  that 
he  himself  had  no  copy.  There  was  an 
animated  glow  in  his  countenance  while 
he  thus  recalled  his  high-minded  indig- 
nation. 

He  laughed  heartily  at  a ludicrous  action 
in  the  court  of  session,  in  which  I was  coun- 
sel. The  society  of  procurators,  or  attor 
nies,  entitled  to  practise  in  the  inferior 
courts  at  Edinburgh,  had  obtained  a royal 
charter,  in  which  they  had  taken  care  to 
have  their  ancient  designation  of  Procura- 
tors changed  into  that  of  Solicitors,  from  a 
notion,  as  they  supposed,  that  it  was  more 
genteel;  and  this  new  title  they  displayed 
by  a public  advertisement  for  a general 
meeting  at  their  hall. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  Scottish  nation 
is  not  distinguished  for  humour;  and,  in- 
deed, what  happened  on  this  occasion  may, 
in  some  degree,  justify  the  remark;  for  al- 
though this  society  had  contrived  to  make 
themselves  a very  prominent  object  for  the 
ridicule  of  such  as  might  stoop  to  it,  the 
only  joke  to  which  it  gave  rise  was  the  fol- 
lowing paragraph,  sent  to  the  newspaper 
called  “ The  Caledonian  Mercury.” 

“ A correspondent  informs  us,  the  Wor 
shipful  Society  of  Chaldeans , Cadies,  or 
Punning- Stationers  of  this  city  are  re- 


2 [See  ante,  p.  31. 

Dulcis  iuexpertis  polcntis  cultura  amici, 

Expertus  metuit.” — Hot.  Ep  xviii.  lib.  i.  y.  S6  — Ed.J 


30b 


1781.— yETAT.  72. 


solved,  in  imitation,  and  encouraged  by  the 
singular  success  of  their  brethren,  of  an 
equally  respectable  Society,  to  app'iy  for  a 
Charter  of  their  Privileges,  particularly  of 
the  sole  privilege  of  procuring,  in  the 
most  extensive  sense  of  the  word,  exclusive 
of  chairmen,  porters,  penny-post  men,  and 
other  inferior  ranks;  their  brethren,  the 

R — y — l S — l ns,  alias  P — c rs, 

before  the  inferiouk  Courts  of  this  City, 
always  excepted. 

“ Should  the  Woiwnpful  Society  be  sue 
cessful,  they  are  farther  resolved  not  to  be 
puffed  up  thereby,  but  to  demean  them- 
selves with  more  equanimity  and  decency 
than  their  r-y-l,  learned , and  very  modest 
brethren  above  mentioned  have  done,  upon 
their  late  dignification  and  exaltation.” 

A majority  of  the  members  of  the  society 
prosecuted  Mr.  Robertson,  the  publisher  of 
the  paper,  for  damages;  and  the  first  judg- 
ment of  the  whole  court  very  wisely  dis- 
missed the  action : Solventur  risu  tabulce, 
tu  missus  abibis.  But  a new  trial  or  re- 
view was  granted  upon  a petition,  accord- 
ing to  the  forms  in  Scotland.  This  peti- 
tion I was  engaged  to  answer,  and  Dr. 
Johnson,  with  great  alacrity,  furnished  me 
this  evening  with  [an  argument,  which  will 
be  found  in  the  Appendix.] 

I am  ashamed  to  mention,  that  the  court, 
by  a plurality  of  voices,  without  having  a 
single  additional  circumstance  before  them, 
reversed  their  own  judgment,  marde  a seri- 
ous matter  of  this  dull  and  foolish  joke,  and 
adjudged  Mr.  Rohcrtson  to  pay  to  the  so- 
ciety five  pounds  (sterling  money)  and 
costs  of  suit.  The  decision  will  seem 
strange  to  English  lawyers. 

On  Tuesday,  June  5,  Johnson  was  to  re- 
turn to  London.  He  was  very  pleasant  at 
breakfast;  I mentioned  a friend  of  mine 
having  resolved  never  to  marry  a pretty 
woman.  Johnson.  “ Sir,  it  is  a very 
foolish  resolution  to  resolve  not  to  marry  a 
pretty  woman  Beauty  is  of  itself  very  es- 
timable. No,  sir,  I would  prefer  a pretty 
woman,  unless  there  are  objections  to  her. 
A pretty  woman  may  be  foolish;  a pretty 
woman  may  be  wicked;  a pretty  woman 
may  not  like  me.  But  there  is  no  such  dan- 
ger in  marrying  a pretty  woman  as  is  ap- 
prehended; she  will  not  be  persecuted  if  she 
does  not  invite  persecution.  A pretty  wo- 
man, if  she  has  a mind  to  be  wicked,  can 
find  a readier  way  than  another;  and  that 
is  all.” 

I accompanied  him  in  Mr.  Dilly’s  chaise 
to  Shefford,  where,  talking  of  Lord  Bute’s 
never  going  Scotland,  he  said,  “ As  an 
Englishman,  I should  wish  all  che  Scotch 
gentlemen  should  be  educated  ?n  England; 
Scotland  would  become  a province;  they 
would  spend  all  their  rents  in  England.” 
This  is  a subject  < f much  consequence,  and 


much  delicacy.  The  advantage  of  an  Eng 
lish  education  is  unquestionably  very  great 
to  Scotch  gentlemen  of  talents  and  ambi- 
tion; and  regular  visits  to  Scotland,  and 
perhaps  other  means,  might  be  effectually 
used  to  prevent  them  from  being  totally 
estranged,  from  their  native  country,  any 
more  than  a Cumberland  or  Northumber 
land  gentleman,,  who  has  been  educated  in 
the  south  of  England.  I own,  indeed,  that 
it  is  no  small  misfortune  for  Scotch  gentle- 
men, who  have  neither  talents  nor  ambi- 
tion, to  be  educated  in  England,  where 
they  may  be  perhaps  distinguished  only  by 
a nickname,  lavis’h  their  fortune  in  giving 
expensive  entertainments  to  those  who 
laugh  at  them,  and  saunter  about  as  mere 
idle,  insignificant  hangers-on  even  upon  the 
foolish  great;  when,  if  they  had  been  ju- 
diciously brought  up  at  home,  they  might 
have  been  comfortable  and  creditable  mem- 
bers of  society. 

At  Shefford  I had  another  affectionate 
parting  from  my  revered  friend,  who  was 
taken  up  by  the  Bedford  coach  and  carried 
to  the  metropolis.  I went  with  Messieurs 
Dilly  to  see  some  friends  at  Bedford;  dined 
with  the  officers  of  the  militia  of  the  coun- 
ty, and  next  day  proceeded  on  my  journey. 

My  correspondence  with  Dr.  Johnson 
during  the  rest  of  this  year  was,  I know 
not  why,  very  scanty,  and  all  on  my  side. 
I wrote  him  one  letter  to  introduce  Mr. 
Sinclair  (now  Sir  John),  the  member  foi 
Caithness  J,  to  his  acquaintance;  and  in- 
formed him  in  another  that  my  wife  had 
again  been  affected  with  alarming  symp- 
toms of  illness2.  [But  his  letters  to  Ep 
other  correspondents,  and  paTticularly  D* 
to  Mrs.  Thrale,  carry  on  the  story  of  his 
life.] 

[“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER. 

“ London,  9th  June,  1781. 

“Dear  madam, — I hope  the 
summer  makes  you  better.  My  ^egg9on 
disorders,  which  had  come  upon 
me  again,  have  again  given  way  to  medi 
cine;  and  I am  a better  sleeper  than  I have 
lately  been. 

“ The  death  of  dear  Mr.  Thrale  has 
made  my  attendance  upon  his  home  neces- 
sary; but  we  have  sold  the  trade,  which 
we  did  not  know  how  to  manage,  and  have 
sold  it  for  an  hundred  and  thirty  thousand 
pounds. 

“My  Lives  are  at  last  published,  and 
you  will  receive  them  this  week  by  the  car- 

1 [The  Right  Honourable  Sir  John  Sinclair  of 
Ulbster,  hart. ; a voluminous  writer  on  agriculttbo 
and  statistics. — Ed.] 

5 [This  Da-a^ge  is  transposed  from  the  date 
(January,  1782  ' «ndcr  v;hic£.  it  stands  in  tac 
original  edition,  tr*  *hi\  it*  mor»‘  proper  place.- 
Ed.] 


1781.— iETAr.  rz. 


307 


ner  I have  soire  hopes  of  coming  this 
summer  amongst  you  for  a short  time.  I 
shall  be  loath  to  miss  you  two  years  to- 
gether. But  in  the  mean  time  let  me  know 
how  you  do.  I am,  dear  madam,  your 
affectionate  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.”] 
“to  bennet  langton,  esq. 

“Bolt-court,  16th  June,  1781. 

“ Dear  sir, — How  welcome  your  ac- 
count of  yourself  and  your  invitation  to  your 
new  house  was  to  me,  I need  not  tell  you, 
who  consider  our  friendship  not  only  as 
formed  by  choice,  but  as  matured  by  time. 
We  have  been  now  long  enough  acquaint- 
ed to  have  many  images  in  common,  and 
therefore  to  have  a source  of  conversation 
which  neither  the  learning  nor  the  wit  of  a 
new  companion  can  supply. 

“ My  Lives  are  now  published  ; and  if 
you  will  tell  me  whither  I shall  send  them, 
that  they  may  come  to  you,  I will  take  care 
what  you  shall  not  be  without  them. 

“ You  will  perhaps  be  glad  to  hear  that 
Mrs.  Thrale  is  disencumbered  of  her  brew- 
house;  and  that«at  seemed  to  the  purchaser 
so  far  from  an  evil,  that  he  was  content  to 
give  for  it  an  hundred  and  thirty-five  thou- 
sand pounds.  Is  the  nation  mined  ? 

“Please  to  make  my  respectful  compli- 
ments to  Lady  Rothes,  and  keep  me  in  the 
memory  of  all  the  little  dear  family,  partic- 
ilarly  Mrs.  Jane.  I am,  sir,  your  affec- 
tionate humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

Johnson’s  charity  to  the  poor  was  uniform 
jnd  extensive,  both  from  inclination  and 
principle.  He  not  only  bestowed  liberally 
out  of  his  own  purse,  but  what  is  more  diffi- 
cult as  well  as  rare,  would  beg  from  others, 
when  he  had  proper  objects  in  view.  This 
he  did  judiciously  as  well  as  humanely. 
Mr.  Philip  Metcalfe  tells  me,  that  when  he 
has  asked  him  for  some  money  for  persons 
in  distress,  and  Mr.  Metcalfe  has  offered 
what  Johnson  thought  too  much,  he  insist- 
ed on  taking  less,  saying,  “ No,  no,  sir;  we 
must  not  pamper  them  1.” 

[With  advising  others  to  be  chari- 
Pl0“1’  table,  however,  Dr.  Johnson  did  not 
p‘  ' content  himself.  He  gave  away  all 
he  had,  and  all  he  ever  had  gotten,  except 
the  two  thousand  pounds  he  left  behind; 
and  the  very  smail  portion  of  his  income 
which  he  spent  on  himself,  with  all  our 
calculation,  we  never  could  make  more  than 
seventy  or  at  most  fourscore  pounds  a year, 
and  he  pretended  to  allow  himself  a hun- 
dred. He  had  numberless  dependants  out 
of  doors  as  well  as  in,  “ who,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  did  not  like  to  see  him  latterly 
unless  he  brought  them  money.”  For 


those  people  he  used  frequently  to  raise 
contributions  on  his  richer  friends;  “ and 
this,”  says  he,  “ is  one  of  the  thousand  rea- 
sons which  ought  to  restrain  a man  from 
drony  solitude  and  useless  retirement.”] 

1 am  indebted  to  Mr.  Malone,  one  of 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s  executors,  for  the 
following  note,  which  was  found  among 
his  papers  after  his  death,  and  which,  we 
may  presume,  his  unaffected  modesty  pre- 
vented him  from  communicating  to  me  with 
the  other  letters  from  Dr.  Johnson  with 
which  he  was  pleased  to  furnish  me.  How- 
ever slight  in  itself,  as  it  does  honour  to 
that  illustrious  painter  and  most  amiable 
man,  I am  happy  to  introduce  it. 

“TO  SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS. 

“23d  June,  1781. 

“ Dear  sir, — It  was  not  before  yester- 
day that  I received  your  splendid  benefac- 
tion. To  a hand  so  liberal  in  distributing, 
I hope  nobody  will  envy  the  power  of  ac- 
quiring. I am,  dear  sir,  your  obliged  and 
most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

[The  following  letters  were  written  at 
this  time  by  Johnson  to  Miss  Reynolds, 
the  latter  on  receiving  from  her  a copy  of 
her  “ Essay  on  Taste,”  privately  printed, 
but  never  published. 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“25th  June,  1781. 

“ Dear  madam, — You  may  give 
the  book 2 to  Mrs.  Horneck3,  and  I 
will  give  you  another  for  yourself. 

“ I am  afraid  there  is  no  hope  of  Mrs. 
Thrale’s  custom  for  your  pictures  ; but,  if 
you  please,  I will  mention  it.  She  cannot 
make  a pension  out  of  her  jointure4 5. 

“ I will  bring  the  papers  myself.  I am, 
madam,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson  ’* 

“TO  MISS  REYNOLDS  5. 

“ Uolt-court,  28th  June,  1781 

Dearest  madam, — There  is  in  these 
[pages,  or  remarks,)  such  depth  of  pene- 

2 [Probably  the  Beauties  of  Johnson,  pub- 
lished about  this  period:  see  ante , vol.  i.  p.  87. 
-Ed.] 

3 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  186. — Ed.] 

4 [Miss  Reynolds,  it  seems,  wished  to  dispose 
of  her  collection,  and  thought  that  Mrs.  Thrale 
might  purchase  and  pay  for  it  by  an  annuity. — 
Ed.] 

5 The  lady  to  whom  this  letter  was  addressed, 
and  for  whom  Dr.  Johnson  had  a high  regard,  di- 
ed in  Westminster,  at  the  age  of  eighty,  Nov.  1, 
1807. — Malone.  [One  Sunday  evening,  at  the 
time  he  was  first  declining,  Miss  Reynolds  sent  to 
make  inquiries.  Ilis  answer  was,  “ Tell  her  that 
I cannot  be  well,  for  she  does  not  come  to  s4>c 
me.” — Hawk.  Mem.  vol.  ii  p.  149. — Ed.] 


[See  ante , n.  98. — Ed.] 


308 


1781.— vETAT.  72 


tration,  such  nicety  of  observation,  as  Locke 
or  Pascal  might  be  proud  of.  This  I de- 
sire you  to  believe  is  my  real  opinion. 

« However,  it  cannot  be  published  in  its 
present  state.  Many  of  your  notions  seem 
not  to  be  very  clear  in  your  own  mind  ; 
many  are  not  sufficiently  develooed  and  ex- 
panded for  the  common  reaaei  : it  wants 
every  where  to  be  made  smoother  and  plain- 
er. 

“ You  may,  by  revisal  and  correction, 
make  it  a very  elegant  and  a very  curious 
work.  I am,  my  dearest  dear,  your  affec- 
tionate and  obedient  servant, 

“ Samuel  Johnson.”] 

“to  THOMAS  ASTLE,  ESQ,. 

“17th  July,  1781. 

••  Sir, — I am  ashamed  that  you  have 
been  forced  to  call  so  often  for  your  books, 
but  it  has  been  by  no  fault  on  either  side. 
They  have  never  been  out  of  my  hands, 
nor  have  I ever  been  at  home  without  see- 
ing you  ; for  to  see  a man  so  skilful  in  the 
antiquities  of  my  country  is  an  opportunity 
of  improvement  not  willingly  to  be  missed. 

“Your  notes  on  Alfred1  appear  to  me 
very  judicious  and  accurate,  but  they  are 
too  few.  Many  things  familiar  to  you  are 
unknown  to  me,  and  to  most  others  ; and 
you  must  not  think  too  favourably  of  your 
readers  : by  supposing  them  knowing,  you 
will  leave  them  ignorant.  Measure  of  land, 
and  value  of  money,  it  is  of  great  impor- 
tance to  state  with  care.  Had  the  Saxons 
any  gold  coin  ? 

“ I have  much  curiosity  after  the  man- 
ners and  transactions  of  the  middle  ages, 
but  have  wanted  either  diligence  or  oppor- 
tunity, or  both.  You,  sir,  have  great  op- 
portunities, and  I wish  you  both  diligence 
and  success.  I am,  sir,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

The  following  curious  anecdote  I insert 
in  Dr.  Burney’s  own  words.  “Dr.  Burney 
related  to  Dr.  Johnson  the  partiality  which 
his  writings  had  excited  in  a friend  of  Dr. 
Burney’s,  the  late  Mr.  Bewley  2,  well  known 


1 The  will  of  King  Alfred  alluded  to  in  this  let- 
ter, from  the  original  Saxon,  in  the  library  of  Mr. 
Astle,  has  been  printed  at  the  expense  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  Oxford. — Boswell. 

2 [He  was  a “ Monthly  Reviewer ,”  and  died 
in  1783.  If  the  story  of  “ the  bristles  of  the 
hearth-broom,”  or  any  thing  like  it,  be  true,  Mr. 
Bewley  might  better  have  been  called  an  idiot 
than  an  enthusiast;  but  the  editor  takes  the  liber- 
ty of  disbelieving  the  anecdote  altogether.  That 
Mr.  Bewley  might  have  wished  and  asked  for 
Dr.  Johnson’s  autograph  is  natural  enough  ; but 
that,  after  a lapse  of  five  years , lie  should  have 
been  satisfied  with  receiving  instead  of  an  auto- 
graph a few  bristles  of  a broom  is  to  absurd;  and 
dial  Dr.  Burney  should  not  have  mentioned  so 


in  Norfolk  by  the  name  of  the  Philosopher 
of  Massingham  ; who,  from  the  Ramblers 
and  plan  of  his  Dictionary,  and  long  before 
the  authour’s  fame  was  established  by  the 
Dictionary  itself,  or  any  other  work,  had 
conceived  such  a reverence  for  him,  that  he 
earnestly  begged  Dr.  Burney  to  give  him 
the  cover  of  the  first  letter  he  had  received 
from  him,  as  a relick  of  so  estimable  a wri- 
ter. This  was  in  1755.  In  1760,  when  Dr. 
Burney  visited  Dr.  Johnson  at  the  Temple 
in  London,  where  he  had  then  chambers, 
he  happened  to  arrive  there  before  he  was 
up  ; and  being  shown  into  the  room  where 
he  was  to  breakfast,  finding  himself  alone, 
he  examined  the  contents  of  the  apartment, 
to  try  whether  he  could,  undiscovered,  steal 
any  thing  to  send  to  his  friend  Bewley,  as 
another  relick  of  the  admirable  Dr.  Johnson. 
But  finding  nothing  better  to  his  purpose, 
he  cut  some  bristles  off  his  hearth-broom, 
and  enclosed  them  in  a letter  to  his  country 
enthusiast,  who  received  them  with  due 
reverence.  The  Doctor  was  so  sensible  of 
the  honour  done  to  him  by  a man  of  genius 
and  science,  to  whom  he  was  an  utter  stran- 
ger, that  he  said  to  Dr.  Burney,  ‘ Sir,  there 
is  no  man  possessed  of  the  smallest  portion 
of  modesty,  but  must  be  flattered  with  the 
admiration  of  such  a man.  I ’ll  give  him  a 
set  of  my  Lives,  if  he  will  do  me  the  hon- 
our to  accept  of  them.’  In  this  he  kept  his 
word;  and  Dr.  Burney  had  not  only  the 
pleasure  of  gratifying  his  friend  with  a pre- 
sent more  worthy  of  his  acceptance  than 
the  segment  from  the  hearth-broom,  but 
soon  after  introducing  him  to  Dr.  Johnson 
himself  in  Bolt-court,  with  whom  he  had 
the  satifaction  of  conversing  a considerable 
time,  not  a fortnight  before  his  death;  which 
happened  in  St.  Martin’s-street,  during  his 
visit  to  Dr.  Burney,  in  the  house  where  the 
great  Sir  Isaac  Newton  had  lived  and  died 
before  3.” 

In  one  of  his  little  memorandum-books  is 
the  following  minute  : 

“ August  9,  3 P.  M.  setat.  72,  in  the  sum- 
mer-house at  Streatham. 

“ After  innumerable  resolutions  formed 
and  neglected,  I have  retired  hither,  to  plan 
a life  of  greater  diligence,  in  hope  that  I 
may  yet  be  useful,  and  be  daily  better  pre- 


strange  a story  to  Dr.  Johnson  till  after  the  furthei 
lapse  of  twenty-jive  years  is  quite  incredible. — 
Ed.] 

3 [This  house  (No.  36)  is  now  occupied  as  a 
parish  school-house,  but  the  upper  apartments 
have  been  but  little  altered  since  the  days  of  their 
illustrious  owner.  There  were  lately  published 
proposals  for  erecting  on  the  site  a monument  to 
the  memory  of  Sir  Isaac;  the  design  of  which 
was  a globe  of  brick  and  stones,  covered  with 
plaster  of  Paris,  and  marked  with  geographical  and 
astronomical  lines,  and  having  a hollow  centre 
large  enough  for  a public  lecture-room. — Ed."; 


1781.— JETAT.  72.  309 


fared  to  appear  before  my  Creator  and  my 
udge,  from  whose  infinite  mercy  I humbly 
call  for  assistance  and  support. 

“ My  purpose  is, 

“ To  pass  eight  hours  every  day  in  some 
serious  employment. 

“ Having  prayed,  I purpose  to  employ 
the  next  six  weeks  upon  the  Italian  lan- 
guage for  my  settled  study.” 

How  venerably  pious  does  he  appear  in 
these  moments  of  solitude ! and  how  spirit- 
ed are  his  resolutions  for  the  improvement 
of  his  mind,  even  in  elegant  literature,  at  a 
very  advanced  period  of  life,  and  when 
afflicted  with  many  complaints  ! 

In  autumn  he  went  to  Oxford,  Birming- 
ham. Lichfield,  and  Ashbourne,  for  which 
very  good  reasons  might  be  given  in  the 
conjectural 1 yet  positive  manner  of  writers, 
who  are  proud  to  account  for  every  event 
which  they  relate.  He  himself,  however, 
says,  “ The  motives  of  my  journey  I hardly 
know  : I omitted  it  last  year,  and  am  not 
Prayers,  willing  to  miss  it  again.”  But 
& Med.  some  good  considerations  arise, 
d.  198.  amongst  which  is  the  kindly  recol- 
ection of  Mr.  Hector,  surgeon,  of  Birming- 
ham. “ Hector  is  likewise  an  old  friend, 
the  only  companion  of  my  childhood  that 
assed  through  the  school  with  me.  We 
ave  always  loved  one  another  : perhaps 
we  may  be  made  better  by  some  serious 
conversation  ; of  which,  however,  I have 
no  distinct  hope.” 

. He  says,  too,  “ At  Lichfield,  my  native 
place,  I hope  to  show  a good  example  by 
frequent  attendance  on  publick  worship.” 

[“  DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  THRAI.E. 

“Oxford,  17th  October,  1781. 

“ On  Monday  evening  arrived  at  the  An- 
gel inn  at  Oxford  Mr.  Johnson  and  Mr. 
Barber,  without  any  sinister  accident. 

“ I am  here  ; but  why  am  I here  ? on  my 
way  to  Lichfield,  where  I believe  Mrs.  As- 
ton will  be  glad  to  see  me.  We  have 
known  each  other  long,  and,  by  conse 
quence,  are  both  old  ; and  she  is  paraly 
tick  ; and  if  I do  not  see  her  soon,  I may 
see  her  no  more  in  this  world.  To  make  a 
visit  on  such  considerations  is  to  go  on  a 
melancholy  errand.  But  such  is  the  course 
of  life. 

“ This  place  is  very  empty,  but  there  are 
more  here  whom  I know  than  I could  have 
expected.  Young  Burke2  has  just  been 

1 [This  observation,  just  enough  in  general,  is 
here  peculiarly  ill-placed  ; for,  besides  the  mo- 
tives for  the  journey  which  Mr.  Boswell  has  quo- 
ted from  the  Prayers  and  Meditations,  we  shall 
see,  by  a subsequent  letter,  that  Mrs.  Thrale’s 
kindness  had  forced  him  to  undertake  this  little 
tour  for  the  benefit  of  his  health  and  spirits. — 
Ed.] 

* [Richard,  the  onlv  son  of  Edmund  Burke,  at 


with  me,  and  I have  dmed  to-day  with  Dr 
Adams,  who  seems  fond  of  me.” 

“ Lichfield,  20th  October,  17f  l. 

“ I wrote  from  Oxford,  where  I staid  two 
days.  On  Thursday  I went  to  Birming- 
ham, and  was  told  by  Hector  that  I should 
not  be  well  so  soon  as  I expected ; but  that 
well  I should  be.  Mrs.  Careless  took  me 
under  her  care,  and  told  me  when  I had  tea 
enough.  On  Friday  1 came  hither,  and 
have  escaped  the  post-chaises  3 all  the  way. 
Every  body  here  is  as  kind  as  I expected  ; 
I think  Lucy  is  kinder  than  ever.” 

“ 27th  October,  1781. 

“ Poor  Lucy’s  illness  has  left  her  very 
deaf,  and,  I think,  very  inarticulate.  I can 
scarcely  make  her  understand  me,  and  she 
can  hardly  make  me  understand  her.  So 
here  are  merry  doings.  But  she  seems  to 
like  me  better  than  she  did.  She  eats  very 
little,  but  does  not  fall  away. 

“ Mrs.  Cobb  and  Peter  Garrick  are  as 
you  left  them.  Garrick’s  legatees  at  this 
place  are  very  angry  that  they  receive  no- 
thing. Things  are  not  quite  right,  though 
we  are  so  far  from  London  4.” 

“ Ashbourne,  10th  November,  1781. 

“Yesterday  I came  to  Ashbourne,  ana 
last  night  I had  very  little  rest.  Dr.  Tay- 
lor lives  on  milk,  and  grows  every  day  bet- 
ter, and  is  not  wholly  without  hope.  Every 
body  inquires  after  you  and  Queeney;  but 
whatever  [Miss]  Burney  may  think  of  the 
celerity  of  fame,  the  name  of  Evelina  had 
never  been  heard  at  Lichfield  till  I brought 
it.  I am  afraid  my  dear  townsmen  will  be 
mentioned  in  future  days  as  the  last  part  of 
this  nation  that  was  civilized5.  But  the 
days  of  darkness  are  soon  to  be  at  an  end 
The  reading  society  ordered  it  to  be  pro 
cured  this  week.” 

“Ashbourne,  24th  November,  1781. 

“ I shall  leave  this  place  about  the  begin- 
ning of  next  week,  and  shall  leave  every 
place  as  last  as  I decently  can,  till  I get  back 
to  you,  whose  kindness  is  one  of  my  great 
comforts.  I am  not  well,  but  have  a mind 


this  period  at  Oxford.  He  died  in  1794,  set.  36. 
Ilis  afflicted  father  has  immortalised  him  in  many 

pathetic  passages  of  his  later  works,  and  par- 
ticularly in  his  celebrated  “ Letter  to  a Noble 
Lord.” — Ed.] 

3 [He  means  escaped  the  expense  of  post- 
chaises  by  happening  to  find  places  in  stage-coach- 
es.— Ed.] 

4 [Dr.  Johnson  always  controverted  the  com- 
mon-place observation  of  the  superior  purity  and 
happiness  of  country  life. — Ed.] 

5 [See  ante , pp.  43  and  44,  where,  in  a better 
humour,  he  describes  his  townsmen  as  the  most 
civilized  people  in  England. — Ed.] 


310 


1782. — /ETAT.  73. 


every  now  and  then  to  think  myself  better, 
and  I now  hope  to  be  better  under  your 
care.” 

“ Lichfield,  3d  December,  1781. 

“ I am  now  come  back  to  Lichfield,  where 
I do  not  intend  to  stay  long  enough  to  re- 
ceive another  letter.  I have  little  to  do  here 
bat  to  take  leave  of  Mrs.  Aston.  I hope 
not  the  last  leave.  But  Christians  may  with 
more  confidence  than  Sophonisba 

‘ Avremo  tosto  lungo  lungo  spazio 
Per  stare  assieme,  et  sara  forfe  eterno.’ 

“ My  time  passed  heavily  at  Ashbourne; 
yet  I could  not  easily  get  away;  though 
1'aylor,  I sincerely  think,  was  glad  to  see 
me  go.  I have  now  learned  the  inconveni- 
ence of  a winter  campaign;  but  I hope  home 
will  make  amends  for  all  my  foolish  suffer- 
ings.” 

“ Birmingham,  8th  December,  1781. 

“ I am  come  to  this  place  on  my  way  to 
London  and  to  Streatham.  I hope  to  be  in 
London  on  Tuesday  or  Wednesday,  and  at 
Streatham  on  Thursday,  by  your  kind  con- 
veyance. I shall  have  nothing  to  relate 
either  wonderful  or  delightful.  But  remem- 
ber that  you  sent  me  away,  and  turned  me 
out  into  the  world,  and  you  must  take  the 
chance  of  finding  me  better  or  worse. 
This  you  may  know  at  present,  that  my 
affection  for  you  is  not  diminished;  and  my 
expectation  from  you  is  increased.  Do  not 
neglect  me  nor  relinquish  me.  Nobody  will 
ever  love  you  better  or  honour  you  more 
than,  madam,  yours,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

In  1782  his  complaints  increased,  and  the 
history  of  his  life  this  year  is  little  more 
than  a mournful  recital  of  the  variations  of 
his  illness,  in  the  midst  of  which,  however, 
it  will  appear  from  his  letters  that  the  pow- 
ers of  his  mind  were  in  no  degree  impaired. 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“ 5th  January,  1782. 

“ Dear  sir, — I sit  down  to  answer  yeur 
letter  on  the  same  day  in  which  I received 
it,  and  am  pleased  that  my  first  letter  of  the 
year  is  to  you.  No  man  ought  to  be  at 
ease  while  he  knows  himself  in  the  wrong; 
and  I have  not  satisfied  myself  with  my 
long  silence.  The  letter  relating  to  Mr. 
Sinclair  however,  was,  I believe,  never 
brought. 

cc  My  health  has  been  tottering  this  last 
year;  and  I can  give  no  very  laudable  account 
of  my  time.  I am  always  hoping  to  do  bet- 
ter than  I have  ever  hitherto  done. 

“ My  journey  to  Ashbourne  and  Stafford- 
shire was  not  pleasant;  for  what  enjoyment 
has  a sick  man  visiting  the  sick?  Shall  we 
?ver  have  another  frolick  like  our  journey  to 
the  Hebrides ? 


cc  I hope  that  dear  Mrs.  Boswell  wid  sur 
mount  her  complaints:  in  losing  her  you 
will  lose  your  anchor,  and  be  tossed,  with 
out  stability,  by  the  waves  of  life 1.  I wish 
both  you  and  her  very  many  years,  and  very 
happy. 

“For  some  months  past  I have  been  so 
withdrawn  from  the  world,  that  I can  send 
you  nothing  particular.  All  your  friends, 
however,  are  well,  and  will  be  glad  of  your 
return  to  London.  I am,  dear  sir,  yours 
most  affectionately,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

At  a time  when  he  was  less  able  than  he 
had  once  been  to  sustain  a shock,  he  was 
suddenly  deprived  of  Mr.  Levett,  which 
event  he  thus  communicated  to  Dr.  Law 
rence. 

“ 17th  January,  1782. 

ec  Sir, — Our  old  friend,  Mr.  Levett,  who 
was  last  night  eminently  cheerful,  died  this 
morning.  The  man  who  lay  in  the  same 
room,  hearing  an  uncommon  noise,  got  up 
and  tried  to  make  him  speak,  but  without 
effect.  He  then  called  Mr.  Holder,  the 
apothecary,  who,  though  when  he  came  he 
thought  him  dead,  opened  a vein,  but  could 
draw  no  blood.  So  has  ended  the  long  life 
of  a very  useful  and  very  blameless  man.  I 
am,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

In  one  of  his  memorandum-books  in  my 
possession  is  the  following  entry: 

“ January  20,  Sunday,  Robert  Levett 
was  buried  in  the  churchyard  of  Bridewell, 
between  one  and  two  in  the  afternoon.  He 
died  on  Thursday,  17,  about  seven  in  the 
morning,  by  an  instantaneous  death.  He 
was  an  old  and  faithful  friend : I have  known 
him  from  about  46  2,  Commendavi  3.  May 
God  have  mercy  on  him!  May  he  have 
mercy  on  me ! ” 

Such  was  Johnson’s  affectionate  regard 
for  Levett4,  that  he  honoured  his  memory 
with  the  following  pathetick  verses: 

“ Condemn’d  to  Hope’s  delusive  mine, 

As  on  we  toil  from  day  to  day, 

By  sudden  blast  or  slow  decline 
Our  social  comforts  drop  away. 

“ Well  try’d  through  many  a varying  year, 

See  Levett  to  the  grave  descend; 

Officious,  innocent,  sincere, 

Of  every  friendless  name  the  friend 


1 The  truth  of  this  has  been  proved  by  sad 
experience. — Boswell.  Mrs.  Boswell  died  June 
4,  1789. — Malone. 

2 [No  doubt  the  year  1746,  and  not  the  age 

of  either  party. — Ed.]  • 

3 [He,  by  this  word,  means  that  he  had  in 
prayer  recommended  his  departed  friend  to  the 
mercy  of  God.  See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  99. — Ed.] 

4 See  an  account  of  him  in  “ The  Gentleman’* 
Magazine,”  February,  1785. — Boswell. 


1782. — iETAT.  73. 


31 1 


Yet  still  he  fills  affection’s  eye, 

Obscurely  wise  and  coarsely  kind; 

Nor,  letter’d  arrogance  l,  deny 
Thy  praise  to  merit  unrefined. 

When  fainting  Nature  call’d  for  aid, 

And  hovering  death  prepared  the  blow, 

His  vigorous  remedy  display’d 

The  power -of  art  without  the  show. 

“ In  misery’s  darkest  caverns  known, 

His  ready  help  was  ever  nigh. 

Where  hopeless  anguish  pour’d  his  groan, 

And  lonely  want  retired  to  die  2. 

“ No  summons  mock’d  by  chill  delay, 

No  petty  gains  disdain’d  by  pride  : 

The  modest  wants  of  every  day 
The  toil  of  every  day  supplied. 

“ His  virtues  walk’d  their  narrow  round, 

Nor  matte  a pause,  nor  left  a void; 

And  sure  the  eternal  Master  found 
His  single  talent3  well  employ’d. 

“ The  busy  day,  the  peaceful  night, 

Unfelt,  uncounted,  glided  by; 

His  frame  was  firm,  his  powers  were  bright, 
Though  now  his  eightieth  year  was  nigh. 

Then,  with  no  throbs  of  fiery  pain, 

No  cold  gradations  of  decay, 

Death  broke  at  once  the  vital  chain, 

And  freed  his  soul  the  nearest  way  4.” 

“ TO  MRS.  STRAHAN. 

“ 4th  February,  1782. 

“ Dear  madam, — Mrs.  Williams  showed 
me  your  kind  letter.  This  little  habitation 
is  now  but  a melancholy  place,  clouded  with 
the  gloom  of  disease  and  death.  Of  the 
four  inmates,  one  has  been  suddenly  snatch- 
ed away;  two  are  oppressed  by  very  afflic- 
tive and  dangerous  illness;  and  I tried  yes- 
terday to  gain  some  relief  by  a third  bleed- 
ing from  a disorder  which  has  for  some  time 
distressed  me,  and  I think  myself  to-day 
much  better. 

<c  I am  glad,  dear  madam,  to  hear  that 
you  are  so  far  recovered  as  to  go  to  Bath. 
Let  me  once  more  entreat  you  to  stay  till  your  < 
nealth  is  not  only  obtained,  but  confirmed. 
Your  fortune  is  such  as  that  no  moderate 
expense  deserves  your  care;  and  you  have  a 
husband  who,  I believe,  does  not  regard  it. 
Stay,  therefore,  till  you  are  quite  well.  I 
am,  for  my  part,  very  much  deserted;  but 

1 In  both  editions  of  Sir  John  Hawkin’s  “ Life 
of  Dr.  Johnson,”  “ letter’d  ignorance ,”  is  print- 
ed.— Boswell. 

2 Johnson  repeated  this  line  to  me  thus: 

“And  labour  steals  an  hour  to  die.” 

But  he  afterwards  altered  it  to  the  present  reading. 

-Boswell. 

3 [Is  there  a pun  hidden  under  this  allusion  to 
the  parable  in  Matthew  xxv.  15  ? — Ed.] 

4 [Here,  by  an  error  of  date,  followed  some  ob- 

servations on  a curious  passage  in  one  of  Johnson’s 
diaries,  which  is  removed  to  its  proper  place, 
March  1782.  vost,  p.  316. — Ed.] 


complaint  is  useless.  I nope  God  will 
bless  you,  and  I desire  you  to  form  the 
same  wish  for  me.  I am,  dear  madam, 
your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“TO  EDMUND  MALONE,  ESQ. 

“ 27th  Feburary,  1782. 

“ Sir, — I have  for  many  weeks  been  so 
much  out  of  order,  that  i have  gone  out 
only  in  a coach  to  Mrs.  Thrale’s,  where  I 
can  use  all  the  freedom  that  sickness  re 
quires.  Do  not,  therefore,  take  it  amiss, 
that  I am  not  with  you  and  Dr.  Farmer.  I 
hope  hereafter  to  see  you  often.  I am,  sir, 
your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  EDMUND  MALONE,  ESQ. 

“ 2d  March,  1782. 

“ Dear  sir, — I hope  I grow  better,  and 
shall  soon  be  able  to  enjoy  the  kindness  of 
my  friends.  I think  this  wild  adherence  to 
Chatterton 5 more  unaccountable  than  the 
obstinate  defence  of  Ossian.  In  Ossian 
there  is  a national  pride,  which  may  be  for- 
given, though  it  cannot  be  applauded.  In 
Chatterton  there  is  nothing  but  the  resolu- 
tion to  say  again  what  has  once  been  said. 
I am,  sir,  your  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

5  This  note  was  in  answer  to  one  which  ac- 
companied one  of  the  earliest  pamphlets  on  the 
subject  of  Chatterton’s  forgery,  entitled  “ Cursory 
Observations  on  the  Poems  attributed  to  Thomas 
Rowley,”  &c.  Mr.  Thomas  Warton's  very  able 
“Inquiry”  appeared  about  three  months  after- 
wards; and  Mr.  Tyrwhitt’s  admirable  “ Vindica- 
tion of  his  Appendix,”  in  the  summer  of  the  same 
year,  left  the  believers  in  this  daring  imposture 
nothing  but  “ the  resolution  to  say  again  what  had 
been  said  before.”  Daring,  however,  as  this 
fiction  was,  and  wild  as  was  the  adherence  to 
Chatterton,  both  were  greatly  exceeded  in  1795 
and  the  following  year,  by  a still  more  audacious 
imposture,  and  the  pertinacity  of  one  of  its  adher- 
ents, who  has  immortalized  his  name  by  publish- 
ing a bulky  volume,  of  which  the  direct  and  man- 
ifest object  was,  to  prove  the  authenticity  of  cer- 
tain papers  attributed  to  Shakspeare,  after  the 
fabricator  of  the  spurious  trash  had  publickly 
acknowledged  the  imposture. — Malone.  [Mr. 
Malone  alludes  to  the  forgery,  by  Mr.  William 
Henry  Ireland,  of  the  Shakspearian  papers  which 
were  exhibited  wkh  a ridiculous  mixture  of  pomp 
and  mystery  at  his  father’s  1 ouse  inNorfolk-street. 
It  seems  scarcely  conceivable  how  such  palpable 
impositions  could  have  deceived  the  most  ignorant, 
and  yet  there  were  numerous  dupes  in  the  critical 
and  literary  circles  of  the  day.  Mr.  W.  H.  Ire- 
land has  since  published  a full  and  minute  confes- 
sion of  the  whole  progress  of  his  forgery;  but  with 
a curious  obstinacy,  he,  in  this  work,  vehemently 
accuses  of  blindness,  ignorance,  and  bad  faith  all 
those  who  detected  what  he  confesses  to  have 
been  an  imposture,  and  is  equally  lavish  in  praise 
of  the  discernment  and  judgment  of  those  whom 
he  proves  to  have  been  dupes.  —Ed.] 


312 


1782.— ^ETAT.  73. 


These  snort  lette:  J show  the  regard  which 
Dr.  Johnson  entertained  for  Mr.  Malone, 
who  the  more  he  is  known  is  the  more  high- 
ly valued.  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that 
Johnson  was  prevented  from  sharing  the 
elegant  hospitality  of  that  gentleman’s  ta- 
ble, at  which  he  would  in  every  respect 
have  been  fully  gratified.  Mr.  Malone,  who 
has  so  ably  succeeded  him  as  an  editor  of 
Shakspeare,  has,  in  his  Preface,  done  great 
and  just  honour  to  Johnson’s  memory. 

“ TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER,  IN  LICHFIELD. 

“ London,  2d  March,  1782- 

“ Dear  madam, — I went  away  from 
Lichfield  ill,  and  have  had  a troublesome 
time  with  my  breath.  For  some  weeks  I 
have  been  disordered  by  a cold,  of  which  I 
could  not  get  the  violence  abated  till  I had 
been  let  blood  three  times.  I have  not, 
however,  been  so  bad  but  that  I could  have 
written,  and  am  sorry  that  I neglected  it. 

“ My  dwelling  is  but  melancholy.  Both 
Williams,  and  Desmoulins,  and  myself,  are 
very  sickly;  Frank  is  not  well;  and  poor 
Levett  died  in  his  bed  the  other  day  by  a 
sudden  stroke.  I suppose  not  one  minute 
passed  between  health  and  death.  So  un 
certain  are  human  things. 

<£  Such  is  the  appearance  of  the  world 
about  me;  I hope  your  scenes  are  more 
cheerful.  But  whatever  befalls  us,  though 
it  is  wise  to  be  serious,  it  is  useless  and  fool- 
ish, and  perhaps  sinful,  to  be  gloomy.  Let 
us,  therefore,  keep  ourselves  as  easy  as  we 
can;  though  the  loss  of  friends  will  be  felt, 
and  poor  Levett  had  been  a faithful  adher- 
ent for  thirty  years. 

“ Forgive  me,  my  dear  love,  the  omission 
of  writing;  I hope  to  mend  that  and  my 
other  faults.  Let  me  have  your  prayers. 

“ Make  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Cobb, 
and  Miss  Adey,  and  Mr.  Pearson,  and  the 
whole  company  of  my  friends.  I am,  my 
dear,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER. 

“ Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  19th  March,  1782. 

“ Dear  madam, — My  last  was  but  a dull 
.etter,  and  I know  not  that  this  will  be  much 
more  cheerful:  I am,  however,  willing  to 
write,  because  you  are  desirous  to  hear  from 
me. 

“ My  disorder  has  now  begun  its  ninth 
week,  for  it  is  not  yet  over.  I was  last 
Thursday  blooded  for  the  fourth  time,  and 
have  since  found  myself  much  relieved,  but 
I am  very  tender  and  easily  hurt;  so  that 
since  we  parted  l have  had  but  little  com- 
fort. But  .1  hope  that  the  spring  will  recov- 
er me,  and  that  in  the  summer  I shall  see 
Lichfield  again,  for  I will  not  delay  my  visit 
another  year  to  the  end  of  autumn. 

“ I have,  by  advertising,  found  poor  Mr. 


Levett’s  brothers,  in  Yorksmre,  wno  w n 
take  the  little  he  has  left:  it  is  but  little,  yet 
it  will  fee  welcome,  for  I believe  they  are  of 
very  low  condition 

“ To  be  sick,  and  to  see  nothing  but  sick- 
ness and  death,  is  but  a gloomy  state:  but 
I hope  better  times,  even  in  this  world,  will 
come,  and  whatever  this  world  may  with- 
hold or  give,  we  shall  be  happy  in  a better 
state.  Pray  for  me,  my  dear  Lucy. 

“ Make  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Cobb, 
and  Miss  Adey,  and  my  old  friend,  Hetty 
Bailey,  and  to  all  the  Lichfield  ladies.  I 
am,  dear  madam,  yours,  affectionately, 

<c  Sam.  Johnson.” 

On  the  day  on  which  this  letter  was 
written,  he  thus  feelingly  mentions  his  re- 
spected friend  and  physician,  Dr.  Law- 
rence : — “ Poor  Lawrence  has  al-  pr.  & 
most  lost  the  sense  of  hearing;  and  Med. 

I have  lost  the  conversation  of  a p*  203, 
learned,  intelligent,  and  communicative 
companion,  and  a friend  whom  long  famil 
iarity  has  much  endeared.  Lawrence  is 
one  of  the  best  men  whom  I have  known. — 
Nostrum  omnium  miserere  Deus .” 

[Dr.  Lawrence  had  long  been 
his  friend  and  confidant.  A con-  p1*^1’^ 
versation  Mrs.  Thrale  saw  them  ’ 
hold  together  in  Essex-street  one  day  in 
the  year  1781  or  1782  was  a singular  and 
melancholy  one.  Dr.  Johnson  was  exceed- 
ingly ifl,  and  she  accompanied  him  thither 
for  advice.  The  physician  was,  however, 
in  some  respects,  more  to  be  pitied  than  the 
patient:  Johnson  was  panting  under  an 
asthma  and  dropsy;  but  Lawrence  had  been 
brought  home  that  very  morning  struck 
with  the  palsy,  from  which  he  had,  two 
hours  before  they  came,  strove  to  awaken 
himself  by  blisters : they  were  both  deaf, 
and  scarce  able  to  speak  besides;  one  from 
difficulty  of  breathing,  the  other  from  para- 
lytic debility.  To  give  and  receive  medical 
, counsel,  therefore,  they  fairly  sat  down  on 
each  side  a table  in  the  doctor’s  gloomy 
apartment,  adorned  with  skeletons l,  and  pre- 
served monsters,  and  agreed  to  write  Latin 
billets  to  each  other.  “ Such  a scene,  &c.’’ 
exclaims  Mrs.  Thrale,  “ did  I never  see.” 
“ You,”  said  Johnson,  “ are  timide  and 
gelidb;”  finding  that  his  friend  had  pre- 
scribed palliative  not  drastic  remedies.  “It 
is  not  me,”  replies  poor  Lawrence,  in  an 
interrupted  voice;  “ ’t  is  nature  that  is gelidl 
and  timide .”  In  fact  he  lived  but  few 

months  after,  and  retained  his  faculties  still 
a shorter  time.  He  was  a man  of  strict 
piety  and  profound  learning,  but  little  skill- 
ed in  the  knowledge  of  life  or  manners,  and 


1 [Mr.  Malone,  in  his  MS.  notes,  says,  that  thi» 
description  is  ideal,  as  Dr.  Lawrence  had  no  skol 
etons  or  monsters  in  his  room. — Ed.  ] 


1782.  -^ET AT.  73. 


313 


died  without  ever  having  enjoyed  the  iepu- 
tation  he  so  justly  deserved. 

Dr.  Johnson’s  health  had,  indeed,  been 
always  extremely  bad  ever  since  Mrs. 
Thrale  first  knew  him,  and  his  over-anx- 
ious care  to  retain  without  blemish  the 
perfect  sanity  of  his  mind,  contributed  much 
to  disturb  it.  He  had  studied  medicine  dil- 
igently in  all  its  branches;  but  had  given 
particular  attention  to  the  diseases  of  the 
imagination,  which  he  watched  in  himself 
with  a solicitude  destructive  of  his  own 
peace,  and  intolerable  to  those  he  trusted. 
Dr.  Lawrence  told  him  one  day,  that  if  he 
would  come  and  beat  him  once  a week  he 
would  bear  it;  but  to  hear  his  complaint 
was  more  than  man  could  support.] 

It  was  Dr.  Johnson’s  custom,  when  he 
wrote  to  Dr.  Lawrence  concerning  his  own 
health,  to  use  the  Latin  language.  I have 
been  favoured  by  Miss  Lawrence  with  one 
of  these  letters  as  a specimen : 

“t.  lawrencio,  medico  s. 

“ Maiis  Calendis,  1782. 

“ Novum  frigus,  nova  tussis,  nova  spirandi 
difficultas,  novam  sanguinis  missionem  sua- 
dent,  quam  tamen  te  inconsulto  nolim  fieri. 
Ad  te  venire  vix  possum,  nec  est  cur  ad  me 
venias.  Licere  vel  non  licere  uno  verbo 
dicendum  est;  csetera  mihi  et  Holdero1 
reliqueris.  Si  per  te  licet,  imperatur  nuncio 
Holderum  ad  me  deducere. 

“ rostqukm  tu  discesseris  quo  me  vertam  2 ? ” 


1  Mr.  Holder,  in  the  Strand,  Dr.  Johnson’s 
apothecary. 

2  [“  TO  DR.  T.  LA  WREJYCE. 

“May,  1782. 

“ Fresh  cold,  renewed  cough,  and  an  in- 
creased difficulty  of  breathing;  all  suggest  a 
further  letting  of  blood,  which,  however,  I do 
not  choose  to  have  done  without  your  advice. 
I cannot  well  come  to  you,  nor  is  there  any 
occasion  for  you  coming  to  me.  ¥>ou  may 
say,  in  one  word,  yes  or  no,  and  leave  the 
rest  to  Holder  and  me.  If  you  consent,  pray 
tell  the  messenger  to  bring  Holder  to  me. 

“ When  you  shall  be  gone , whither  shall  I 
turn  myself  ?” — Ed.] 

Soon  after  the  above  letter,  Dr.  Lawrence  left 
London,  but  not  before  the  palsy  had  made  so 
great  a progress  as  to  render  him  unable  to  write 
for  himself.  The  following  are  extracts  from  let- 
ters addressed  by  Dr.  Johnson  to  one  of  his  daugh- 
ters : 

“You  will  easily  believe  with  what  gladness  I 
read  that  you  had  heard  once  again  that  voice 
to  which  we  have  all  so  often  delighted  to  attend. 
May  you  often  hear  it.  If  we  had  his  mind,  and 
his  tongue,  we  could  spare  the  rest. 

“ I am  not  vigorous,  but  much  better  than 
when  dear  Dr.  Lawrence  held  my  pulse  the  last 
time.  Be  so  kind  as  to  let  me  know,  from  one 
little  mterval  to  another,  the  state  of  his  body.  I 
am  pleased  that  he  remembers  me.  and  hope  that 
vor  it  4u 


ef  TO  CAPTAIN  LANGT0N3,  IN  ROCHESTER. 

“ Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  20th  March,  1782. 

“ Dear  sir, — It  is  now  long  since  we 
saw  one  another;  and,  whatever  has  been 
the  reason,  neither  you  have  written  to  me, 
nor  I to  you.  To  let  friendship  die  away 
by  negligence  and  silence,  is  certainly  not 
wise.  It  is  voluntarily  to  throw  away  one 
of  the  greatest  comforts  of  this  weary  pil- 
grimage, of  which  when  it  is,  as  it  must  be 
taken  finally  away,  he  that  travels  on  alone 
will  wonder  how  his  esteem  could  be  so  lit 
tie.  Do  not  forget  me;  you  see  that  I do 
not  forget  you.  It  is  pleasing  in  the  silence 
of  solitude  to  think,  that  there  is  one  at 
least,  however  distant,  of  whose  benevo- 
lence there  is  little  doubt,  and  whom  there 
is  yet  hope  of  seeing  again. 

“ Of  my  life,  from  the  time  we  parted, 
the  history  is  mournful.  The  spring  of  last 
year  deprived  me  of  Thrale,  a man  whose 
eye  for  fifteen  years  had  scarcely  been  turn 
ed  upon  me  but  with  respect  or  tenderness; 
for  such  another  friend,  the  general  course 
of  human  things  will  not  suffer  man  to 
hope.  I passed  the  summer  at  Streatham, 
but  there  was  no  Thrale;  and  having  idled 
away  the  summer  with  a weakly  body  and 
neglected  mind,  I made  a journey  to  Staf- 
fordshire on  the  edge  of  winter.  The  sea- 
son was  dreary,  I was  sickly,  and  found  the 
friends  sickly  whom  I went  to  see.  After  a 
sorrowful  sojourn,  I returned  to  a habita- 
tion possessed  for  the  present  by  two  sick 
women,  where  my  dear  old  friend,  Mr.  Le- 
vett,  to  whom,  as  he  used  to  tell  me,  I owe 

it  never  can  be  possible  for  me  to  forget  him.  Ju 
ly  22d,  1782. 

“ I am  much  delighted  even  with  the  small  ad 
vances  which  dear  Dr.  Lawrence  makes  towards 
recovery.  If  We  could  have  again  but  his  mind, 
and  his  tongue  in  his  mind,  and  his  right  hand, 
we  should  not  much  lament  the  rest.  I should 
not  despair  of  helping  the  swelled  hand  by  elec- 
tricity, if  it  were  frequently  and  diligently  sup- 
plied. 

“ Let  me  know,  from  time  to  time,  whatever 
happens;  and  I hope  I need  not  tell  you  how 
much  I am  interested  in  every  change.  Aug.  26, 

1782. 

“ Though  the  account  with  which  you  favoured 
me  in  your  last  letter  could  not  give  me  the  plea- 
sure that  I wished,  yet  I was  glad  to  receive  it; 
for  my  affection  to  my  dear  friend  makes  me  de- 
sirous of  knowing  his  state,  whatever  it  be.  I beg, 
therefore,  that  you  continue  to  let  me  know,  from 
time  to  time,  all  that  you  observe. 

“ Many  fits  of  severe  illness  have,  for  about 
three  months  past,  forced  my  kind  physician  often 
upon  my  mind.  I am  now  better;  and  hope  grat- 
itude, as  well  as  distress,  can  be  a motive  to  re- 
membrance. Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  February  4, 

1783.  ’ ’ — Boswell. 

3  Mr.  Langton  being  at  this  time  on  duly  a< 
Rochester,  he  is  addressed  by  his  military  title.  - 
Boswell. 


314 


1782  — /ETAT.  IS. 


your  acquaintance,  died  a few  weeks  ago, 
suddenly  in  his  bed;  there  passed  not,  I be- 
lieve, a minute  between  health  and  death. 
At  night,  at  Mrs.  Thrale’s,  as  I was  mu- 
sing 1 in  my  chamber,  I thought  with  un- 
common earnestness,  that,  however  I might 
alter  my  mode  of  life,  or  whithersoever  I 
might  remove,  I would  endeavour  to  retain 
Levett  about  me : in  the  morning  my  ser- 
vant brought  me  word  that  Levett  was  call- 
ed to  another  state,  a state  for  which,  I 
think,  he  was  not  unprepared,  for  he  was 
very  useful  to  the  poor.  How  much  soever 
I valued  him,  I now  wish  that  I had  valued 
him  more  2. 

“ I have  myself  been  ill  more  than  eight 
weeks  of  a disorder,  from  which,  at  the  ex- 
pense of  about  fifty  ounces  of  blood,  I hope 
I am  now  recovering. 

“You,  dear  sir,  have,  I hope,  a more 
cheerful  scene;  you  see  George  fond  of  his 
book,  and  the  pretty  misses  airy  and  lively, 
ivith  my  own  little  Jenny  equal  to  the  best: 
and  in  whate-ver  can  contribute  to  your  quiet 
or  pleasure,  you  have  Lady  Rothes  ready 
to  concur.  May  whatever  you  enjoy  of 
good  be  increased,  and  whatever  you  suffer 
of  evil  be  diminished.  I am,  dear  sir,  your 
humble  servant,  “'Sam.  Johnson.” 

i‘  TO  MR.  HECTOR,  IN  BIRMINGHAM3. 

“London,  2lst  March,  1782* 

“ Dear  sir, — I hope  I do  not  very  gross- 
ly flatter  myself  to  imagine  that  you  and 
dear  Mrs.  Careless4  will  be  glad  to  hear 
some  account  of  me.  I performed  .the  jour- 
ney to  London  with  very  little  inconveni- 
ence, and  came  safe  to  my  habitation, 
where  I found  nothing  but  ill  health,  and,  of 
consequence,  very  little  cheerfulness.  I 
then  went  to  visit  a little  way  into  the  coun- 
try, where  I got  a complaint  by  a cold 
which  has  hung  eight  weeks  upon  me,  and 
from  which  I am,  at  the  expense  of  fifty 
ounces  of  blood,  not  yet  free.  I am  afraid 
I must  once  more  owe  my  recovery  to  warm 
weather,  which  seems  to  make  no  advances 
towards  us. 

“ Such  is  my  health,  which  will,  I hope, 

1 [Tn  former  editions  these  words  are  arranged 
“ at  night,  as  at  Mrs.  Thrale’s,  I was  musing.” — 
Ed.] 

2 Johnson  has  here  expressed  a sentiment  simi- 
lar to  that  contained  in  one  of  Shenstone’s  stanzas, 
♦o  which,  in  his  life  of  that  poet,  he  has  given  high 
praise: 

“ I prized  every  hour  that  went  by, 

Beyond  all  that  had  pleased  me  before; 

But  now  they  are  gone  and  I sigh, 

And  I grieve  that  I prized  them  no  more.” 

J.  Boswell. 

3 A part  of  this  letter  having  been  torn  off,  I 
nave,  from  the  evident  meaning,  supplied  a few 
words  and  half  words  at  the  ends  and  beginning  of 
the  lines. — Boswell. 

4 [See  ante,  p.  42. — Ed.] 


soon  grow  better  In  other  respects  I have 
no  reason  to  complain.  I know  not  that  I 
have  written  any  thing  more  generally  com 
mended  than  the  Lives  of  the  Poets ; and 
have  found  the  world  willing  enough  to  ca- 
ress me,  if  my  health  had  invited  me  to  be 
in  much  company;  but  this  season  I have 
been  almost  wholly  employed  in  n using 
myself. 

“When  summer  comes  I hope  to  see 
you  again,  and  will  not  put  off  my  visit  to 
the  end  of  the  year.  I have  lived  so  long  in 
London,  that  I did  not  remember  the  differ 
ence  of  seasons. 

“ Your  health,  when  I saw  you,  was 
much  improved.  You  will  be  prudent 
enough  not  to  put  it  in  danger.  I hope, 
when  we  meet  again,  we  shall  congratulate 
each  other  upon  fair  prospects  of  longer  life; 
though  what  are  the  pleasures  of  the  long- 
est life,  when  placed  in  comparison  with  a 
happy  death?  Iam,  dear  sir,  yours  most 
affectionately,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“to  the  same. 

“ Without  a date,  but  supposed  to  be  about  this  time. 

“ Dear  sir, — That  you  and  dear  Mrs. 
Careless  should  have  care  or  curiosity  about 
my  health  gives  me  that  pleasure  which  ev- 
ery man  feels  from  finding  himself  not  for- 
gotten. In  age  we  feel  again  that  love  of 
our  native  place  and  our  early  friends, 
which,  in  the  bustle  or  amusements  of  mid- 
dle life,  were  overborne  and  suspended. 
You  and  I should  now  naturally  cling  to 
one  another:  we  have  outlived  most  of 
those  who  could  pretend  to  rival  us  in  each 
other’s  kindness.  In  our  walk  through  life 
we  have  dropped  our  companions,  and  are 
now  to  pick  up  such  as  chance  may  offer 
us,  or  to  travel  on  alone.  You,  indeed, 
have  a sister,  with  whom  you  can  divide 
the  day:  I have  no  natural  friend  left;  but 
Providence  has  been  pleased  to  preserve 
me  from  neglect;  I have  not  wanted  such 
alleviations  of  life  as  friendship  could  sup- 
ply. My  health  has  been,  from  my  twen- 
tieth year,  such  as  had  seldom  afforded  me 
a single  day  of  ease;  but  it  is  at  least  not 
worse;  and  I sometimes  make  myself  be- 
lieve that  it  is  better.  My  disorders  are, 
however,  still  sufficiently  oppressive. 

“ I think  of  seeing  Staffordshire  again 
this  autumn,  and  intend  to  find  my  way 
through  Birmingham,  where  I hope  to  see 
you  and  dear  Mrs.  Careless  well.  I am, 
sir,  your  affectionate  friend, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

[For  the  latter  half  of  this  month  of 
March  he  kept  the  following  diary.] 

“March  18. — Having  been,  from  the 
middle  of  January,  distressed  by  a cold, 
which  made  my  respiration  very  laborious, 
and  from  which  I was  but  little  relieved  by 


1782. — JET  AT.  73. 


being  blooded  three  times;  having  tried  to 
ease  the  oppression  of  my  breast  by  frequent 
opiates,  which  kept  me  waking  in  the  night 
and  drowsy  the  next  day,  and  subjected  me 
to  the  tyranny  of  vain  imaginations:  hav- 
ing to  all  this  added  frequent  catharticks, 
sometimes  with  mercury,  I at  last  persuaded 
Dr.  Lawrence,  on  Thursday,  March  14,  to 
let  me  bleed  more  copiously.  Sixteen  ounces 
were  taken  away,  and  from  that  time  my 
breath  has  been  free,  and  my  breast  easy. 
On  that  day  I took  little  food,  and  no  flesh. 
On  Thursday  night  I slept  with  great  tran- 
quillity. On  the  next  night  (15)  I took 
diacodium,  and  had  a most  restless  night. 
Of  the  next  day  I remember  nothing,  but 
that  I rose  in  the  afternoon,  and  saw  Mrs. 
Lennox  and  Seward x. 

“ Sunday  17. — I lay  late,  and  had  only 
palfrey  to  dinner.  I read  part  of  Waller’s 
Directory,  a pious  rational  book;  but  in 
any  except  a very  regular  life  difficult  to 
practise. 

“It  occurred  to  me,  that  though  my  time 
might  pass  unemployed,  no  more  should 
pass  uncounted,  and  this  has  been  written 
to-day,  in  consequence  of  that  thought.  I 
read  a Greek  chapter,  prayed  with  Francis, 
■which  I now  do  commonly,  and  explained 
to  him  the  Lord’s  Prayer,  in  which  I find 
connexion  not  observed,  I think,  by  the  ex- 
positors. I made  punch  for  myself  and  my 
servants,  by  which,  in  the  night,  I thought 
both  my  breast  and  imagination  disordered. 

“March  18. — I rose  late,  looked  a little 
into  books.  Saw  Miss  Reynolds  and  Miss 
Thrale,  and  Nicolaida2;  afterwards  Dr. 
Hunter3  came  for  his  catalogue.  I then 
dined  on  tea,  &c.;  then  read  over  part  of 
Dr.  Lawrence’s  book  c De  Temperamentis,’ 
which  seems  to  have  been  written  with  a 
troubled  mind., 

“ My  mind  has  been  for  some  time  much 
disturbed.  The  peace  of  God  be  with  me. 

“ I hope  to-morrow  to  finish  Lawrence, 
and  to  write  to  Mrs.  Aston,  and  to  Lucy. 

“ 19. — I rose  late.  I was  visited  by  Mrs. 
Thrale,  Mr.  Cotton,  and  Mr.  Crofts4.  I 
took  Lawrence’s  paper  in  hand,  but  was 
chill;  having  fasted  yesterday,  I was  hun- 
gry, and  dined  freely,  then  slept  a little,  and 
drank  tea;  then  took  candles,  and  wrote  to 
Aston  and  Lucy,  then  went  on  with  Law- 


1 [Mr.  W.  Seward. — Ed.] 

2 [A  learned  Greek;  a friend  of  Mr.  Langton. 
— Ed.] 

3 [The  catalogue  referred  to  was  probably  that 
of  the  ancient  coins  in  Dr.  Hunter’s  museum, 
which  was  published  in  the  ensuing  year,  with  a 
classical  dedication  to  the  queen,  which  perhaps 
Dr.  Johnson  revised. — Ed.] 

4 [Probably  Mr.  Herbert  Crofts,  who  had  sup- 
plied him  with  a Life  of  Young.  See  sub  24th 
Dec.  1783.— Ed.] 


315 

rence,  of  which  little  remains.  I prayed 
with  Francis. 

“ Mens  sedatior,  1-aus  Deo. 

“To-morrow  Shaw5  comes.  I think 
to  finish  Lawrence,  and  write  to  Langton. 

“ Poor  Lawrence  has  almost  lost  the 
sense  of  hearing;  and  I have  lost  the  con 
versationof  a learned,  intelligent,  and  com- 
municative companion,  and  a friend  whom 
long  familiarity  has  much  endeared.  Law- 
rence is  one  of  the  best  men  whom  I have 
known. 

“ Nostrum  omniuKi  miserere  Deus. 

“ 20. — Shaw  came;  I finished  reading 
Lawrence.  I dined  liberally.  Wrote  a 
long  letter  to  Langton,  and  designed  to  read, 
but  was  hindered  by  Strahan.  The  minis- 
try is  dissolved.  I prayed  with  Francis , 
and  gave  thanks. 

“ To-morrow — To  Mrs.  Thrale — To 
write  to  Hector — To  Dr.  Taylor. 

“ 21 . — I went  to  Mrs.  Thrale.  Mr.  Cox 
and  Paradise  met  me  at  the  door,  and  went 
with  me  in  the  coach.  Paradise’s  Loss6 
In  the  evening  wrote  to  Hector.  At  night 
there  were  eleven  visitants.  Conversation 
with  Mr.  Cox.  When  I waked  I saw  the 
penthouses  covered  with  snow. 

“ 22. — I spent  the  time  idly.  Mens  tur- 
bata.  In  the  afternoon  it  snowed.  At 
night  I wrote  to  Taylor  about  the  pot,  and 
to  Hamilton  about  the  Fcedera  7. 

“ 23. — 1 came  home,  and  fofind  that  Des- 
moulins had,  while  I was  away,  been  in 
bed.  Letters  from  Langton  and  Boswell. 
I promised  L[owe;  Mr.  Lowe  the  painter] 
six  guineas. 

“24. — Sunday.  I rose  not  early.  Visit- 
ors, Allen,  Davis,  Windham,  Dr.  Horsley. 
Dinner  at  Strahan’s.  Came  home  and  chat- 
ted with  Williams,  and  read  Romans  ix.  in 
Greek. 

“ To-morrow  begin  again  to  read  the  Bi- 
ble; put  rooms  in  order;  copy  L[owe’s] 
letter.  At  night  I read  11  p.  and  some- 
thing more,  of  the  Bible,  in  fifty-five  min- 
utes. 

“ 26. — Tuesday.  I copied  L[owe’s]  let 

5 [Probably  the  editor  of  the  Gaelick  Dictiona 
ry,  who  about  this  period  was  warmly  engaged  in 
the  Ossian  controversy,  and  as  he  took  Dr. 
Johnson’s  part,  probably  received  some  assistance 
from  him. — Ed.] 

6 [This  probably  refers  to  some  property  in 
Virginia  which  Mr.  Paradise  possessed  in  right  of 
his  wife,  and  which  had  been  confiscated.  See 
Jefferson's  Letters , where  he  advocates  Para- 
dise’s claims  as  being  a whig  and  friend  to  Amer- 
ican independence. — Ed.] 

7 [A  set  of  Itymer  which  he  was  charitably  en- 
deavouring to  sell  for  Davis,  probably  to  Mr.  Ger- 
ard Hamilton;  and  this  was,  perhaps,  the  occasion 
which  made  Mr.  Hamilton  say  that  he  once  asked 
him  for  50 1.  for  a charitable  purpose  See  ante, 
p.  98,  n.  5. — Ed.] 


316 


1782. — iETAT  73. 


ter.  Then  wrote  to  Mrs.  Thrale.  Cox 
visited  me.  I sent  home  Dr.  Lawrence’s 
papers,  with  notes.  I gave  [Mrs.]  D[es- 
moulins]  a guinea,  and  found  her  a gown. 

“ 27. — Wednesday.  At  Harley-street. 

Bad  nights — in  the  evening  Dr.  Bromfield 
and  his  family — Merlin’s  steelyard  given 
me. 

“ 28.—  Thursday.  I came  home.  Sold 
Rymer  for  Davies;  wrote  to  Boswell.  Vis- 
itors, Dr.  Percy,  Mr.  Crofts.  I have,  in 
ten  days,  written  to  [Mrs.]  Aston,  Lucy, 
Hector,  Langton,  Boswell;  perhaps  to  all 
by  whom  my  letters  are  desired. 

“ The  weather,  which  now  begins  to  be 
warm,  gives  me  great  help.  I have  hardly 
been  at  church  this  year;  certainly  not 
since  the  15th  of  January.  My  cough  and 
difficulty  of  breath  would  not  permit  it. 

“ This  is  the  day  on  which,  in  1752,  dear 
Tetty  died.  I have  now  uttered  a prayer 
of  repentance  and  contrition;  perhaps  Tetty 
knows  that  I prayed  for  her.  Perhaps 
Tetty  is  now  praying  for  me.  God  help 
me.  Thou,  God,  art  merciful,  hear  my 
prayers,  and  enable  me  to  trust  in  Thee. 

“We  were  married  almost  seventeen 
years,  and  have  now  been  parted  thirty. 

“I  then  read  lip.  from  Ex.  36.  to  Lev. 
7.  I prayed  with  Fr.  and  used  the  prayer 
for  Good-Friday. 

“ 29. — Good-Friday.  After  a night  of 
great  disturbance  and  solicitude,  such  as  I 
do  not  remember,  I rose,  drank  tea,  but 
without  eating,  and  went  to  church.  I 
was  very  composed,  and  coming  home,  read 
Hammond  on  one  of  the  Psalms  for  the 
day.  I then  read  Leviticus.  Scott 1 came 
in.  A kind  letter  from  [Mrs.]  Gastrel.  I 
read  on,  then  went  to  evening  prayers,  and 
afterwards  drank  tea,  with  buns  ; then  read 
till  I finished  Leviticus  24  pages  et  sup. 

“To  write  to  [Mrs.]  Gastrell2  to-mor- 
row. 

“To  look  again  into  Hammond. 

“ 30. — Saturday.  Visitors,  Paradise,  and 
I think  Horsley.  Read  1 1 pages  of  the 
Bible.  I was  faint ; dined  on  herrings  and 
potatoes.  At  prayers,  I think,  in  the  even- 
ing. I wrote  to  [Mrs.]  Gastrel,  and  re- 
ceived a kind  letter  from  Hector.  At  night 
Lowe.  Pr[ayed]  with  Francis. 

“31. — Easter-Day.  Read  15  pages  of 
the  Bible.  Csetera  alibi.” 

****** 

On  the  foregoing  curious  passage — 
“ Mar.  3 20.  The  ministry  is  dissolved. 
I prayed  with  Francis,  and  gave  thanks” — 
it  has  been  the  subject  of  discussion  whether 

1 [Lord  Stowell. — Ed.] 

2 [Mrs.  Gastrell,  of  Lichfield — Ed.] 

3 [Mr.  Boswell  had  erroneously  dated  this  ex- 

tract Jan.,  and  had  so  placed  it.  Mr.  Boswell 
does  not  appear  to  have  seen  the  whole  diary. — 
Ed.J 


there  are  two  distinct  particulars  mentioned 
here  ? Or  that  we  are  to  understand  the 
giving  of  thanks  to  be  in  consequence  of 
the  dissolution  of  the  ministry  ? In  sup- 
port of  the  last  of  these  conjectures  may  be 
urged  his  mean  opinion  of  that  ministry, 
which  has  frequently  appeared  in  the  course 
of  this  work  ; and  it  is  strongly  confirmed 
by  what  he  said  on  the  subject  to  Mr.  Se- 
ward : — “ I am  glad  the  ministry  is  re- 
moved4. Such  a bunch  of  imbecility  never 
disgraced  a country.  If  they  sent  a mes- 
senger into  the  city  to  take  up  a printer, 
the  messenger  was  taken  up  instead  of  the 
printer,  and  committed  by  the  sitting  aider- 
man.  If  they  sent  one  army  to  the  relief 
of  another,  the  first  army  was  defeated  and 
taken  before  the  second  arrived.  I will 
not  say  that  what  they  did  was  ahvays 
wrong  ; but  it  was  always  done  at  a wrong 
time.” 

I wrote  to  him  at  different  dates ; re 
gretted  that  I could  not  come  to  London 
this  spring,  but  hoped  we  should  meet 
somewhere  in  the  summer  ; mentioned  the 
state  of  my  affairs,  and  suggested  hopes  of 
some  preferment ; informed  him,  that  as 
“ The  Beauties  of  Johnson”  had  been  pub- 
lished in  London,  some  obscure  scribbler 
had  published  at  Edinburgh  what  he  called 
“ The  Deformities  of  Johnson  ” 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“ London,  28th  March,  1782. 

“ Dear  sir, — The  pleasure  which  we 
used  to  receive  from  each  other  on  Good- 
Friday  and  Easler-day,  we  must  be  this 
year  content  to  miss.  Let  us,  however, 
pray  for  each  other,  and  I hope  to  see  one 
another  yet  from  time  to  time  with  mutual 
delight.  My  disorder  has  been  a cold, 
which  impeded  the  organs*  of  respiration, 
and  kept  me  many  weeks  in  a state  of  great 
uneasiness  ; but  by  repeated  phlebotomy  it 
is  now  relieved  : and  next  to  the  recovery 
of  Mrs.  Boswell,  I flatter  myself,  that  you 
will  rejoice  at  mine. 

“ What  we  shall  do  in  the  summer,  it  is 
yet  too  early  to  consider.  You  want  to 
know  what  you  shall  do  now  ; I do  not 
think  this  time  of  bustle  and  confusion 
like  to  produce  any  advantage  to  you. 
Every  man  has  those  to  reward  and  gratify 
who  have  contributed  to  his  advancement. 
To  come  hither  with  such  expectations  at 
the  expense  of  borrowed  money,  which  I 
find  you  know  not  where  to  borrow,  can 
hardly  be  considered  prudent.  I am  sorry 
to  find,  what  your  solicitations  seem  to  im- 
ply, that  you  have  already  gone  the  whole 
length  of  your  credit.  This  is  to  set  the 
quiet  of  your  whole  life  at  hazard.  If  you 
anticipate  your  inheritance,  you  can  at  last 

4  On  the  preceding  day  the  ministry  hid  bee* 
changed  Malone 


1782.— /ETAT.  73. 


inherit  nothing- ; all  thai  you  receive  must 
pay  for  the  past.  You  must  get  a place,  or 
pine  in  penury,' with  the  empty  name  of  a 
great  estate.  Poverty,  my  dear  friend,  is 
so  great  an  evil,  and  pregnant  with  so  much 
temptation,  and  so  much  misery,  that  I 
cannot  but  earnestly  enjoin  you  to  avoid  it. 
Live  on  what  you  have  ; live  if  you  can  on 
less  ; do  not  borrow  either  for  vanity  or 
pleasure  ; the  vanity  will  end  in  shame,  and 
the  pleasure  in  regret  : stay  therefore  at 
home,  till  you  have  saved  money  for  your 
journey  hither. 

“ The  Beauties  of  Johnson  are  said  to 
have  got  money  to  the  collector;  if  the 
Deformities  have  the  same  success,  I shall 
be  still  a more  extensive  benefactor. 

“ Make  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Bos- 
well, who  is  I hope  reconciled  to  me ; and 
to  the  young  people  whom  I never  have 
offended. 

“ You  never  told  me  the  success  of  your 
plea  against  the  solicitors.  I am,  dear  sir, 
your  most  affectionate, 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

[“  TO  MRS.  GASTRELL  AND  MRS.  ASTON. 

“ London,  Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  30th  March,  1782. 
Pemb  “Dearest  ladies, — The  tender- 
mss.’  ness  expressed  in  your  kind  letter 
makes  me  think  it  necessary  to  tell 
you  that  they  who  are  pleased  to  wish  me 
well,  need  not  be  any  longer  particularly 
solicitous  about  me.  I prevailed  on  my 
physician  to  bleed  me  very  copiously,  al- 
most against  his  inclination.  However,  he 
kept  his  finger  on  the  pulse  of  the  other 
hand,  and,  finding  that  1 bore  it  well,  let 
the  vein  run  on.  From  that  time  I have 
mended,  and  hope  I am  now  well.  I went 
yesterday  to  church  without  inconvenience, 
and  hope  to  go  to-morrow. 

“ Here  are  great  changes  in  the  great 
world  ; but  I cannot  tell  you  more  than  you 
will  find  in  the  papers.  The  men  have  got 
in  whom  I have  endeavoured  to  keep  out  ; 
but  I hope  they  will  do  better  than  their 
predecessors  : it  will  not  be  easy  to  do 
worse. 

“ Spring  seems  now  to  approach,  and  I 
feel  its  benefit,  which  I hope  will  extend  to 
dear  Mrs.  Aston. 

“ When  Dr.  Falconer  saw  me,  I was  at 
home  only  by  accident,  for  I lived  much 
with  Mrs.  Thrale,  and  had  ail  the  care 
from  her  that  she  could  take  or  could  be 
taken.  But  I have  never  been  ill  enough 
to  want  attendance  ; my  disorder  has  been 
rather  tedious  than  violent  ; rather  irksome 
than  painful.  He  needed  not  have  made 
such  a tragical  representation. 

“Iam  now  well  enough  to  flatter  my- 
self with  some  hope  of  pleasure  from  the 
summer.  How  happy  would  it  be  if  we 
could  see  one  another,  and  be  all  tolerably 
weil 


317 

“ Let  us  pray  for  one  anomer.  I am 
dearest  ladies,  y >ur  most  of  liged  and  mosi 
humble  servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“DR  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“ 8th  April,  1782. 

“ Dearest  madam, — Your  work  1 
is  full  of  very  penetrating  meditation,  Jiss 
and  very  forcible  sentiments.  I 
read  it  with  a full  perception  of  the  sublime, 
with  wonder  and  terrour ; but  I cannot 
think  of  any  profit  from  it ; it  seems  not 
born  to  be  popular. 

“Your  system  of  the  mental  fabrick  is 
exceedingly  obscure,  and,  without  more 
attention  than  will  be  willingly  bestowed, 
is  unintelligible.  The  plans  of  Burnaby 
will  be  more  safely  understood,  and  are 
often  charming.  I was  delighted  with  the 
different  bounty  of  different  ages. 

“ I would  make  it  produce  something  if 
I could,  but  I have  indeed  no  hope.  If  a 
bookseller  would  buy  it  at  all,  as  it  must  be 
published  without  a name,  he  would  give 
nothing  for  it  worth  your  acceptance.  1 
am,  my  dearest  dear,  your  most  humble 
servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

[“  26th]  April,  [1782.  J 

“ I have  been  very  much  out  of  Lett, 
order  since  you  sent  me  away ; but  voi.  ii. 
why  should  I tell  you,  who  do  not  care,  p-  237* 
nor  desire  to  know.  I dined  with  Mr.  Par- 
adise on  Monday,  with  the  Bishop  of  St. 
Asaph  yesterday,  with  the  Bishop  of  Ches- 
ter I dme  to-day,  and  with  the  academy  on 
Saturday,  with  Mr.  Hoole  on  Monday, 
and  with  Mrs.  Garrick  on  Thursday,  the 
2d  of  May,  and  then — what  care  you  ?— • 
what  then  ? 

“ The  news  run  that  we  have  taken 
seventeen  French  transports  ; that  Lang- 
ton’s  lady  is  lying  down  with  her  eighth 
child,  all  alive  ; and  Mrs.  Carter’s  Miss 
Sharpe  is  going-  to  marry  a schoolmaster 
sixty-two  years  old.” 

“ TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

. « 30th  April,  1782. 

“ I have  had  a fresh  cola,  and  been  very 
poorly.  But  I was  yesterday  at  Mr. 
Hoole’s,  where  were  Miss  Reynolds  and 
many  others.  I am  going  to  the  club. 

“ Since  Mrs.  Garrick’s  invitation  I have 
a letter  from  Miss  More2,  to  engage 
me  for  the  evening.  I have  an  appoint- 
ment to  Mi-ss  Monkton,  and  another  with 
lady  Sheffield3  at  Mrs.  Way’s.  4 


1 [Probably  the  “ Essay  on  Taste  ” already 
mentioned,  ante,  p.  307. — Ed.] 

2 [Miss  Hannah  More. — Ed.] 

3 [The  first  wife  of  the  first  Lord  Sheffield  — 
Ed.] 

4 [Wife  of  Daniel  Wav,  Esq.  of  the  Excheque 


318 


1782.— jETAT.  73. 


“ Two  days  ago  Mr.  Cumberland  had 
his  third  night* 1,  which,  after  all  expenses, 
put  into  his  own  pocket  five  pounds.  He 
has  lest  his  plume. 

“Mrs.  S 2 refused  to  sing,  at  the 

Duchess  of  Devonshire’s  request,  a song  to 
the  Prince  of  Wales.  They  pay  for  the 

3 neither  principal  nor  interest ; and 

poor  Garrick’s  funeral  expenses  are  yet  un- 
paid, though  the  undertaker  is  broken. 
Could  you  have  a better  purveyor  for  a 
little  scandal  ? But  I wish  I was  at  Streat- 
ham.”] 


Notwithstanding  his  afflicted  state  of 
body  and  mind  this  year,  the  following  cor- 
respondence affords  a proof  not  only  of  his 
benevolence  and  conscientious  readiness  to 
relieve  a good  man  from  errour,  but  by  his 
clothing  one  of  the  sentiments  in  his 
“ Rambler,”  in  different  language,  not  in- 
ferior to  that  of  the  original,  shows  his  ex- 
traordinary command  of  clear  and  forcible 
expression. 

A clergyman  at  Bath  wrote  to  him,  that 
in  tc  The  Morning  Chronicle,”  a passage  in 
“ The  Beauties  of  Johnson,”  article  Death, 
had  been  pointed  out  as  supposed  by  some 
readers  to  recommend  suicide,  the  words 
being  “ To  die  is  the  fate  of  man  ; but  to 
die  with  lingering  anguish  is  generally  his 
folly  ; ” and  respectfully  suggesting  to  him, 
that  such  an  erroneous  notion  of  any  sen- 
tence in  the  writings  of  an  acknowledged 
friend  of  religion  and  virtue  should  not  pass 
uncontradicted. 

Johnson  thus  answered  this  clergyman’s 
letter  : 


“TO  THE  REVEREND  MR.  , AT 

BATH. 

“ 15th  May,  1782. 

“ Sir, — Being  now  in  the  country  in  a 
state  of  recovery,  as  I hope,  from  a very 
oppressive  disorder,  I cannot  neglect  the 
acknowledgment  of  your  Christian  letter. 
The  book  called  c The  Beauties  of  Johnson  ’ 
is  the  production  of  I know  not  whom  ; I 
never  saw  it  but  by  casual  inspection,  and 
considered  myself  as  utterly  disengaged 
from  its  consequences.  Of  the  passage  you 
mention,  I remember  some  notice  in  some 
paper  : but  knowing  that  it  must  be  mis- 
represented, I thought  of  it  no  more,  nor 
do  I know  where  to  find  it  in  my  own  books. 
I am  accustomed  to  think  little  of  newspa- 

Office,  of  whom  there  is  so  copious  an  account  in 
Nicholls’s  continuation  of  Bowyer’s  Anecdotes. — 
Ed.] 

1 [The  play  of  the  Walloons , acted  about 
this  time;  but  the  third  night  was  the  2d  of  May. 
— Ed.] 

2 [Sheridan. — Ed.] 

3 [Theatre,  Drury-lane,  sold  by  Garrick  to 

Sheridan  Ed.] 


pers ; but  an  opinion  so  weighty  an* 
serious  as  yours  has  determined  me  to  do, 
what  I should  without  your  seasonable  ad- 
monition have  omitted  : and  I will  direcl 
my  thought  to  be  shown  in  its  true  state  4. 
If  I could  find  the  passage  I would  direct 
you  to  it.  I suppose  the  ten  our  is  thi;  : — 
‘ Acute  diseases  are  the  immediate  and  in- 
evitable strokes  of  Heaven  ; but  of  them 
the  pain  is  short,  and  the  conclusion  speed  v; 
chronical  disorders,  by  which  we  are  suj- 
pended  in  tedious  torture  between  life  and 
death,  are  commonly  the  effect  of  our  owr 
misconduct  and  intemperance.  To  die. 
&c.’ — This,  sir,  you  see  is  all  true  and  ah 
blameless.  I hope  some  time  in  the  next 
week  to  have  all  rectified.  My  health  has 
been  lately  much  shaken  ; if  you  favour 
me  with  any  answer,  it  will  be  a comfort 
to  me  to  know  that  I have  your  prayers.  I 
am,  &c.  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

This  letter,  as  might  be  expeci.ed,  had  its 
full  effect,  and  the  clergyman  acknowledged 
it  in  grateful  and  pious  terms5. 

The  following  letters  require  no  extracts 
from  mine  to  introduce  them. 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ London,  3d  June,  1782. 

“ Dear  sir, — The  earnestness  and  ten- 
derness of  your  letter  is  such,  that  I cannot 
think  myself  showing  it  more  respect  than 
it  claims,  by  sitting  down  to  answer  it  the 
day  on  which  I received  it. 

“ This  year  has  afflicted  me  with  a very 
irksome  and  severe  disorder.  My  respira- 
tion has  been  much  impeded,  and  much 
blood  has  been  taken  away.  I am  now 
harassed  by  a catarrhous  cough,  from  which 
my  purpose  is  to  seek  relief  by  change  of 
air;  and  I am,  therefore,  preparing  to  go  to 
Oxford. 

“ Whether  I did  right  in  dissuading  you 

4 What  follows  appeared  in  the  Morning  Chron- 
icle of  May  29,  1782. — “ A correspondent  having 
mentioned  in  the  Morning  Chronicle  of  December 
12,  the  last  clause  of  the  following  paragraph,  as 
seeming  to  favour  suicide;  we  are  requested  to 
print  the  whole  passage,  that  its  true  meaning  may 
appear,  which  is  not  to  recommend  suicide  but 
exercise.  Exercise  cannot  secure  us  from  that 
dissolution  to  which  we  are  decreed ; but  while 
the  soul  and  body  continue  united,  it  can  make 
the  association  pleasing,  and  give  probable  hopes 
that  they  shall  be  disjoined  by  an  easy  separa- 
tion. It  was  a principle  among  the  ancients,  that 
acute  diseases  are  from  Heaven,  and  chronical 
from  ourselves;  the  dart  of  death,  indeed,  falls 
from  Heaven,  but  we  poison  it  by  our  own  mis- 
conduct: to  die  is  the  fate  of  man;  but  to  die 
with  lingering  anguish  is  generally  his  folly.” — 
Boswell. 

5 The  correspondence  may  be  seen  at  length 
in  the  Gentleman’s  Magazine,  Feb.  1786. — Bos- 
well. 


1782. — iETAT.  73 


31* 


from  coming  to  London  this  spring,  Twill 
not  determine.  You  have  not  lost  much 
by  missing  my  company;  I have  scarcely 
been  well  for  a single  week.  I might  have 
received  comfort  from  your  kindness  ; but 
you  would  have  seen  me  afflicted,  and, 
perhaps,  found  me  peevish.  Whatever 
might  have  been  your  pleasure  or  mine,  I 
know  not  how  I could  have  honestly  ad- 
vised you  to  come  hither  with  borrowed 
money.  Do  not  accustom  yourself  to  con- 
sider debt  only  as  an  inconvenience;  you 
will  find  it  a calamity.  Poverty  takes 
away  so  many  means  of  doing  good,  and 
produces  so  much  inability  to  resist  evil, 
both  natural  and  moral,  that  it  is  by  all 
virtuous  means  to  be  avoided.  Consider  a 
man  whose  fortune  is  very  narrow;  what- 
ever be  his  rank  by  birth,  or  whatever  his 
reputation  by  intellectual  excellence,  what 
can  he  do?  or  what  evil  can  he  prevent? 
That  he  cannot  help  the  needy  is  evident ; 
he  has  nothing  to  spare.  But,  perhaps, 
his  advice  or  admonition  may  be  useful. 
His  poverty  will  destroy  his  influence: 
many  more  can  find  that  he  is  poor,  than 
that  he  is  wise;  and  few  will  reverence  the 
understanding  that  is  of  so  little  advantage 
to  its  owner.  I say  nothing  of  the  person- 
al wretchedness  of  a debtor,  which,  how- 
ever, has  passed  into  a proverb.  Of  riches 
it  is  not  necessary  to  write  the  praise.  Let 
it,  however,  be  remembered,  that  he  who 
has  money  to  spare,  has  it  always  in  his 
power  to  benefit  others;  and  of  such  power 
a good  man  must  always  be  desirous. 

“ I am  pleased  with  your  account  of 
Easter  K We  shall  meet,  I hope,  in  au- 
tumn, both  well  and  both  cheerful ; and 
part  each  the  better  for  the  other’s  com- 
pany. 

“ Make  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Bos- 
well, and  to  the  young  charmers.  I am, 
&c.  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

[“  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

‘London,  4th  June,  1782. 

Letters  **  Wisely  was  it  said  by  him 
voi.  ii.  p.  who  said  it  first,  that  this  world  is 
241,  243,  all  ups  and  downs.  You  know, 
dearest  lady,  that  when  I pressed 
your  hand  at  parting,  I was  rather  down. 
When  I came  hither,  I ate  my  dinner  well, 
but  was  so  harassed  by  the  cough,  that 
Mr.  Strahan  said,  it  was  an  extremity 
which  he  could  not  have  believed  ‘ without 
the  sensible  and  true  avouch  ’ of  his  own 
observation.  I was  indeed  almost  sinking 
under  it,  when  Mrs.  Williams  happened  to 
cry  out  that  such  a cough  should  be  stilled 


1  Which  I celebrated  in  the  Church  of  England 
shapel  at  Edinburgh,  founded  by  Lord  Chief 
Baron  Smith,  of  respectable  and  pious  memory. — 
Boswfi.i. 


by  opium  or  any  means.  1 took  yester- 
day half  an  ounce  of  hark,  and  knew  no* 
whether  opium  would  counteract  it,  but 
remembering  no  prohibiti’on  in  the  medical 
books,  and  knowing  that  to  quiet  the  cough 
with  opium  was  one  of  Lawrence’s  last  or 
ders,  I took  two  grains,  which  gave  me  not 
sleep  indeed,  but  rest,  and  that  rest  has 
given  me  strength  and  courage. 

“ This  morning  to  my  bed-side  came 
dear  Sir  Richard  [Jebb].  I told  him  of 
the  opium,  and  he  approved  it,  and  told 
me,  if  I went  to  Oxford,  which  he  rather 
advised,  that  I should  strengthen  the  consti- 
tution by  the  bark,  tame  the  cough  with 
opium,  keep  the  body  open,  and  support 
myself  by  liberal  nutriment 

“ As  to  the  journey  I know  not  that  it 
will  be  necessary — desine  mollium  tandem 
querularum.” 

“Sunday,  8th  June2,  1782. 

“ I have  this  day  taken  a passage  to  Ox- 
ford for  Monday — not  to  frisk,  as  you  ex- 
press it  with  very  unfeeling  irony,  but  to 
catch  at  the  hopes  of  better  health.  The 
change  of  place  may  do  something.  To 
leave  the  house  where  so  much  has  been 
suffered  affords  some  pleasure.” 

‘ Oxford,  12th  June,  1782. 

“ I find  no  particular  salubrity  in  this 
air;  my  respiration  is  very  laborious;  my 
appetite  is  good,  and  my  sleep  commonly 
long  and  quiet;  but  a very  little  motion 
disables  me, 

“ I dine  to-day  with  Dr.  Adams,  and  to- 
morrow with  Dr.  Wetherel3.  Yesterday 
Dr.  Edwards4  invited  some  men  from 
Exeter  college,  whom  I liked  very  well 
These  variations  of  company  help  the  mind 
though  they  cannot  do  much  for  the  body. 
But.  the  body  receives  some  help  from  a 
cheerful  mind.” 

“ Oxford,  17ih  June,  1782. 

“ Oxford  has  done,  I think,  what  for  the 
present  it  can  do,  and  I am  going  slyly  to 
take  a place  in  the  coach  for  Wednesday, 
and  you  or  my  sweet  Queeney  will  fetch 
me  on  Thursday,  and  see  what  you  can 
make  of  me. 

“ To-day  I am  going  to  dine  with  Dr. 
Wheeler,  and  to-morrow  Dr.  Edwards  has 
invited  Miss  Adams  and  Miss  More.  Yes- 
terday I went  with  Dr.  Edwards  to  his 
living.  He  has  really  done  all  that  he 
could  do  for  my  relief  or  entertainment, 
and  really  drives  me  away  by  doing  too 
much.”] 

2 [Mrs.  Piozzi  had  misdated  this  letter  8th  July, 
and  consequently  misplaced  it. — Ed.] 

3 [Master  of  University  College.  See  antet 
vo  . i.  p.  523. — Ed.] 

4 [See  ante , p.  200  — En  ] 


320 


1782. — iETAT.  73 


“ TO  MR.  PERKINS. 

“ 23th  July,  1782. 

“ Dear  sir, — I am  much  pleased  that  you 
are  going  a very  long  journey,  which  may 
by  proper  conduct  restore  your  health  and 
prolong  your  life. 

C{  Observe  these  rules: 

“ 1.  Turn  all  care  out  of  your  head  a-s 
soon  as  you  mount  the  chaise. 

“ 2.  Do  not  think  about  frugality;  your 
health  is  worth  more  than  it  can  cost. 

“ 3.  Do  not  continue  any  day’s  journey 
to  fatigue. 

cc  4.  Take  now  and  then  a day’s  rest. 

“ 5.  Get  a smart  sea-sickness,  if  you  can. 

“ 6.  Cast  away  all  anxiety,  and  keep 
your  mind  easy. 

“ This  last  direction  is  the  principal ; 
with  an  unquiet  mind,  neither  exercise, 
nor  diet,  nor  physick,  can  be  of  much  use. 

“ I wish  you,  dear  sir,  a prosperous 
journey,  and  a happy  recovery.  I am, 
dear  sir,  youi  most  affectionate,  humble 
servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ.. 

“24th  August,  1782. 

“ Dear  sir, — Being  uncertain  whether  I 
should  have  any  call  this  autumn  into  the 
country,  I did  not  immediately  answer  your 
kind  letter.  I have  no  call;  but  if  you  de- 
sire to  meet  me  at  Ashbourne,  I believe  I 
can  come  thither;  if  you  had  rather  come 
to  London,  I can  stay  at  Streatham:  take 
your  choice. 

“ This  year  has  been  very  heavy. 
From  the  middle  of  January  to  the  middle 
of  June,  I was  battered  by  one  disorder 
after  another!  I am  now  very  much  re- 
covered, and  hope  still  to  be  better.  What 
happiness  it  is  that  Mrs.  Boswell  has  es- 
caped. 

“ My  Lives  are  reprinting,  and  I have 
forgotten  the  authour  of  Gray’s  character1 . 
write  immediately,  and  it  may  be  perhaps 
yet  inserted. 

“ Of  London  or  Ashbourne  you  have 
your  free  choic-  ; at  any  place  I shall  be 
glad  to  see  you.  I am,  dear  sir,  yours,  &c. 

“ Sam. Johnson.” 

On  the  30th  August,  I informed  him 
that  my  honoured  father  had  died  that 
morning;  a complaint  under  which  he  had 
long  laboured  having  suddenly  come  to  a 
crisis,  while  I was  upon  a visit  at  the  seat 
of  Sir  Charles  Preston,  from  whence  I had 
hastened  the  day  before,  upon  receiving  a 
etter  by  express. 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ London,  7th  Sept.  1782. 

“ Dear  sir, — I have  struggled  through 


1 The  Rev.  Mr.  Temple,  vicar  of  St.  Gluvias, 
Cornwall. — Boswell 


this  year  with  so  much  infi  mity  of  body, 
and  such  strong  impressions  of  the  fragility 
of  life,  that  death,  whenever  it  appears,  fills 
me  with  melancholy  ; and  I cannot  heal 
without  emotion  of  the  removal  of  any  one, 
whom  I have  known,  into  another  state. 

“ Your  father’s  death  had  every  circum 
stance  that  could  enable  you  to  bear  it ; it 
was  at  a mature  age,  and  it  was  expected  , 
and  as  his  general  life  had  been  pious,  his 
thoughts  had  doubtless  for  many  years  past 
been  turned  upon  eternity.  That  you  did 
not  find  him  sensible  must  doubtless  grieve 
you  ; his  disposition  towards  you  was  un- 
doubtedly that  of  a kind,  though  not  of  a 
fond  father.  Kindness,  at  least  actual,  is 
in  our  power,  but  fondness  is  not;  and  if  by 
negligence  or  imprudence  you  had  ex- 
tinguished his  fondness,  he  could  not  at 
will  rekindle  it.  Nothing  then  remained 
between  you  but  mutual  forgiveness  of 
each  other’s  faults,  and  mutual  desire  of 
each  other’s  happiness. 

“ I shall  long  to  know  his  final  disposition 
of  his  fortune. 

“ You,  dear  sir,  have  now  a new  sta- 
tion, and  have  therefore  new  cares,  and 
new  employments.  Life,  as  Cowley  seems 
to  say,  ought  to  resemble  a well-ordered 
poem;  of  which  one  rule  generally  received 
is,  that  the  exordium  should  be  simple,  and 
should  promise  little.  Begin  your  new 
course  of  life  with  the  least  show,  and  the 
least  expense  possible:  you  may  at  pleasure 
increase  both,  but  you  cannot  easily  dimin- 
ish them.  Do  not  think  your  estate  your 
own,  while  any  man  can  call  upon  you  for 
money  which  you  cannot  pay : therefore,  be- 
gin with  timorous  parsimony.  Let  it  be  your 
first  care  not  to  be  in  any  man’s  debt. 

“ When  the  thoughts  are  extended  to  a 
future  state,  the  present  life  seems  hardly 
worthy  of  all  those  principles  of  conduct 
and  maxims  of  prudence  which  one  genera- 
tion of  men  has  transmitted  to  another;  but 
upon  a closer  view,  when  it  is  perceived 
how  much  evil  is  produced  and  how  much 
good  is  impeded  by  embarrassment  and 
distress,  and  how  little  room  the  expedients 
of  poverty  leave  for  the  exercise  of  virtue, 
it  grows  manifest  that  the  boundless  impor- 
tance of  the  next  life  enforces  some  atten- 
tion to  the  interests  of  this. 

“ Be  kind  to  the  old  servants,  and  secure 
the  kindness  of  the  agents  and  factors. 
Do  not  disgust  them  by  asperity,  or  un- 
welcome gaiety,  or  apparent  suspicion. 
From  them  you  must  learn  the  real  state 
of  your  affairs,  the  characters  of  your  ten- 
ants, and  the  value  of  your  lands. 

“ Make  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Bos- 
well. I think  her  expectations  from  air  and 
exercise  are  the  best  that  she  can  form.  I 
hope  she  will  live  long  and  happily. 

“ I forgot  whether  I told  you  that  Rasay 
has  been  here.  We  dined  cheerfully  to 


1782. — ^ETAT.  73. 


ft>etner.  I entertained  lately  a young  gen- 
tleman from  Corricliatachin. 

“ I received  your  letters  only  this  morn- 
ing. 1 am,  dear  sir,  yours,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

In  answer  to  my  next  letter,  I received 
one  from  him,  dissuading  me  from  hasten- 
ing to  him  as  I had  proposed.  What  is 
proper  for  publication  is  the  following  par- 
agraph, equally  just  and  tender: 
cc  One  expense,  however,  I would  not 
have  you  to  spare:  let  nothing  be  omitted 
that  can  preserve  Mrs.  Boswell,  though  it 
should  be  necessary  to  transplant  her  for  a 
time  into  a softer  climate.  She  is  the  prop 
and  stay  of  your  life.  How  much  must 
your  children  suffer  by  losing  her!  ” 

My  wife  was  now  so  much  convinced  of 
his  sincere  friendship  for  me,  and  regard  for 
her,  that  without  any  suggestion  on  my 
part,  she  wrote  him  a very  polite  and  grate- 
ful letter. 

C£DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  BOSWELL. 

“ London,  7th  September,  1782. 

“ Dear  lady, — I have  not  often  received 
so  much  pleasure  as  from  your  invitation  to 
Auchinleck.  The  journey  thither  and 
back  is,  indeed,  too  great  for  the  latter  part 
of  the  year;  but  if  my  health  were  fully  re- 
covered, I would  suffer  no  little  heat  and 
cold,  nor  a wet  or  a rough  road,  to  keep  me 
from  you.  I am,  indeed,  not  without  hope 
of  seeing  Auchinleck  again;  but  to  make  it 
a pleasant  place  I must  see  its  lady  well, 
and  brisk,  and  airy.  For  my  sake,  there- 
fore, among  many  greater  reasons,  take 
care,  dear  madam,  of  your  health,  spare  no 
expense,  and  want  no  attendance  that  can 
procure  ease  or  preserve  it.  Be  very  care- 
ful to  keep  your  mind  quiet;  and  do  not 
think  it  too  much  to  give  an  account  of 
your  recovery  to,  madam,  yours,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

[In  the  autumn  of  this  year  he  ac- 
p1Oi09  companied  Mrs.  Thrale  to  Bright- 
helmstone,  where,  having  got  a little 
French  print  of  some  people  skating,  with 
these  lines  written  under — 

“ Sur  un  mince  chrystal  l’hyver  conduit  leurs  pas: 
Le  precipice  est  sous  la  glace. 

Telle  est  de  nos  plaisirs  la  lege  re  surface: 
Glissez,  mortels;  n’appuyez  pas — ” 
she  begged  translations  from  every  body. 
Dr.  Johnson  gave  her  this: 

“ O’er  ice  the  rapid  skaiter  flies, 

With  sport  above  and  death  below: 

Where  mischief  lurks  in  gay  disguise. 

Thus  lightly  touch  and  quickly  go.”] 
[The  following  letters  1 prove  how  con- 

1 [Communicated  by  J.  II.  Marldand,  Esq. — 

Er>  1 41 


321 

stant  and  zealous  was  his  friendship  for 
Mr.  Lowe. 

“ TO  MR.  LOWE. 

“22d  October,  1781. 

“ Sir,— -I  congratulate  you  on  the 
good  that  has  befallen  you.  I al- 
ways told  you  that  it  would  come.  I would 
not,  however,  have  you  flatter  yourself  too 
soon  with  punctuality.  You  must  not  ex- 
pect the  other  half  year  at  Christmas.  You 
may  use  the  money  as  your  needs  require; 
but  save  what  you  can. 

“ You  must  undoubtedly  write  a letter  of 
thanks  to  your  benefactor  in  your  own  name 
I have  put  something  on  the  other  side.  I 
am,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

<c  Sam.  Johnson.” 

“to  LORD  SOUTHWELL. 

“ My  lord, — The  allowance  which  Mg 
you  are  pleased  to  make  me,  I receiv- 
ed on  the  by  Mr.  Paget.  Of  the  jo} 
which  it  brought  your  lordship  cannot  judge 
because  you  cannot  imagine  my  distress,  ll 
was  long  since  I had  known  a morning  with- 
out solicitude  for  noon,  or  lain  down  at 
night  without  foreseeing  with  terror  the 
distresses  of  the  morning.  My  debts  were 
small  but  many ; my  creditors  were  poor, 
and  therefore  troublesome.  Of  this  misery 
your  lordship’s  bounty  has  given  me  an  in- 
termission. May  your  lordship  live  long  to 
do  much  good,  and  to  do  for  many  whatyoi 
have  done  for,  my  lord,  your  lordship’s,  &c. 

<e  M.  Lowe.”] 

“to  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“London,  7th  December,  1782. 

“ Dear  sir,-  Having  passed  almost  this 
whole  year  in  a succession  of  disorders,  I 
went  in  October  to  Brighthelmstone,  whith- 
er I came  in  a state  of  so  much  weakness 
that  I rested  four  times  in  walking  between 
the  inn  and  the  lodging.  By  physick  anti 
abstinence  I grew  better,  and  am  now  rea- 
sonably easy,  though  at  a great  distance 
from  health.  I am  afraid,  however,  that 
health  begins,  after  seventy,  and  long  before, 
to  have  a meaning  different  from  that  which 
it  had  at  thirty.  But  it  is  culpable  to  mur- 
mur at  the  established  order  of  the  creation, 
as  it  is  vain  to  oppose  it.  He  that  lives 
must  gfow  old;  and  he  that  would  rather 
grow  old  than  die  has  God  to  thank  for  the 
infirmities  of  old  age. 

“ At  your  long  silence  I am  rather  angry 
You  do  not,  since  now  you  are  the  head  of' 
your  house,  think  it  worth  your  while  to  try 
whether  you  or  your  friend  can  live  longer 
without  writing;  nor  suspect,  after  so  many 
years  of  friendship,  that  when  I do  not  wiite 
to  you  I forget  you.  Put  all  such  useless 
jealousies  out  of  your  head,  and  disdain  to 
regulate  your  own  practice  by  the  practice 


522 


1782.— JETAT.  73. 


of  another,  or  by  any  other  principle  than 
the  desire  of  doing  right 

“ Your  economy,  I suppose,  begins  now 
to  be  settled;  your  expenses  are  adjusted  to 
your  revenue,  and  all  your  people  in  their 
proper  places.  Resolve  not  to  be  poor. 
Whatever  you  have,  spend  less.  Poverty 
is  a great  enemy  to  human  happiness:  it 
certainly  destroys  liberty;  and  it  makes 
some  virtues  impracticable,  and  others  ex- 
tremely difficult. 

“ Let  me  know  the  history  of  your  life 
since  your  accession  to  your  estate; — how 
many  houses,  how  many  cows,  how  much 
land  in  your  own  hand,  and  what  bargains 
you  make  with  your  tenants. 

# # # * * * 

“ Of  my  c Lives  of  the  Poets 5 they  have 
printed  a new  edition  in  octavo,  I hear,  of 
three  thousand.  Did  I give  a set  to  Lord 
Hailes?  If  I did  not,  I will  do  it  out  of 
these.  What  did  you  make  of  all  your 
copy  ? 

“ Mrs.  Thrale  and  the  three  misses  are 
now,  for  the  winter,  in  Argyll-street.  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  has  been  out  of  order,  but 
is  well  again;  and  I am,  dear  sir,  your  af- 
fectionate humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“to  DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

“ Edinburgh,  20th  Dec.  1782. 

“ Dear  sir, — I was  made  happy  by  your 
kind  letter,  which  gave  us  the  agreeable 
hopes  of  seeing  you  in  Scotland  again. 

t£  I am  much  flattered  by  the  concern 
you  are  pleased  to  take  in  my  recovery.  I 
am  better,  and  hope  to  have  it  in  my 
power  to  convince  you  by  my  attention, 
of  how  much  consequence  I esteem  your 
health  to  the  world  and  to  myself.  I re- 
main, sir,  with  grateful  respect,  your  obliged 
and  obedient  servant, 

tc  Margaret  Boswell.” 

The  death  of  Mr.  Thrale  had  made  a 
very  material  alteration  with  respect  to 
Johnson’s  reception  in  that  family.  The 
manly  authority  of  the  husband  no  longer 
curbed  the  lively  exuberance  of  the  lady; 
and  as  her  vanity  had  been  fully  gratified, 
by  having  the  Colossus  of  Literature  attach- 
ed to  her  for  many  years,  she  gradually  be- 
came less  assiduous  to  please  him.  Wheth- 
er her  attachment  to  him  was  already  divid- 
ed by  another  object,  I am  unable  to  ascer- 
tain; but  it  is  plain  that  Johnson’s  penetra- 
tion was  alive  to  her  neglect  or  forced  at- 
tention; for  on  the  6th  of  October  this  year 
we  find  him  making  a “ parting  use  of  the 
library  ” at  Streatham,  and  pronouncing  a 
prayer  which  he  composed  on  leaving  Mr. 
Thrale’s  family. 

“ Almighty  God,  Father  of  all  mercy, 
help  me  by  thy  grace,  that  I may,  with 


humble  and  sincere  thankfulness,  remember 
the  comforts  and  conveniences  which  I have 
enjoyed  at  this  place;  and  that  I may  resign 
them  with  holy  submission,  equally  trusting 
in  thy  protection  when  thou  givest  and 
when  thou  takest  away.  Have  mercy  upon 
me,  O Lord  ! have  mercy  upon  me ! 

“To  thy  fatherly  protection,  O Lord,  I 
commend  this  family.  Bless,  guide,  and 
defend  them,  that  they  may  so  pass  through 
this  world,  as  finally  to  enjoy  in  thy  pre- 
sence everlasting  happiness,  for  Jesus 
Christ’s  sake.  Amen.” 

One  cannot  read  this  prayer  without  some 
emotions  not  very  favourable  to  the  lady 
whose  conduct  occasioned  it  h 

The  next  day,  October  7,  he  made  the 
following  memorandum: 

“ 7th  October. 

“ I was  called  early.  I packed  up  my 
bundles,  and  used  the  foregoing  prayer,  with 
my  morning  devotions  somewhat,  I think, 
enlarged.  Being  earlier  than  the  family, 
I read  St.  Paul’s  farewell  in  the  Acts,  and 
then  read  fortuitously  in  the  Gospels,  which 
was  my  parting  use  of  the  library.” 

And  in  one  of  his  memorandum-books  1 
find,  “ Sunday,  went  to  church  at.  Streat 
ham.  Templo  valedixi  cum  osculo .” 

He  met  Mr.  Philip  Metcalfe  often  at  Sn 
Joshua  Reynolds’s  and  other  places,  and 
was  a good  deal  with  him  at  Bright.helmstone 
this  autumn,  being  pleased  at  once  with  his 
excellent  table  and  animated  conversation. 
Mr.  Metcalfe  showed  him  great  respect, 
and  sent  him  a note  that  he  might  have  the 
use  of  his  carriage  whenever  he  pleased. 
Johnson  (3d  October,  1782)  returned  this 
polite  answer:  c£  Mr.  Johnson  is  very  much 
obliged  by  the  kind  offer  of  the  carriage, 
but  he  has  no  desire  of  using  Mr.  Metcalfe’s 
carriage,  except  when  he  can  have  the  plea 
sure  of  Mr.  Metcalfe’s  company.”  Mr. 
Metcalfe  could  not  but  be  highly  pleased 
that  his  company  was  thus  valued  by  John- 
son, and  he  frequently  attended  him  in  air- 
ings. They  also  went  together  to  Chiches- 
ter, and  they  visited  Petworth,  and  Cow- 
dry,  the  venerable  seat  of  the  Lords  Mon 
tacute2.  “ Sir,”  said  Johnson,  “ I should  like 

1 [Mr.  Boswell’s  dislike  of  Mrs.  Thrale  has  led 
him  here  into  a series  of  blunders  and  misrepresen- 
tations. Dr.  Johnson  meant  nothing  of  what  Mr 
Boswell  attributes  to  him — he  makes  a parting 
use  of  the  library — makes  a valediction  to  the 
church , and  pronounces  a prayer  on  quitting  “ a 
place  where  he  had  enjoyed  so  much  comfort,” 
not  because  Mrs.  Thrale  made  him  less  welcome 
there,  but  because  she,  and  he  with  her,  were 
leaving  Streatham.  We  shall  see  by  and  by,  that 
when  Mr.  Boswell  came  to  town,  six  months 
after  this,  he  found  his  friend  domiciliated  in 
Mrs.  Thrale 's  new  residence  in  Argyll-street. — 
Ed.] 

2 This  venerable  mansion  has  rince  [Sept 


1782. — jETAT.  73. 


to  stay  here  four-and-twenty  hours.  We 
see  here  how  our  ancestors  lived.” 

That  his  curiosity  was  still  unabated  ap- 
pears from  two  letters  to  Mr.  John  Nichols, 
of  the  10th  and  20th  of  October  this  year. 
In  one  he  says,  “ I have  looked  into  your 
‘ Anecdotes,’  and  you  will  hardly  thank  a 
lover  of  literary  history  for  telling  you  that 
he  has  been  much  informed  and  gratified. 
I wish  you  would  add  your  own  discoveries 
and  intelligence  to  those  of  Dr.  Rawlinson *  1J 
and  undertake  the  Supplement  to  Wood. 
Think  of  it.”  In  the  other,  “I  wish, 
sir,  you  could  obtain  some  fuller  informa- 
tion of  Jortin2,  Markland 3,  and  Thirl- 


1793]  been  totally  destroyed  by  fire. — Malone. 
[There  is  a popular  superstition  that  this  inherit- 
ance is  accursed,  for  having  been  part  of  the 
plunder  of  the  church  at  the  Dissolution ; and 
some  lamentable  accidents  have  given  counte- 
nance to  the  vulgar  prejudice.  When  the  Editor 
visited  the  ruins  of  Cowdray  twenty  years  ago,  he 
was  reminded  (in  addition  to  olden  stories)  that 
the  curse  of  fire  and  water  had  recently  fallen 
on  Cowdray;  its  noble  owner,  Viscount  Montague, 
the  last  male  of  his  ancient  race,  having  been 
drowned  in  the  Rhine  at  Schaffhausen,  within  a 
few  days  of  the  destruction  of  Cowdray:  and  the 
good  folks  of  the  neighbourhood  did  not  scruple  to 
prophesy  that  it  would  turn  out  a fatal  inheritance. 
At  that  period  the  present  possessor,  Mr.  Poyntz, 
who  had  married  Lord  Montague’s  sister  and  heir- 
ess, had  two  sons,  who  seemed  destined  to  inherit 
Cowdray;  but,  on  the  7th  July,  1815,  these  young 
gentlemen  boating  off  Bognor  with  their  father  on 
a very  fine  day,  the  boat  was  unaccountably  up- 
set, and  the  two  youths  perished;  and  thus  was 
once  more  fulfilled  the  forebodings  of  supersti- 
tion. See  some  curious  observations  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  fatality  attending  the  inheritance  of 
confiscated  church  property  in  Sir  Henry  Spel- 
man’s  Treatise  on  the  “ History*  and  Fall  of  Sac- 
rilege.”— Ed.] 

1 [Dr.  Richard  Rawlinson,  an  eminent  antiqua- 
ry, and  a great  benefactor  to  the  University  of 
Oxford.  He  founded  the  Anglo-Saxon  professor- 
ship there,  and  bequeathed  to  it  all  his  collection 
of  MSS.,  medals,  antiquities,  and  curiosities,  and 
amongst  them  large  collections  for  a supplement 
to  Wood’s  Atlience  Oxonienses , to  which  Dr. 
Johnson  refers.  He  died  in  1754,  get.  65. — Ed.] 

2 [Dr.  John  Jortin,  a voluminous  and  respect- 
able writer  on  general  subjects,  as  well  as  an  em- 
inent divine.  He  died  in  August,  1770,  Arch- 
deacon of  London  and  Vicar  of  Kensington ; where 
his  piety  and  charity,  greater  even  than  his  great 
learning  and  talents,  are  still  remembered.  His 
laconic  epitaph  in  Kensington  churchyard,  dicta- 
ted by  himself,  contains  a new  turn  of  that 
thought  which  must  be  common  to  all  epitaphs, 
— “ Johannes  Jortin  mortalis  esse  desiit,  A.  S. 
1770,  set.  72.”  John  Jortin  ceased  to  be  mor- 
tal, Sec. — Ed.] 

3 [Jeremiah  Markland  was  an  eminent  critic, 

particularly  in  Greek  literature;  but  the  shyness 
of  his  disposition  and  the  almost  ascetic  seclusion 

of  hi*  long  life  limited  at  once  his  utility  and  his 


323 

by4.  They  were  three  contemporaries  of 
great  eminence.” 

“to  SIP.  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS. 

Brighthelmstone,  14th  Nov.  1782. 

Devr  sir, — I heard  yesterday  of  your 
late  disorder,  and  should  think  ill  of  myself 
if  I had  heard  of  it  without  alarm.  I heard 
likewise  of  your  recovery,  which  I sincerely 
wish  to  be  complete  and  permanent.  Your 
country  has  been  in  danger  of  losing  one  of 
its  brightest  ornaments,  and  I of  losing  one 
of  my  oldest  and  kindest  friends;  but  I hope 
you  will  still  live  long,  for  the  honour  of  the 
nation;  and  that  more  enjoyment  of  your 
elegance,  your  intelligence, and  your  benevo- 
lence is  still  reserved  for,  dear  sir,  your  most 
affectionate,  &c.  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson5  having  dedi- 
cated to  him  his  “ Archaeological  Dictiona- 
ry,” that  mark  of  respect  was  thus  acknow- 
ledged : 

“ TO  THE  REVEREND  MR.  WILSON. 

“CLITHEROE,  LANCASHIRE. 

“ 31st  December,  1782. 

“ Reverend  sir, — That  I have  long 
omitted  to  return  you  thanks  for  the  honour 
conferred  upon  me  by  your  dedication,  I 
entreat  you  with  great  earnestness  not  to 
consider  as  more  faulty  than  it  is.  A very 
importunate  and  oppressive  disorder  has  for 
some  time  debarred  me  from  the  pleasures 
and  obstructed  me  in  the  duties  of  life. 
The  esteem  and  kindness  of  wise  and  good 
men  is  one  of  the  last  pleasures  which  I can 
be  content  to  lose;  and  gratitude  to  those 
from  whom  this  pleasure  is  received  is  a 
duty  of  which  I hope  never  to  be  reproach- 
ed with  the  final  neglect.  I therefore  now 
return  you  thanks  for  the  notice  which  I 
have  received  from  you,  and  which  I consi- 
der as  giving  to  my  name  not  only  more 
bulk,  but  more  weight;  not  only  as  extend- 
ing its  superficies,  but  as  increasing  its  value. 

fame. — See  ante,  p.  258.  He  died  in  1776,  aet. 
83.— Ed.] 

4 [Styan  Thirlby ; a critic  of  at  least  as  much 
reputation  as  he  deserves.  He  studied  successive- 
ly divinity,  medicine,  and  law.  He  seems  to 
have  been  of  a temper  at  once  perverse  and  indo- 
lent, and  to  have  dimmed  and  disgraced  his  talents 
by  habits  of  intoxication.  He  complains,  in  a 
strain  of  self-satisfaction,  that  “ when  a man 
(meaning  himself)  thus  towers  by  intellectual  ex- 
altation above  his  contemporaries,  he  is  rep- 
resented as  drunken,  or  lazy,  or  capricious .” 
He  died  in  1753,  get.  61. — Ed.] 

5 [A  just  and  concise  character  of  Mr.  Wilson 
is  given  by  Dr.  Whitaker  in  the  dedication  of  a 
plate,  in  the  History  of  Whalley.  “ Viro  Reve 
rendo  Thomas  Wilson  STB  ecclesiae  de  Clitheroe, 
ministro — sodali  jucundissimo — insigni 
— felici  juvenum  institutori.  ” Mr.  Wilson’  died 
in  1813,  aged  sixty-seven. — J.  H.  Markland.] 


324 


1783. — iETAT  74. 


Your  book  was  evidently  wanted,  and  will, 
I hope,  find  its  way  into  the  school;  to 
which,  however,  I do  not  mean  to  confine 
it;  for  no  man  has  so  much  skill  ill  ancient 
rites  and  practices  as  not  to  want  it.  As  I 
suppose  myself  to  owe  part  of  your  kindness 
to  my  excellent  friend,  Dr.  Patten1,  he  has 

1 [A  letter  from  Dr.  Patten  l,  and  Dr.  Johnson’s 
answer,  have  appeared  in  the  Gentleman' s Mag- 
azine : the  latter  is  subjoined. — Ed.] 

DR.  JOHNSON’S  ANSWER. 

“24th  September,  1781. 

Dear  sir, — It  is  so  long  since  we  passed 
any  time  together,  that  you  may  be  allowed  to 
have  forgotten  some  part  of  iny  character;  and  I 
know  not  upon  what  other  supposition  I can  pass 
without  censure  or  complaint  the  ceremony  of 
your  address.  Let  me  not  trifle  time  in  words,  to 
which  while  we  speak  or  write  them  we  assign 
little  meaning.  Whenever  you  favour  me  with  a 
letter,  treat  me  as  one  that  is  glad  of  your  kindness 
and  proud  of  your  esteem. 

“ The  papers  which  have  been  sent  for  my 
perusal  I am  ready  to  inspect,  if  you  judge  my 
inspection  necessary  or  useful:  but,  indeed,  I do 
not;  for  what  advantage  can  arise  from  it?  A 
dictionary  consists  of  independent  parts,  and  there- 
fore one  page  is  not  much  a specimen  of  the  rest. 
It  does  not  occur  to  me  that  I can  give  any  assist- 
ance to  the  authour,  and  for  my  own  interest  I 
resign  it  into  your  hands,  and  do  not  suppose  that 
I shall  ever  see  my  name  with  regret  where  you 
shall  think  it  proper  to  be  put. 

“ I think  it,  however,  my  duty  to  inform  a 
writer  who  intends  me  so  great  an  honour,  that 
in  my  opinion  he  would  have  consulted  his  inter- 
est by  dedicating  his  work  to  some  powerful  and 
popular  neighbour,  who  can  give  him  more  than 
a name.  What  will  the  world  do  but  look 
on  and  laugh  when  one  scholar  dedicates  to 
another  ? 

“ If  I had  been  consulted  about  this  Lexicon 
of  Antiquities  while  it  was  yet  only  a design,  I 
should  have  recommended  rather  a division  of 
Hebrew,  Greek,  and  Roman  particulars  into  three 
volumes,  than  a combination  in  one.  The  He- 
brew part,  at  least,  I would  have  wished  to  sepa- 
rate, as  it  might  be  a very  popular  book,  of  which 
the  use  might  be  extended  from  men  of  learning 
down  to  the  English  reader,  and  which  might 
become  a concomitant  of  the  Family  Bible. 

“ When  works  of  a multifarious  and  extensive 
kind  are  undertaken  in  the  country,  the  necessary 
books  are  not  always  known.  I remember  a very 
learned  and  ingenious  clergyman2,  of  whom, 
when  he  had  published  notes  upon  the  Psalms,  I 
inquired  what  was  his  opinion  of  Hammond’s 
Commentary,  and  was  answered,  that  he  had 
never  heard  of  it.  As  this  gentleman  has  the 
opportunity  of  consulting  you,  it  needs  not  be 
supposed  that  he  has  not  heard  of  all  the  proper 

1 [Dr.  Thomas  Patten  had  been  a Fellow  of  Corpus 
I ®hristi  College,  A.  M.  1736,  D.  D.  1754.  He  was  after- 
wards Rector  of  Childry,  Berks,  where  he  died  28th  Feb- 
Utary,  1790.— Ed.] 

- [See  ante , p.  284,  an  allusion  to  Mr.  Mudge’s  notes  on 
the  Psalms,  whence  Mr.  Chalmers  very  justly  concludes 
that  ha  is  the  person  meant. — Ed.] 


likewise  a just  cmm  to  my  acknowiedg 
merit,  which  I hope  you,  sir,  will  tiansmit 
There  will  soon  appear  a new  edition  of 
my  Poetical  Biography : if  you  will  accept 
of  a copy  to  keep  me  in  your  mind,  be  pleas- 
ed to  let  me  know  how  it  may  be  conveni- 
ently conveyed  to  you.  This  present  is 
small,  but  it  is  given  with  good-will  by,  rev- 
erend sir,  your  most,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ In  1783  he  was  more  severely  afflicted 
than  ever,  as  will  appear  in  the  course  of 
his  correspondence;  but  still  the  same  ar- 
dour for  literature,  the  same  constant  piety, 
the  same  kindness  for  his  friends,  and  the 
same  vivacity,  both  in  conversation  and 
writing,  distinguished  him. 

[In  the  early  part  of  the  year,  however, 
his  health  had  improved  considerably,  as 
appears  from  the  following  letter: 

“ 10th  Feb.  1783. 

“ Dear  sir, — It  was  not  insensibility  of 
your  kindness,  I hope,  that  made  me  negli- 
gent of  answering  your  letter,  for  which  I 
now  return  you  thanks,  and  which  I consid- 
er as  a fresh  proof  of  your  regard. 

“ I am  better,  much  better,  and  am  now 
in  hope  of  being  gradually  well,  and  of  be- 
ing able  [to]  show  some  gratitude  for  the 
kindness  of  my  friends.  I do  not  despair 
of  seeing  Oxford  in  the  summer,  and,  in 
the  mean  time,  hope  now  and  then  to  see 
you  here.  I am,  dear  sir,  your  most  obliged 
“ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

Having  given  Dr.  Johnson  a full  account 
of  what  I was  d^ing  at  Auchinleck,  and 
particularly  mentioned  what  I knew  would 
please  him,— my  having  brought  an  old 
man  of  eigh  yA’ight  from  a lonely  cottage 
to  a comfortable  habitation  within  my  in- 
olosures,  where  he  had  good  neighbours 
near  to  him, — I received  an  answer  in  Feb- 
ruary, of  which  I extract  what  follows: 

“ I am  delighted  with  your  account  of 
your  activity  at  Auchinleck,  and  wish  the 


books;  but  unless  he  is  near  some  library,  I know 
not  now  he  could  peruse  them;  and  if  he  is  con- 
scious that  his  supellex  is  nimis  angusta,  it 
would  be  prudent  to  delay  his  publication  till  his 
deficiences  may  be  supplied. 

“ It  seems  not  very  candid  to  hint  any  suspi- 
cions of  imperfection  in  a work  which  I have  not 
seen,  yet  what  I have  said  ought  to  be  excused, 
since  I cannot  but  wish  well  to  a learned  man, 
who  has  elected  me  for  the  honour  of  a dedication, 
and  to  whom  I am  indebted  for  a correspondence 
so  valuable  as  yours.  And  I beg  that  I may  not 
lose  any  part  of  his  kindness,  which  I consider 
with  respectful  gratitude.  Of  you,  dear  sir,  I 
entreat  that  you  will  never  again  forget  for  sc 
long  a time  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Samuel  Johnson.” 


1783. — iETAT.  74. 


325 


old  gentleman,  whom  you  have  so  kindly 
removed,  may  live  long  to  promote  your 
prosperity  by  his  prayers.  You  have  now  a 
new  character  and  new  duties:  think  on 
them  and  practise  them. 

“ Make  an  impartial  estimate  of  your 
revenue;  and  whatever  it  is,  live  upon  less. 
Resolve  never  to  be  poor.  Frugality  is  not 
only  the  basis  of  quiet,  but  of  beneficence. 
No  man  can  help  others  that  wants  help 
nimself.  We  must  have  enough  before  we 
have  to  spare. 

“ I am  glad  to  find  that  Mrs.  Boswell 
grows  well;  and  hope  that,  to  keep  her 
well,  no  care  nor  caution  will  be  omitted. 
May  you  long  live  happily  together. 

“ When  you  come  hither,  pray  bring 
with  you  Baxter’s  Anacreon.  I cannot  get 
that  edition  in  London 

On  Friday,  March  21,  having  arrived  in 
London  the  night  before,  I was  glad  to  find 
him  at  Mrs.  Thrale’s  house,  in  Argyll- 
street,  appearances  of  friendship  between 
them  being  still  kept  up.  I was  shown  in- 
to his  room;  and  after  the  first  salutation 
he  said,  “I  am  glad  you  are  come;  1 am 
very  ill.”  He  looked  pale,  and  was  distress- 
ed with  a difficulty  of  breathing;  but  after 
the  common  inquiries,  he  assumed  his  usual 
strong  animated  style'  of  conversation. 
Seeing  me  now  for  the  first  time  as  a laird, 
or  proprietor  of  land,  he  began  thus:  “ Sir, 
the  superiority  of  a country  gentleman  over 
the  people  upon  his  estate  is  very  agreea- 
ble; and  he  who  says  he  does  not  feel  it  to 
be  agreeable,  lies;  for  it  must  be  agreeable 
to  have  a casual  superiority  over  those  who 
are  by  nature  equal  with  us.”  Boswell. 
“ Yet,  sir,  we  see  great  proprietors  of  land 
who  prefer  living  in  London.”  Johnson. 
“ Why,  sir,  the  pleasure  of  living  in  Lon- 
don, the  intellectual  superiority  that  is  en- 
joyed there,  may  counterbalance  the  other. 
Besides,  sir,  a man  may  prefer  the  state  of 
the  country  gentleman  upon  the  whole, 
and  yet  there  may  never  be  a moment  when 
he  is  willing  to  make  the  change,  to  quit 
London  for  it.”  He  said,  “It  is  better  to 
have  five  per  cent,  out  of  land,  than  out  of 
money,  because  it  is  more  secure;  but  the 
readiness  of  transfer  and  promptness  of  in- 
terest make  many  people  rather  choose  the 
funds.  Nay,  there  is  another  disadvantage 
belonging  to  land,  compared  with  money: 
a man  is  not  so  much  afraid  of  being  a hard 
creditor,  as  of  being  a hard  landlord.” 
Boswell.  “ Because  there  is  a sort  of 
kinJ.y  connexion  between  a landlord  and 
his  tenants.”  Johnson.  “ No,  sir;  many 
landlords  with  us  never  see  their  tenants. 

1 Dr  Johnson  should  seem  not  to  have  sought 
diligently  for  Baxter’s  Anacreon;  for  there  are 
two  editions  of  that  book,  and  they  are  fre- 
quently found  in  the  Londoi  sale  catalogues. — 
Malone 


It  is  because,  if  a landord  drives  away  his 
tenants,  he  may  not  get  others*  wbereas 
the  demand  for  money  is  so  great,  it  may 
always  be  lent.” 

He  talked  with  regret  and  indignation  of 
the  factious  opposition  to  government  at 
this  time,  and  imputed  it  in  a great  measure 
to  the  revolution.  “ Sir,”  said  he,  in  a low 
voice,  having  come  nearer  to  me,  while  his 
old  prejudices  seemed  to  be  fermenting  in 
his  mind,  “ this  Hanoverian  family  is  isolee 
here.  They  have  no  friends.  Now  the 
Stuarts  had  friends  who  stuck  by  them  so 
late  as  1745.  When  the  right  of  the  king 
is  not  reverenced,  there  will  not  be  rever- 
ence for  those  appointed  by  the  king2.” 

His  observation  that  the  present  royal 
family  has  no  friends  has  been  too  much 
justified  by  the  very  ungrateful  behaviour  of 
many  who  were  under  great  obligations  to 
his  majesty:  at  the  same  time  there  are  hon- 
ourable exceptions;  and  the  very  next^ear 
after  this  conversation,  and  ever  since,  the 
king  has  had  as  extensive  as  generous 
support  as  ever  was  given  to  any  monarch, 
and  has  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  he  was  more  and  more  endeared  to  his 
people. 

He  repeated  to  me  his  verses  on  Mr. 
Levett,  with  an  emotion  which  gave  them 
full  effect;  and  then  he  was  pleased  to  say, 
“ You  must  be  as  much  with  me  as  you  can. 
You  have  done  me  good.  You  cannot 
think  how  much  better  I am  since  you  came 
in.”  » 

He  sent  a message  to  acquaint  Mrs. 
Thrale  that  I was  arrived.  I had  not  seen 
her  since  her  husband’s  death.  She  soon 
appeared,  and  favoured  me  with  an  invita- 
tion to  stay  to  dinner,  which  I accepted. 
There  was  no  other  company  but  herself 
and  three  of  her  daughters,  Dr.  Johnson, 
and  I.  She  too  said  she  was  very  glad  I was 

2 [Even  Johnson’s  mind  was  not  superior  to 
early  prejudices.  When  he  was  young,  no  doubt 
there  was  a great  body,  perhaps  the  numerical 
majority  of  the  nation,  who  were  opposed  to,  or 
at  least,  not  cordial  to  the  Hanover  succession ' 
but  the  events  of  1745  showed  how  small  in  num- 
ber and  how  weak  in  feeling  the  jacobites  had 
become.  The  revolution,  no  doubt,  and  a great 
accession  of  strength  to  the  democratic  branch  of 
the  constitution — the  more  general  diffusion  of 
knowledge,  and  the  greater  spread  of  political  dis- 
cussion, led  to  what  Dr.  Johnson  called  faction, 
to'  the  American  revolt,  and  to  all  the  important 
consequences  which,  since  his  time,  have  resulted 
from  that  event;  amongst  which  is,  no  doubt,  the 
looking  upon  the  king  rather  as  the  first  magis- 
trate than  as  the  object  of  the  personal  reverence 
and  feudal  enthusiasm  of  former  days:  but  tha 
any  jacobite  tendency,  or  any  doubt  of  the  right 
of  the  reigning  family,  entered  directly  into  the 
political  difficulties  of  the  period  in  question 
Dr.  Johnson  could  not  have  dispassionately  believ- 
ed.— Ed.] 


17 »S.-  dETAT.  74. 


326 

come;  for  she  was  going  to  Bath,  and  should 
have  been  sorry  to  leave  Dr.  Johnson  be- 
fore I came.  This  seemed  to  be  attentive 
and  kind;  and  I,  who  had  not  been  informed 
of  any  change  1>  imagined  all  to  be  as  well  as 
formerly.  He  was  little  inclined  to  talk  at 
dinner,  and  went  to  sleep  after  it;  but  when 
he  joined  us  in  the  drawing-room  he  seemed 
revived,  and  was  again  himself. 

Talking  of  conversation,  he  said, ££  There 
must,  in  the  first  place,  be  knowledge — 
there  must  be  materials;  in  the  second 
place,  there  must  be  a command  of  words; 
in  the  third  place,  there  must  be  imagina- 
tion, to  place  things  in  such  views  as  they 
are  not  commonly  seen  in;  and,  in  the 
fourth  place,  there  must  be  presence  of 
mind,  and  a resolution  that  is  not  to  be 
overcome  by  failures:  this  last  is  an  essen- 
tial requisite;  for  want  of  it  many  people 
do  not  excel  in  conversation.  Now  I want 
it;  I throw  up  the  game  upon  losing  a trick.” 
I wondered  to  hear  him  talk  thus  of  himself, 
and  said,  “ I do  n’t  know,  sir,  how  this  may 
be;  but  I am  sure  you  beat  other  people’s 
cards  out  of  their  hands.”  I doubt  whether 
he  heard  this  remark.  While  he  went  on 
talking  triumphantly,  I was  fixed  in  admi- 
ration, and  said  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  ££  O for 
short-hand  to  take  this  down!”  ££  You  ’ll 
carry  it  all  in  your  head,”  said  she:  “ a long 
head  is  as  good  as  short-hand.” 

It  has  been  observed  and  wondered  at, 
that  Mr.  Charles  Fox  never  talked  with 
any  freedom  in  the  presence  of  Dr.  John- 
son; though  it  is  well  known,  and  I myself 
can  witness,  that  his  conversation  is  vari- 
ous, fluent,  and  exceedingly  agreeable. 
Johnson’s  own  experience,  however,  of 
that  gentleman’s  reserve,  was  a sufficient  rea- 
son for  his  going  on  thus:  “ Fox  never  talks 
in  private  company;  not  from  any  determi- 
nation not  to  talk,  but  because  he  has  not 
the  first  motion.  A man  who  is  used  to 
the  applause  of  the  house  of  commons  has 
no  wish  for  that  of  a private  company.  A 
man  accustomed  to  throw  for  a thousand 
pounds,  if  set  down  to  throw  for  sixpence, 
would  not  be  at  the  pains  to  count  his  dice. 
Burke’s  talk  is  the  ebullition  of  his  mind. 
He  does  not  talk  from  a desire  of  distinction, 
but  because  his  mind  is  full2.” 

He  thus  curiously  characterised  one  of 
our  old  acquaintance:  ££  ******** 3 is  a good 

1 [Nor  was  there,  hitherto,  any  visible  change. 
There  was,  as  yet,  no  sign  of  that  unhappy  insan- 
ity (for  it  seems  nothing  less)  which  produced 
Mrs.  Thrale’s  second  marriage:  see  ante,  p.  322, 
note. — Ed.] 

2 [This  may  seem  somewhat  at  variance  with 
the  supposition  that,  in  a former  passage,  ante, 
p.  151,  Mr.  Burke  was  alluded  to;  hut  we  have 
seen  how  often  Johnson  could,  in  such  matters, 
advance  contradictory  opinions. — Ed.] 

J [This  tliudes  to  old  Mr.  Sheridan:  and  recol- 


man,  sir;  but  he  is  a vain  man  and  a liar. 
He,  however,  only  tells  lies  of  vanity;  of 
victories,  for  instance,  in  conversation, 
which  never  happened.”  This  alluded  to  a 
story,  which  I had  repeated  from  that  gen- 
tleman, to  entertain  Johnson  with  its  wild 
bravado.  ££  This  Johnson,  sir,”  said  he. 
“ whom  you  are  all  afraid  of,  will  shrink,  if 
you  come  close  to  him  in  argument,  and 
roar  as  loud  as  he.  He  once  maintained 
the  paradox,  that  there  is  no  beauty  but  in 
utility.  £ Sir,’  said  I,  £ what  say  you  to  the 
peacock’s  tail,  which  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  objects  in  nature,  but  would  have 
as  much  utility  if  its  feathers  were  all  of 
one  colour.’  He  felt  what  I thus  produced, 
and  had  recourse  to  his  usual  expedient, 
ridicule;  exclaiming,  £ A peacock  has  a tail, 
and  a fox  has  a tail;  ’ and  then  he  burst  out 
into  a laugh.  £ Well,  sir,’  said  I,  with  a 
strong  voice,  looking  him  full  in  the  face, 
£ you  have  unkennelled  your  fox;  pursue 
him  if  you  dare.’  He  had  not  a word  to 
say,  sir.”  Johnson  told  me  that  this  was 
fiction  from  beginning  to  end  4. 

After  musing  for  some  time,  he  said,  ££  I 
wonder  how  I should  have  any  enemies; 
for  I do  harm  to  nobody5.”  Boswell. 
u In  the  first  place,  sir,  you  will  be  pleased 
to  recollect  that  you  set  out  with  .attacking 
the  Scotch;  so  you  got  a whole  nation  for 
your  enemies.”  Johnson.  ££  Why,  I own 
that  by  my  definition  of  oats  I meant  to 
vex  them.”  Boswell.  ££  Pray,  sir,  can 
you  trace  the  cause  of  your  antipathy  to 
the  Scotch  ? ” Johnson.  ££  I cannot, 

lecting  that  Boswell  professes  to  have  endeav 

oured  to  reconcile  him  with  Dr.  Johnson,  we 

cannot  but  wonder  at  the  mode  in  which  he 
attempted  to  accomplish  that  object. — Ed.] 

4 Were  I to  insert  all  the  stories  which  have 
been  told  of  contests  boldly  maintained  with  him, 
imaginary  victories  obtained  over  him,  of  reducing 
him  to  silence,  and  of  making  him  own  that  his 
antagonist  had  the  better  of  him  in  argument,  my 
volumes  would  swell  to  an  immoderate  size. 
One  instance,  I find,  has  circulated  both  in  con- 
versation and  in  print;  that  when  he  would  not 
allow  the  Scotch  writers  to  have  merit,  the  late 
Dr.  Rose,  of  Chiswick,  asserted,  that  he  could 
name  one  Scotch  writer  whom  Dr.  Johnson  him- 
self would  allow  to  have  written  better  than  any 
man  of  the  age;  and  upon  Johnson’s  asking  who 
it  was,  answered,  “ Lord  Bute,  when  he  signed 
the  warrant  for  your  pension.”  Upon  which 
Johnson,  struck  with  the  repartee,  acknowledged 
that  this  was  true.  When  I mentioned  it  to 
Johnson,  “Sir,”  said  he,  “ if  Rose  said  this,  I 
never  heard  it.” — Boswell. 

5 This  reflection  was  very  natural  in  a man  of 
a good  heart,  who  was  not  conscious  of  any  ill- 
will  to  mankind,  though  the  sharp  sayings  which 
were  sometimes  produced  by  his  discrimination 
and  vivacity,  which  he  perhaps  did  not  recollect, 
were,  I am  afraid,  too  often  remembered  wjth 
resentment. — Boswell 


1783— JET  AT.  74. 


327 


sir  Boswell  “Old  Mr.  Sheridan  says 
it  was  because  they  sold  Charles  the 
First.”  Johnson.  “ Then,  sir,  old  Mr. 
Sheridan  has  found  out  a very  good  rea- 
son.5 

Surely  the  most  obstinate  and  sulky  na- 
tionality, the  most  determined  aversion  to 
this  great  and  good  man,  must  be  cured, 
when  he  is  seen  thus  playing  with  one  of 
his  prejudices,  of  which  he  candidly  ad- 
mitted that  he  could  not  tell  the  reason.  It 
was,  however,  probably  owing  to  his  hav- 
ing had  in  his  view  the  worst  part  of  the 
Scottish  nation,  the  needy  adventurers1 2, 
many  of  whom  he  thought  were  advanced 
above  their  merits  by  means  which  he  did 
not  approve.  Had  he  in  his  early  life  been 
in  Scotland,  and  seen  the  worthy,  sensible, 
independent  gentlemen,  who  live  rationally 
and  hospitably  at  home,  he  never  could 
have  entertained  such  unfavourable  and  un- 
just notions  of  his  fellow-subjects.  And  ac- 
cordingly we  find,  that  when  he  did  visit 
Scotland,  in  the  latter  period  of  his  life,  he 
was  fully  sensible  of  all  that  it  deserved,  as 
I have  already  pointed  out  when  speak- 
ing of  his  “ Journey  to  the  Western  Isl- 
ands.55 

Next  day,  Saturday,  2“2d  March,  I found 
him  still  at  Mrs.  Thrale’s,  but  he  told  me 
that  he  was  to  go  to  his  own  house  in  the 
afternoon.  He  was  better,  but  I perceived 
he  was  but  an  unruly  patient;  for  Sir  Lucas 
Pepys,  who  visited  him,  while  I was  with 
him,  said,  c*  If  you  were  tractable , sir,  I 
should  prescribe  for  you  55 

I related  to  him  a remark  which  a re- 
spectable friend  had  made  to  me  upon  the 
then  state  of  government,  when  those  who 
had  been  long  in  opposition  had  attained  to 
power,  as  it  was  supposed,  against  the  in- 

1 [When  Johnson  asserted  so  distinctly  that  he 
could  not  trace  the  cause  of  his  antipathy  to  the 
Scotch,  it  inav  seem  unjust  to  attribute  to  him  any 
secret  personal  motive:  but  it  is  the  essence  of 
prejudice  to  be  unconscious  of  its  cause ; and  the 
Editor  is  convinced  in  his  own  mind  that  Johnson 
received  in  early  life  some  serious  injury  or  affront 
from  the  Scotch.  If  Johnson’s  personal  history 
during  the  years  1745  and  1746  were  known, 
something  would  probably  be  found  to  account 
for  this  (as  it  now  seems)  absurd  national  aversion. 
—Ed.] 

2 [This  can  hardly  have  been  the  cause.  Ma- 
ny of  Johnson’s  earliest  associates  were  indeed 
r‘  needy  Scotch  adventurers;  ” that  is,  there  were 
poor  scholars,  indigent  men  of  education  and  tal- 
ent, who  brought  those  articles  to  the  London 
market,  as  Dr.  Johnson  himself  had  done.  Such 
were  Sheils,  Stewart,  Macbean,  &c.  But  John- 
son had  no  aversion  to  these  men:  on  the  con- 
trary, he  lived  with  them  in  familiar  friendship, 

, did  them  active  kindnesses,  and  with  Macbean 
(who  seems  to  have  been  the  survivor  of  his  ear- 
nest friends)  he  continued  in  the  kindest  intercourse 
o his  last  hour. — Ed.] 


clination  of  the  sovereign.  “ You  r.eed  not 
be  uneasy,55  said  this  gentleman,  “ about  the 
king.  He  laughs  at  them  all ; he  plays 
them  one  against  another.55  Johnson. 
“ Do  n’t  think  so,  sir.  The  king  is  as  much 
oppressed  as  a man  can  be.  If  he  plays 
them  one  against  another,  he  wins  nothing.” 

I had  paid  a visit  to  General  Oglethorpe 
in  the  morning,  and  was  told  by  him  that 
Dr.  Johnson  saw  company  on  Saturday 
evenings,  and  he  would  meet  me  at  John- 
son’s that  night.  When  I mentioned  this 
to  Johnson,  not  doubting  that  it  would 
please  him,  as  he  had  a great  value  foi 
Oglethorpe,  the  fretfulness  of  his  disease 
unexpectedly  showed  itself ; his  anger  sud- 
denly kindled,  and  he  said,  with  vehemence, 
“ Did  not  you  tell  him  not  to  come  ? Am 
I to  be  hunted  in  this  manner  ? 55  I satisfied 
him  that  1 could  not  divine  that  the  visit 
would  not  be  convenient,  and  that  I certain- 
ly could  not  take  it  upon  me  of  my  own  ac- 
cord to  forbid  the  general. 

I found  Dr.  Johnson  in  the  evening  in 
Mrs.  Williams’s  room,  at  tea  and  coffee 
with  her  and  Mrs.  Desmoulins,  who  were 
also  both  ill  ; it  was  a sad  scene,  and  he 
was  not  in  a very  good  humour.  He  said 
of  a performance  that  had  lately  come  out, 
“ Sir,  if  you  should  search  all  the  madhouses 
in  England,  you  would  not  find  ten  men 
who  would  write  so,  and  think  it  sense  4 55 

I was  glad  when  General  Oglethorpe’s 
arrival  was  announced,  and  we  left  the 
ladies.  Dr.  Johnson  attended  him  in  the 
parlour,  and  was  as  courteous  as  ever.  The 
general  said  he  was  busy  reading  the 
writers  of  the  middle  age.  Johnson  said 
they  were  very  curious.  Oglethorpe. 
“ The  house  of  commons  has  usurped  5 the 

3 [Johnson  evidently  suspected  that  Boswell, 
with  his  usual  officiousness,  had  invited  Oglethorpe 
to  this  unseasonable  visit.  When  Johnson  chides 
his  over-zealous  friend  for  such  intermeddling, 
Boswell,  with  easy  self-complacency,  can  discov- 
er no  cause  for  the  reprimand  but  Johnson’s  sick- 
ness or  ill-humour. — Ed.] 

4 [The  Editor  suspects  that  “ Annus  Mirabilis; 
or,  the  Eventful  Year  1782,  an  Historical  Poem, 
by  the  Rev.  W.  Tasker,  authour  of  the  Warlike 
Genius  of  Britain,’5  (see  ante,  p.  204)  is  here 
meant. — Ed.] 

5 [What  could  General  Oglethorpe  mean  by 
saying  that  “ the  house  of  commons  had  usurped 
the  power  of  the  nation’s  money  ? 55  Since  a 
house  of  commons  has  existed,  has  it  not  exercised 
the  power  of  the  nation’s  money  ? Then  when  he 
says  that  “ government  was  carried  on  by  corrupt 
influence,  instead  of  the  inherent  right  of  the 
king,”  he  must  mean,  if  he  means  any  thing, 
that  the  king  ought  to  rule  in  his  own  exclusive 
right,  and  by  his  own  despotic  will,  and  without 
the  aid  or  the  control  of  parliament,  whose  assent 
to  the  measures  of  the  crown  must  be  obtained 
by  influence  of  some  hind , or  anarchy  must  en- 
sue. In  short,  if  Mr.  Boswell  did  not  make  au 


328 


1783. — xETAT.  74. 


power  of  the  nation’s  money  and  used  it  ty- 
rannically. Government  is  now  carried  on 
by  corrupt  influence,  instead  of  the  inherent 
-brut  of  the  king.”  Johnson.  ££  Sir, 
the  want  of  inherent  right  in  the  king 
occasions  all  this  disturbance.  What  we 
did  at  the  revolution  was  necessary  : but  it 
broke  our  constitution  b”  Oglethorpe. 
“ My  father  did  not  think  it  necessary.” 

On  Sunday,  23d  March,  I breakfasted 
with  Dr.  Johnson,  who  seemed  much  re- 
lieved, having  taken  opium  the  night  be- 
fore. He  however  protested  against  it,  as 
a remedy  that  should  be  given  with  the  ut- 
most reluctance,  and  only  in  extreme  neces- 
sity. I mentioned  how  commonly  it  was  used 
in  Turkey,  and  that  therefore  it  could  not  be 
so  pernicious  as  he  apprehended  He  grew 
warm,  and  said,  “ Turks  take  opium,  and 
Christians  take  opium;  but  Russel,  in  his  ac- 
count of  Aleppo,  tells  us,  that  it  is  as  disgrace- 
ful in  Turkey  to  take  too  much  opium,  as  it  is 
with  us  to  get  drunk.  Sir,  it  is  amazing 
how  things  are  exaggerated.  A gentleman 
was  lately  telling  in  a company  where  I 
was  present,  that  in  France  as  soon  as  a 
man  of  fashion  marries,  he  takes  an  opera 
girl  into  keeping  ; and  this  he  mentioned 
as  a general  custom.  £ Pray,  sir,’  said  I, 

£ how  many  opera  girls  may  there  be  ? ’ 
He  answered,  £ About  fourscore.’  £ Well 
then,  sir,’  said  I,  £ you  see  there  can  be  no 
more  than  fourscore  men  of  fashion  who 
can  do  this * 1  2.’  ” 

Mrs.  Desmoulins  made  tea  ; and  she  and 
I talked  before  him  upon  a topick  which  he 
had  once  borne  patiently  from  me  when  we 
were  by  ourselves, — his  not  complaining  of 
the  world,  because  he  was  not  called  to 
some  great  office,  nor  had  attained  to  great 
wealth.  He  flew  into  a violent  passion,  I 
confess  with  some  justice,  and  commanded 
. s to  have  done.  ££  Nobody,”  said  he, 


erroneous  note.  General  Oglethorpe  talked  non- 
sense, which  indeed  there  is  reason  to  suspect  that 
this  amiable  and  garrulous  old  gentleman  some- 
times did. — Ed.] 

1 I have,  in  my  “ Journal  of  a Tour  to  the 
Hebrides,”  fully  expressed  my  sentiments  upon 
this  subject.  The  revolution  was  necessary , but 
not  a subject  for  glory  ; because  it  for  a long 
time  blasted  the  generous  feelings  of  loyalty. 
And  now,  when  by  the  benignant  effect  of  time 
the  present  royal  family  are  established  in  our 
affections , how  unwise  is  it  to  revive  by  celebra- 
tions the  memory  of  a shock,  which  it  would  surely 
have  been  better  that  our  constitution  had  not  re- 
quired ! — Boswell 

2 [Yes,  but  it  may  be  doubted  whether  there 
were  fourscore  persons  whom  the  society  of  Paris 
would  admit  to  be  strictly  and  par  excellence 
men  of  fashion.  The  fact,  thus  expressed  with 
colloquial  latitude,  was  substantially  true;  one  of 
these  degrading  connexions  was  considered  essen- 
tial to  those  who  pretended  to  the  title  of  a man 
tf  fashion. — Ed.] 


££  lias  a right  to  talk  in  tilt  v a^nei,  to 
bring  before  a man  his  own  character,  and 
the  events  of  his  life,  when  he  does  not 
choose  it  should  be  done.  I never  have 
sought  the  world  ; the  world  was  not  to 
seek  me.  It  is  rather  wonderful  that  so 
much  has  been  done  for  me.  All  the  com- 
plaints which  are  made  of  the  world  are  un- 
just. I never  knew  a man  of  merit  neglect- 
ed : it  was  generally  by  his  own  fault  that 
he  failed  of  success.  A man  may  hide  his 
head  in  a hole  : he  may  go  into  the  country, 
and  publish  a book  now  and  then,  which 
nobody  reads,  and  then  complain  he  is  neg- 
lected. There  is  no  reason  why  any  per- 
son should  exert  himself  for  a man  who  has 
written  a good  book  : he  has  not  written  it 
for  any  individual.  I may  as  well  make  a 
present  to  the  postman  who  brings  me  a 
letter.  When  patronage  was  limited,  an 
authour  expected  to  find  a Maecenas,  and 
complained  if  he  did  not  find  one.  Why 
should  he  complain  ? This  Maecenas  has 
others  as  good  as  he,  or  others  who  have, 
got  the  start  of  him.”  Boswell.  “But, 
surely,  sir,  you  will  allow  that  there  are 
men  of  merit  at  the  bar,  who  never  get 
practice.”  Johnson.  ££  Sir,  you  are  sure 
that  practice  is  got  from  an  opinion  that 
the  person  employed  deserves  it  best ; so 
that  if  a man  of  merit  at  the  bar  does  not 
get  practice,  it  is  from  errour,  not  from  in- 
justice. He  is  not  neglected.  A horse 
that  is  brought  to  market  may  not  be 
bought,  though  he  is  a very  good  horse  • 
but  that  is  from  ignorance,  not  from  inat 
tention.” 

There  was  in  this  discourse  much  novel- 
ty, ingenuity,  and  discrimination,  such  as 
is  seldom  to  be  found.  Yet  I cannot  help 
thinking  that  men  of  merit,  who  have  no 
success  in  life,  may  be  forgiven  for  lament- 
ing, if  they  are  not  allowed  to  complain. 
They  may  consider  it  as  hard  that  their  merit 
should  not  have  its  suitable  distinction. 
Though  there  is  no  intentional  injustice  to- 
wards them  on  thfe  part  of  the  world,  their 
merit  not  having  been  perceived,  they  may 
yet  repine  against  fortune , or  fate , or  by 
whatever  name  they  choose  to  call  the  sup- 
posed mythological  power  nf  destiny.  It 
has,  however,  occurred  to  me,  as  a consola- 
tory thought,  that  men  of  merit  should  con- 
sider thus  : — How  much  harder  would  it  be, 
if  the  same  persons  had  both  all  the  merit 
and  all  the  prosperity  ? Would  not  this 
be  a miserable  distribution  for  the  pool 
dunces?  Would  men  of  merit  exchange 
their  intellectual  superiority,  and  the  enjoy- 
ments arising  from  it,  for  external  distinc 
tion  and  the  pleasures  of  wealth  ? If  they 
would  not,  let  them  not  envy  others,  who  are 
poor  where  they  are  rich,  a compensation 
which  is  made  to  them.  Let  them  look  in 
wards  and  be  satisfied  ; recollecting  with 
consc  c us  pride  what  Virgil  finely  says  ol 


1783. — iETAT  74. 


329 


the  Corrjcius  Senex , and  which  I have,  in 
another  place  with  truth  and  sincerity  ap- 
plied to  Mr.  Burke  : 

Regum  sequabat  opes  animis.” 

4 Geor.  1.  132. 

On  the  subject  of  the  right  employment 
of  wealth,  Johnson  observed,  “ A man  can- 
not make  a bad  use  of  his  money,  so  far  as 
regards  society,  if  he  does  not  hoard  it2;  for 
if  he  either  spends  it  or  lends  it  out,  society 
has  the  benefit.  It  is  in  general  better  to 
spend  money  than  to  give  it  away;  for  in- 
dustry is  more  promoted  by  spending  money 
than  "by  gi  ving  it  away.  A man  who  spends 
his  money  is  sure  he  is  doing  good  with  it: 
he  is  not  so  sure  when  he  gives  it  away. 
A man  who  spends  ten  thousand  a year  will 
do  more  good  than  a man  who  spends  two 
thousand  and  gives  away  eight.” 

In  the  evening  I came  to  him  again.  He 
was  somewhat  fretful  from  his  illness.  A 
gentleman  asked  him  whether  he  had  been 
abroad  to-day.  “ Do  ’nt  talk  so  childishly,” 
said  he.  “ You  may  as  well  ask  if  I hanged 
myself  to-day.”  I mentioned  politicks. 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  I ’d  as  soon  have  a man 
to  break  my  bones  as  talk  to  me  of  publick 
affairs,  internal  or  external.  I have  lived  to 
see  things  all  as  bad  as  they  can  be.” 

Having  mentioned  his  friend,  the  second 
Lord  Southwell,  he  said,  “ Lord  Southwell 
was  the  highest-bred  man  without  insolence, 
that  I ever  was  in  company  with;  the  most 
qualitied  I ever  saw.  Lord  Orrery  was  not 
dignified  ; Lord  Chesterfield  was,  but  he 
was  insolent.  Lord  *********3  js  a man  0fJ 
coarse  manners,  but  a man  of  abilities  and 
information.  I do  n’t  say  he  is  a man  I 
would  set  at  the  head  of  a nation,  though 
perhaps  he  may  be  as  good  as  the  next 
prime  minister  that  comes;  but  he  is  a man 
to  be  at  the  head  of  a club, — I don’t  say 
our  club, — for  there ’s  no  such  club.”  Bos- 
well. “ But,  sir,  was  he  not  a factious 
man?  ” Johnson.  “ O yes,  sir,  as  factious 
a fellow  as  could  be  found;  one  who  was  for 
sinking  us  all  into  the  mob.”  Boswell. 
cc  How  then,  sir,  did  he  get  into  favour  with 
the  king?”  Johnson.  “Because,  sir,  I 
suppose  he  promised  the  king  to  do  what- 
ever the  king  pleased.” 

He  said,  “ Goldsmith’s  blundering  speech 
to  Lord  Shelburne,  which  has  been  so  often 
mentioned,  and  which  he  really  did  make  to 

Letter  to  the  People  of  Scotland  against  the 
Attempt  to  diminish  the  Number  of  the  Lords  of 
Session,  1785. 

2 [This  surely  is  too  broadly  stated; — society  is 
injured  when  money  is  spent  in  profligacy  or 
corruption,  or  (as  in  the  case  of  the  EgaliU 
Duke  of  Orleans)  in  exciting  political  sedition. — 
Ed.] 

3 [Shelburne,  the  second  Earl,  afterwards  first 
Marquis  of  Lansdowne. — Ed.] 

vol  it  42 


him,  was  only  a blunder  m emphasis:— ( I 
wonder  they  should  call  your  lordship  Mal- 
agrida, for  Malagrida  was  a very  good 
man;’ — meant,  I wonder  they  should  use 
Malagrida  as  a term  of  reproach4.” 

Soon  after  this  time  I had  an  opportunity 
of  seeing,  by  means  of  one  of  his  friends,  a 
proof  that  his  talents,  as  well  as  his  obliging 
service  to  authours,  were  ready  as  ever. 
He  had  revised  “ The  Village,”  an  admira- 
ble poem,  by  the  Reverend  Mr  Crabbe.5 
Its  sentiments  as  to  the  false  notions  of  rus- 
tick  happiness  and  rustick  virtue  were  quite 
congenial  with  his  own;  and  he  had  taken 
the  trouble  not  only  to  suggest  slight  cor 
rections  and  variations,  but  to  furnish  some 
lines  when  he  thought  he  could  give  the 
writer’s  meaning  better  than  in  the  words 
of  the  manuscript6. 

On  Sunday,  March  30,  I found  him  at 
home  in  the  evening,  and  had  the  pleasure 
to  meet  with  Dr.  Brocklesby,  whose  reading, 
and  knowledge  of  life,  and  good  spirits,  sup- 
ply him  with  a never-failing  source  of  con- 
versation. He  mentioned  a respectable  gen- 
tleman, who  became  extremely  penurious 
near  the  close  of  his  life.  Johnson  said 
there  must  have  been  a degree  of  madness 

4 [See  ante,  p.  226. — Ed.] 

5 [This  amiable  gentleman  is  still  alive,  resident 
in  his  rectory  of  Trowbridge,  in  Wiltshire.  His 
subsequent  publications  have  placed  him  high  in 
the  roll  of  British  poets — though  his  having  taken 
a view  of  life  too  minute,  too  humiliating,  too 
painful,  and  too  just,  may  have  deprived  his 
works  of  so  extensive,  or,  at  least,  so  brilliant,  a 
popularity  as  some  of  his  contemporaries  have 
attained;  but  the  Editor  ventures  to  believe,  that 
there  is  no  poet  of  his  times  who  will  stand  high- 
er in  the  opinion  of  posterity.  He  generally  deals 
with  “ the  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor,” 
but  he  exhibits  them  with  such  a deep  knowledge 
of  human  nature, — with  such  general  ease  and 
simplicity,  and  such  accurate  force  of  expression, 
whether  gay  or  pathetical,  as,  in  the  Editor’s  hum- 
ble judgment,  no  poet,  except  Shakspeare,  has  ex- 
celled.— Ed.] 

6 I shall  give  an  instance,  marking  the  original 
by  Roman,  and  Johnson’s  substitution  in  iltalick 
characters  : 

“In  fairer  scenes,  where  peaceful  pleasures  spring, 
Tityrus,  the  pride  of  Mantuan  swains,  might  sing  ; 
But  charm’d  by  him,  or  smitten  with  his  views, 

Shall  modern  poets  court  the  Mantuan  muse  ? 

From  truth  and  nature  shall  we  widely  stray, 

Where  fancy  leads,  or  Virgil  led  the  way  '! 

On  Mincio's  banks , in  Coesar's  bounteous  reign , 

If  Tityrus  found  the  golden  age  again, 

Must  sleepy  bards  the  flattering  dream  prolong, 
Mechanick  echoes  of  the  Mantuan  song  ? 

From  truth  and  nature  shall  we  widely  stray, 

Where  Virgil,  not  where  fancy , leads  the  way  ? ” 

Here  we  find  Johnson’s  poetical  and  critical  pow- 
ers undiminished.  I must,  however,  observe,  that 
the  aids  he  gave  to  this  poem,  as  to  “ The 
Traveller”  and  “Deserted  Village”  of  Gold- 
smith, were  so  small  as  by  no  means  to  impair 
the  distinguished  merit  of  the  authour. — Bos- 
well. 


330 


1783. — /ETAT.  74. 


nbout  him.  “ Not  at  all,  sir,”  said  Dr. 
Brocklesby,  “ his  judgment  was  entire.” 
Unluckily,  however,  he  mentioned  that  al- 
though he  had  a fortune  of  twenty-seven 
thousand  pounds,  he  denied  himself  many 
comforts,  from  an  apprehension  that  he 
could  not  afford  them.  “Nay,  sir,”  cried 
Johnson,  “when  the  judgment  is  so  dis- 
turbed that  a man  cannot  count,  that  is 
pretty  well.” 

I shall  here  nsert  a few  of  Johnson’s  say- 
ings, without  the  formality  of  dates,  as  they 
have  no  reference  to  any  particular  time  or 
place. 

“ The  more  a man  extends  and  varies  his 
acquaintance  the  better.”  This,  however, 
ivas  meant  with  a just  restriction;  for  he  on 
another  occasion  said  to  me,  “ Sir,  a man 
may  be  so  much  of  every  thing,  that  he  is 
nothing  of  any  thing.” 

“ Raising  the  wages  of  day-labourers  is 
wrong;  for  it  does  not  make  them  live  bet- 
ter, but  only  makes  them  idler,  and  idleness 
is  a very  bad  thing  for  human  nature.” 

“ It  is  a very  good  custom  to  keep  a jour- 
nal for  a man’s  own  use;  he  may  write  upon 
a card  a day  all  that  is  necessary  to  be  writ- 
ten, after  he  has  had  experience  of  life.  At 
first  there  is  a great  deal  to  be  written,  be- 
cause there  is  a great  deal  of  novelty;  but 
when  once  a man  has  settled  his  opinions, 
there  is  seldom  much  to  be  set  down.” 

“ There  is  nothing  wonderful  in  the  Jour- 
nal 1 which  we  see  Swift  kept  in  London, 
for  it  contains  slight  topicks,  and  it  might 
soon  be  written.” 

I praised  the  accuracy  of  an  account-book 
of  a lady  whom  I mentioned.  Johnson. 
“ Keeping  accounts,  sir,  is  of  no  use  when 
a man  is  spending  his  own  money,  and  has 
nobody  to  whom  he  is  to  account.  You 
won’t  eat  less  beef  to-day,  because  you  have 
written  down  Avhat  it  cost  yesterday.”  I 
mentioned  another  lady  who  thought  as  he 
did,  so  that  her  husband  could  not  get  her 

1 In  his  Life  of  Swift,  he  thus  speaks  of  this 
Journal:  “ In  the  midst  of  his  power  and  his  pol- 
itics, he  kept  a journal  of  his  visits,  his  walks, 
nis  interviews  with  ministers,  and  quarrels  with 
his  servant,  and  transmitted  it  to  Mrs.  Johnson 
and  Mrs.  Dingley,  to  whom  he  knew  that  what- 
ever befel  him  was  interesting,  and  no  account 
could  be  too  minute.  Whether  these  diurnal 
trifles  were  properly  exposed  to  eyes  which  had 
never  received  any  pleasure  from  the  dean,  may 
be  reasonably  doubted:  they  have,  however,  some 
odd  attractions:  the  reader  finding  frequent  men- 
tion of  names  which  he  has  been  used  to  consider 
as  important,  goes  on  in  hope  of  information  ; 
and,  as  there  is  nothing  to  fatigue  attention,  if  he 
is  disappointed,  he  can  hardly  complain.”  It 
may  be  added,  that  the  reader  not  only  hopes  to 
find,  but  does  find,  in  this  very  entertaining  Jour- 
nal, much  curious  information,  respecting  persons 
and  things,  which  he  will  in  vain  seek  for  in  other 
books  of  the  same  period. — Malone. 


to  keep  an  account  of  tut  expense  of  the 
family,  as  she  thought  it  enough  that  she 
never  exceeded  the  sum  allowed  her.  John- 
son. “ Sir,  it  is  fit  she  should  keep  an  ac- 
count, because  her  husband  wishes  it;  bvt 
I do  not  see  its  use.”  I maintained  that 
keeping  an  account  has  this  advantage,  that 
it  satisfies  a man  that  his  money  has  not 
been  lost  or  stolen,  which  he  might  some- 
times be  apt  to  imagine,  were  there  no 
written  state  of  his  expense;  and,  besides,  a 
calculation  of  economy,  so  as  not  to  exceed 
one’s  income,  cannot  be  made  without  a 
view  of  the  different  articles  in  figures,  that 
one  may  see  how  to  retrench  in  some  parti- 
culars less  necessary  than  others.  This  he 
did  not  attempt  to^answer. 

Talking  of  an  acquaintance  of  ours, 
whose  narratives,  which  abounded  in  curi- 
ous and  interesting  topicks,  were  unhappily 
found  to  be  very  fabulous ; I mentioned 
Lord  Mansfield’s  having  said  to  me,  “ Sup- 
pose we  believe  one  half  of  what  he  tells.” 
Johnson.  “ Ay  ; but  we  don’t  know 
which  half  to  believe.  By  his  lying  we 
lose  not  only  our  reverence  for  him,  but  all 
comfort  in  his  conversation.”  Boswell. 
“ May  we  not  take  it  as  amusing  fiction  ? ” 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  the  misfortune  is,  that 
you  will  insensibly  believe  as  much  of  it  as 
you  incline  to  believe.” 

It  is  remarkable,  that  notwithstanding 
their  congeniality  in  politicks,  he  never  was 
acquainted  with  a late  eminent  noble  judge2, 
whom  I have  heard  speak  of  him  as  a wri- 
ter with  great  respect.  Johnson,  I know 
not  upon  what  degree  of  investigation,  en 
tertained  no  exalted  opinion  of  his  lordship’s 
intellectual  character.  Talking  of  him  to 
me  one  day,  he  said,  “ It  is  wonderful,  sir, 
with  how  little  real  superiority  of  mincl 
men  can  make  an  eminent  figure  in  publick 
nfe.”  He  expressed  himself  to  the  same 
purpose  concerning  another  law-lord  3,  who, 
it  seems,  once  took  a fancy  to  associate  with 
the  wits  of  London  ; but  with  so  little  suc- 
cess, that  Foote  said,  “ What  can  he  mean 
by  coming  among  us  ? He  is  not  only  dull 
himself,  but  the  cause  of  dulness  in  others.” 
Trying  him  by  the  test  of  his  colloquial 
powers,  Johnson  had  found  him  very  de- 
fective. He  once  said  to  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, “ This  man  now  has  been  ten  years 
about  town,  and  has  made  nothing  of  it ; ” 
meaning  as  a companion 4.  He  said  to 


* [No  doubt  Lord  Mansfield.  See  ante,  v.  i. 

p.  285.— Ed.] 

3 [Probably  Lord  Loughborough. — Ed.] 

4 Knowing  as  well  as  I do  what  precision  and 
elegance  of  oratory  his  lordship  can  display,  I 
cannot  but  suspect  that  his  unfavourable  appear- 
ance in  a social  circle,  which  drew  such  animad- 
versions upon  him,  must  be  owing  to  a cold  affec- 
tation of  consequence,  from  being  reserved  and 
stiff*.  If  it  be  so,  and  he  might  be  an  agreeabl# 


1783.  -iETAT.  74. 


331 


me,  “ I never  heard  any  thing  from  him  in 
company  that  was  at  all  striking  ; and  de- 
pend upon  it,  sir,  it  is  when  you  come  close 
to  a man  in  conversation,  that  you  discover 
what  his  real  abilities  are  : lo  make  a 
speech  in  a publick  assembly  is  a knack. 
Now,  I honour  Thurlovv,  sir;  Thurlow  is 
a fine  fellow ; he  fairly  puts  his  mind  to 
yours,” 

After  repeating  to  him  some  of  his  pointed, 
lively  sayings,  I said,  “ It  is  a pity,  sir,  you 
don’t  always  remember  your  own  good 
things,  that  you  may  have  a laugh  when 
you  will.”  Johnson.  “ Nay,  sir,  it  is 
better  that  I forget  them,  that  I may  be  re- 
minded of  them,  and  have  a laugh  on  their 
being  brought  to  my  recollection.” 

When  I recalled  to  him  his  having  said, 
as  we  sailed  up  Lochlomond,  “ That  if  he 
wore  any  thing  fine,  it  should  be  very 
fine  ; ” I observed  that  all  his  thoughts 
were  upon  a great  scale.  Johnson.  “De- 
pend upon  it,  sir,  every  man  will  have  as 
fine  a thing  as  he  can  get ; as  large  a dia- 
mond for  his  ring.”  Boswei.l.  “ Pardon 
me,  sir  : a man  of  a narrow  mind  will  not 
think  of  it ; a slight  trinket  will  satisfy  him : 

* Nec  sufferre  queat  majoris  pondera  gemmae.’  ” 
JuV.  1 Sat.  29. 

I told  him  I should  send  him  some  “ Es- 
says ” which  I had  written *  l,  which  I hoped 
he  would  be  so  good  as  to  read,  and  pick 
out  the  good  ones.  Johnson.  “ Nay, 
sir,  send  me  only  the  good  ones : don’t 
make  me  pick  them.” 

I heard  him  once  say,  “ Though  the 
proverb  c Nullum  numen  ab£st,  si  sit  pru- 
dential does  not  always  prove  true,  we 
may  be  certain  of  the  converse  of  it,  Nul- 
lum numen  adest,  si  sit  imprudentia  2 3.” 

Once,  when  Mr.  Seward  was  going  to 
Bath,  and  asked  his  commands,  he  said, 
“ Tell  Dr.  Harington  that  I wish  he  would 
publish  another  volume  of  the  ‘ Nugce  An- 
tiques, :i  ; ’ it  is  a very  pretty  book4.”  Mr. 

man  if  he  would,  we  cannot  be  sorry  that  he 
misses  his  aim. — Boswell. 

1 Under  the  title  of  “ The  Hypochondriack.” 
—Malone. 

[They  are  to  be  found  in  the  London  Magazine 
from  1775  to  1784. — Ed.] 

2 [Mrs.  Piozzi  gives  a more  classical  version  of 
Johnson’s  variation  : “ Nullum  numen  adest  ni  sit 
prudentia.”  Ante,  p.  119. — Ed.] 

3 It  has  since  appeared. — Boswell.  [Though 
the  MSS.,  of  which  this  work  was  composed,  had 
descended  to  Dr.  Harington,  the  work  was  not 
edited  by  him,  but  by  the  Reverend  Henry  Har- 
iigton,  M.  A. — J.  11.  Markland.] 

4 A new  and  greatly  improved  edition  of  this 

very  curious  collection  was  published  by  Mr.  Park 

iu  1804,  in  two  volumes,  octavo.  In  this  edition 
the  letters  are  chronologically  arranged,  and  the 
account  of  the  bishops,  which  was  formerly  print- 
ed from  a very  corrupt  copy,  Is  takeu  from  Sir 


Seward  seconded  this  wish,,  and  recom- 
mended to  Dr.  Harington  to  dedicate  it  to 
Johnson,  and  take  for  his  motto  what  Ca- 
tullus says  to  Cornelius  Nepos: 

“ namque  tu  solebas 

Meas  esse  aliquid  putare  nugas.’ 

As  a small  proof  of  his  kindliness  and  del 
icacy  of  feeling,  the  following  circumstance 
may  be  mentioned  : One  evening,  when  we 
were  in  the  street  together,  and  I told  him 
I was  going  to  sup  at  Mr.  Beauclerk’s, 
he  said,  “ I ’ll  go  with  you.”  After  having 
walked  part  of  the  way,  seeming  to  recol- 
lect something,  he  suddenly  stopped  and 
said,  “ I cannot  go, — but  I do  not  love 
Beauclerk  the  less.” 

On  the  frame  of  his  portrait  Mr.  Beau- 
clerk  had  inscribed 

“ Ingenium  ingens 

Inculto  latet  hoc  sub  corpore5.” 

After  Mr.  Beauclerk’s  death,  when  it  be- 
came Mr.  Langton’s  property,  he  made  the 
inscription  be  defaced.  Johnson  said  com 
placently,  “ It  was  kind  in  you  to  take  it 
off;”  and  then,  after  a short  pause,  added, 
“ and  not  unkind  in  him  to  put  it  on.” 

He  said,  “ How  few  of  his  friends’  houses 
would  a man  choose  to  be  at  when  he  is 
sick  !”  He  mentioned  one  or  two.  I 
recollect  only  Thrale’s. 

He  observed,  “ There  is  a wicked  incli- 
nation in  most  people  to  suppose  an  old 
man  decayed  in  his  intellects.  If  a young 
or  middle-aged  man,  when  leaving  a com 
pany,  does  not  recollect  where  he  laid  his 
hat,  it  is  nothing  ; but  if  the  same  inatten- 
tion is  discovered  in  an  old  man,  people 
will  shrug  up  their  shoulders,  and  say,  c His 
memory  is  going.’  ” 

When  I once  talked  to  him  of  some  of 
the  sayings  which  every  body  repeats,  but 
nobody  knows  where  to  find,  such  as  Quos 
Deus  vult  perdere,  prius  dementat  ; he 
told  me  that  he  was  once  offered  ten  guineas 
to  point  out  from  whence  Semel  insanivi - 
mus  omnes  was  taken.  He  could  not  do  it, 
but  many  years  afterwards  met  with  it  by 
chance  in  Johannes  Baptista  Mantua 
nus  6. 

John  Harington’s  original  manuscript,  which  he 
presented  to  Henry,  Prince  of  Wales,  and  is  now 
in  the  royal  library  in  the  museum. — Malone. 

5 [The  whole  passage  is  very  descriptive  of 
Johnson  : 

“ Iracumlior  est  paulo:  minus  aptus  acutis 

Naribus  horum  hominum:  rideri  possit  eo  quod 
Rusticius  tonso  toga  defluit:  et  male  laxus 
In  pede  calceas  lueret : at  est  bonus,  ut  melior  vir 
Non  alius  quisquam:  at  tibi  amicus:  at  ingenium  ingens 
Inculto  latet  hoc  sub  corpore.” — Hor.  Sat.  iii.  lib.  i.  27 

Ed.] 

6 The  words  occur  (as  Mr.  Bindley  observes  to 
me)  in  the  first  Eclogue  of  Mantuanus,  “ De  Ho- 
nesto  Amore,”  &c. 

“ Id  commune  malum;  semel  insanivimus  omnes  ” 


332 


1783. — A2TAT.  74. 


I am  very  sorry  that  I did  not  take  a note 
of  an  eloquent  argument,  in  which  he  main- 
tained that  the  situation  of  Prince  of  Wales 
was  the  happiest  of  any  person’s  in  the 
kingdom,  even  beyond  that  of  the  sover- 
eign. I recollect  only — the  enjoyment  of 
hope — the  high  superiority  of  rank,  with- 
out the  anxious  cares  of  government — and  a 
great  degree  of  power,  both  from  natural 
influence  wisely  used,  and  from  the  san- 
guine expectations  of  those  who  look  for- 
ward to  the  chance  of  future  favour. 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  communicated  to 
me  the  following  particulars: 

Johnson  thought  the  poems  published  as 
translations  from  Ossian  had  so  little  merit, 

With  the  following  elucidation  of  the  other 
saying — Quos  Deus  (it  should  rather  be,  Quem 
Jupiter)  vult  perdere , prius  dementat — Mr. 
Boswell  was  furnished  by  Mr.  Richard  How,  of 
Aspley,  in  Bedfordshire,  as  communicated  to  that 
gentleman  by  his  friend,  Mr.  John  Pitts,  late  rec- 
tor of  Great  Brickhillin  Buckinghamshire:  “ Per- 
haps no  scrap  of  Latin  whatever  has  been  more 
quoted  than  this.  It  occasionally  falls  even  from 
those  who  are  scrupulous  even  to  pedantry 
in  their  Latinity,  and  will  not  admit  a word  into 
their  compositions  which  has  not  the  sanction  of 
the  first  age.”  The  word  dement o is  of  no  au- 
thority, either  as  a verb  active  or  neuter.  After 
a long  search,  for  the  purpose  of  deciding  a bet, 
some  gentlemen  of  Cambridge  found  it  among 
the  fragments  of  Euripides,  in  what  edition  I do 
not  recollect,  where  it  is  given  as  a translation  of 
a Greek  Iambick: 

Ov  ©63$  3-6\6<  curoh  trtu,  7r^an'  etTrcqeivdu. 

“ The  above  scrap  was  found  in  the  hand-writing 
of  a suicide  of  fashion,  Sir  D.  O.,  some  years  ago, 
lying  on  the  table  of  the  room  where  he  had  des- 
troyed himself.  The  suicide  was  a man  of  classi- 
cal acquirements : he  left  no  other  paper  behind 
him.”  Another  of  these  proverbial  sayings, 

“ Incidit  in  Scyllam,  eupiens  vitare  Charybdim,” 

I,  some  years  ago,  in  a note  on  a passage  in  The 
Merchant  of  Venice,  traced  to  its  source.  It  oc- 
curs (with  a slight  variation)  in  the  Alexandreis 
of  Philip  Gualtier  (a  poet  of  the  thirteenth  centu- 
ry), which  was  printed  at  Lyons  in  1558.  Darius 
is  the  person  addressed: 

“ Quo  teudis  inertem, 

Rex  periture,  fugam?  nescis,  lieu!  perdite,  nescis 

Quem  fugias : hostes  incurris  dum  fugis  hostem ; 

Incidis  in  Scyllam,  eupiens  vitare  Charybdim.” 

The  authour  of  this  line  was  first  ascertained  by 
Galleottus  Martius,  who  died  in  1476,  as  is  ob- 
served in  Menagiana,  vol.  iii.  p.  130,  edit.  1762. 
For  an  account  of  Philip  Gualtier,  see  Nossius  de 
Poet.  Latin.,  p.  254,  fol.  1697.  A line,  not  less 
frequently  quoted  than  any  of  the  preceding,  was 
suggested  for  inquiry,  several  years  ago,  in  a note 
on  The  Rape  ofLucrece: 

“ Solamen  miseris  socios  liabuisse  doloru.” 

But  the  authour  of  this  verse  has  not,  I believe, 
been  discovered. — Malone. 


that  he  said,  “ Sir,  a man  might  write  such 
stuff  forever,  if  he  would  abandon  his  mind 
to  it  ” 

He  said.t  “ A man  should  pass  a part  of 
his  time  with  the  laughers , by  which  means 
any  thing  ridiculous  or  particular  about  him 
might  be  presented  to  his  view,  and  cor- 
rected.” I observed,  he  must  have  been  a 
bold  laugher  who  would  have  ventured  to 
tell  Dr.  Johnson  of  any  of  his  peculiarities  L 

Having  observed  the  vain  ostentatious 
importance  of  many  people  in  quoting  the 
authority  of  dukes  and  lords,  as  having 
been  in  their  company,  he  said,  he  went  to 
the  other  extreme,  and  did  not  mention  his 
authority  when  he  should  have  done  it,  had 
it  not  been  that  of  a duke  or  a lord. 

Dr.  Goldsmith  said  once  to  Dr.  Johnson 
that  he  wished  for  some  additional  members 
to  the  Literary  Club,  to  give  it  an  agreeable 
variety;  “for,”  said  he,  “ there  can  now  be 
nothing  new  among  us : we  have  travelled 
over  one  another’s  minds.”  Johnson  seem- 
ed a little  angry,  and  said,  “ Sir,  you  have 
not  travelled  over  my  mind,  I promise  you.” 
Sir  Joshua,  however,  thought  Goldsmith 
right;  observing,  that  “when  people  have 
lived  a great  deal  together,  they  know  what 
each  of  them  will  say  on  every  subject.  A 
new  understanding,  therefore,  is  desirable; 
because  though  it  may  only  furnish  the 
same  sense  upon  a question  which  would 
have  been  furnished  by  those  with  whom 
we  are  accustomed  to  live,  yet  this  sense 
will  have  a different  colouring;  and  colour- 
ing is  of  much  effect  in  every  thing  else  as 
well  as  in  painting.” 

Johnson  used  to  say  that  he  made  it  a 
constant  rule  to  talk  as  well  as  he  could, 
both  as  to  sentiment  and  expression;  by 
which  means,  what  had  been  originally  ef- 
fort became  familiar  and  easy.  The  con- 
sequence of  this,  Sir  Joshua  observed,  was, 
that  his  common  conversation  in  all  compa- 
nies was  such  as  to  secure  him  universal  at- 
tention, as  something  above  the  usual  collo- 
quial style  was  expected. 

Yet,  though  Johnson  had  this  habit  in 
company,  when  another  mode  was  neces- 
sary, in  order  to  investigate  truth,  he  could 
descend  to  a language  intelligible  to  the 
meanest  capacity.  An  instance  of  this  was 
witnessed  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  when 
they  were  present  at  an  examination  of  a 

1 I am  happy,  however,  to  mention  a pleasing 
instance  of  his  enduring  with  great  gentleness  to 
hear  one  of  his  most  striking  particularities  pointed 
out:  Miss  Hunter,  a niece  of  his  friend,  Christopher 
Smart,  when  a very  young  girl,  struck  by  his  ex- 
traordinary motions,  said  to  him,  “ Pray,  Dr. 
Johnson,  why  do  you  make  such  strange  gestures?’* 
“ From  bad  habit,”  he  replied.  “ Do  you,  my 
dear,  take  care  to  guard  against  bad  hab'ts.’* 
This  I was  told  by  the  young  lady’s  brother  as 
Margate. — Boswell. 


1783.— iTTVT.  74. 


333 


t, tile  blackguard  boy,  by  Mr.  Saunders 
Welch,  the  late  Westminster  justice. 
Welch,  who  imagined  that  he  was  exalting 
himself  in  Dr.  Johnson’s  eyes  by  using  big 
words,  spoke  in  a manner  that  was  utterly 
unintelligible  to  the  boy;  Dr.  Johnson  per- 
ceiving it,  addressed  himself  to  the  boy, 
and  changed  the  pompous  phraseology  into 
colloquial  language.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 
who  was  much  amused  by  this  proceeding, 
which  seemed  a kind  of  reversing  of  what 
might  have  been  expected  from  the  two 
men,  took  notice  of  it  to  Dr.  Johnson,  as 
they  walked  away  by  themselves.  Johnson 
said,  that  it  was  continually  the  case;  and 
that  he  was  always  obliged  to  translate  the 
justice’s  swelling  diction  (smiling),  so  as 
that  his  meaning  might  be  understood  by 
the  vulgar,  from  whom  information  was  to 
be  obtained. 

Sir  Joshua  once  observed  to  him,  that  he 
had  talked  above  the  capacity  of  some  peo- 
ple with  whom  they  had  been  in  company 
together.  “No  matter,  sir,”  said  Johnson; 
“ they  consider  it  as  a compliment  to  be 
talked  to  as  if  they  were  wiser  than  they 
are.  So  true  is  this,  sir,  that  Baxter  made 
it  a rule  in  every  sermon  that  he  preached 
to  say  something*  that  was  above  the  capa- 
city of  his  audience  h” 

Johnson’s  dexterity  in  retort,  when  he 
seemed  to  be  driven  to  an  extremity  by  his 
adversary,  was  very  remarkable.  Of  his 
Dower,  in  this  respect,  our  common  friend, 
Mr.  Windham,  of  Norfolk,  has  been  pleased 
to  furnish  me  with  an  eminent  instance. 
However  unfavourable  to  Scotland,  he  uni- 
formly gave  liberal  praise  to  George  Bu- 
chanan, as  a writer.  In  a conversation 
concerning  the  literary  merits  of  the  two 
countries,  in  which  Buchanan  was  intro- 
duced, a Scotchman,  imagining  that  on  this 
ground  he  should  have  an  undoubted  tri- 
umph over  him,  exclaimed,  “ Ah,  Dr.  John- 
son, what  would  you  have  said  of  Buchan- 
an had  he  been  an  Englishman  ? ” “ Why, 


1 The  justness  of  this  remark  is  confirmed  by 
the  following  story,  for  which  I am  indebted  to 
Lord  Eliot: — A country  parson,  who  was  remark- 
able for  quoting  scraps  of  Latin  in  his  sermons, 
having  died,  one  of  his  parishioners  was  asked 
how  he  liked  his  successor:  “ He  is  a very  good 
preacher,”  was  his  answer,  “ but  no  Latiner .” 
— Bos  we  li..  [Mr.  Chalmers  makes  this  anec- 
dote interesting  by  giving  it  “ a local  habitation 
and  a name.”  This  “very  good  preacher” 
was,  he  says,  the  celebrated  Dr.  Edward  Pocock, 
who  had  a living  at  Childry,  near  Oxford.  One 
of  his  Oxford  friends,  as  he  travelled  through 
Childry,  inquiring,  for  his  diversion,  of  some 
people,  who  was  their  minister  ? and  how  they 
liked  him?  received  from  them  this  answer:  “Our 
parson  is  one  Mr.  Pocock,  a plain,  honest  man; 
but,  master,”  said  they,  “ he  is  no  Latiner .” — 
Pocock’s  Life , sect.  iii. — Ed.] 


sir,”  said  Johnson,  a*  ter  a little  pause,  “ I 
should  not  have  said  of  Buchanan,  had  he 
been  an  Englishman , what  I will  now  say 
of  him  as  Scotchman, — that  he  was  the  on- 
ly man  of  genius  his  country  ever  pro 
duced2.” 

And  this  brings  to  my  recollection  anoth 
er  instance  of  the  same  nature.  I once  re- 
minded him  that  when  Dr.  Adam  Smith 
was  expatiating  on  the  beauty  of  Glasgow, 
he  had  cut  him  short  by  saying,  “ Pray,  sir, 
have  you  ever  seen  Brentford?  ” and  I took 
the  liberty  to  add,  “ My  dear  sir,  surely 
that  was  shocking .”  “ Why  then,  sir,” 
he  replied,  “ you  have  never  seen  Brent- 
ford.” 

[When  his  friend  Mr.  Stiahan,  a pj0ZZi 
native  of  Scotland,  at  his  return  Anec. 
from  the  Hebrides  asked  him,  with  p' 133- 
a firm  tone  of  voice,  what  he  thought  of  his 
country?  “ That  it  is  a very  vile  country 
to  be  sure,  sir;  ” returned  for  answer  Dr. 
Johnson.  “Well,  sir!”  replies  the  other 
somewhat  mortified,  “ God  made  it.” 
“ Certainly  he  did,”  answers  Dr.  Johnson 
again;  “ but  we  must  always  remember 
that  he  made  it  for  Scotchmen,  and  compa- 
risons are  odious,  Mr.  Strahan;  but  God 
made  hell.”] 

Though  his  usual  phrase  for  conversation 
was  talk , yet  he  made  a distinction;  for 
when  he  once  told  me  that  he  dined  the 
day  before  at  a friend’s  house,  with  “ a ve- 
ry pretty  company;  ” and  I asked  him  if 
there  was  good  conversation,  he  answered, 
“No,  sir;  we  had  talk  enough,  but  no  con- 
versation; there  was  nothing  discussed .” 

Talking  of  the  success  of  the  Scotch  in 
London,  he  imputed  it  in  a considerable  de- 
gree to  their  spirit  of  nationality.  “ Y }u 
know,  sir,”  said  he,  “ that  no  Scotchman 
publishes  a book,  or  has  a play  brought  up- 
on the  stage,  but  there  are  five  hundred 
people  ready  to  applaud  him.” 

He  gave  much  praise  to  his  friend  Dr 
Burney’s  elegant  and  entertaining  Travels, 
and  told  Mr.  Seward  that  he  had  them  in 
his  eye  when  writing  his  “ Journey  to  the 
Western  Islands  of  Scotland.” 

Such  was  his  sensibility,  and  so  much 
was  he  affected  by  pathetick  poetry,  that, 
when  he  was  reading  Dr.  Beattie’s  “ Her 

2 This  prompt  and  sarcastic  retort  may  not  un- 
aptly be  compared  with  Sir  Henry  Wotton’s  cele- 
brated answer  to  a priest  in  Italy,  who  asked  him 
“ Where  was  your  religion  to  be  found  before 
Luther  ? ” “ 3Iy  religion  was  to  be  found  linen, 

where  yours  is  not  to  be  found  now,  in  the 
written  word  of  God.”  But  Johnson’s  admirable 
reply  has  a sharper  edge  and  perhaps  more  inge- 
nuity than  that  of  Wotton. — Malone.  [In 
Selden’s  Table  Talk  we  have  the  following 
more  witty  reply  made  to  this  same  question: 
“ Where  was  America  an  hundred  or  six  score 
years  ago?” — J.  II.  Markland.1 


334 


1783. — /ETAT.  74. 


mit,”  in  my  piesence,  it  brought  tears  into 
his  eyes 1. 

He  disapproved  much  of  mingling  real 
facts  with  fiction.  On  this  account  he  cen- 
sured a book  entitled  “ Love  and  Mad- 
ness2.” 

Mr.  Hoole  told  him  he  was  born  in  Moor- 
fields,  and  had  received  part  of  his  early  in- 
struction in  Grub-street.  “ Sir,”  said  John- 
son, smiling,  c,'you  have  been  regularly 
educated.”  Having  asked  who  was  his  in- 
structor, and  Mr.  Hoole  having  answered, 
“ My  uncle,  sir,  wh)  was  a tailor;”  John- 
son, recollecting  himself,  said, cc  Sir,  I knew 
him : we  called  him  the  metaphysical  tailor. 
He  was  of  a club  in  Old-street,  with  me  and 
George  Psalmanazar,  and  some  others:  but 
pray,  sir,  was  he  a good  tailor?”  Mr. 
Hoole  having  answered  that  he  believed  he 
was  too  mathematical,  and  used  to  draw 
squares  and  triangles  on  his  shopboard,  so 
that  he  did  not  excel  in  the  cut  of  a coat, — 
K I am  sorry  for  it,”  said  Johnson,  " for  I 
would  have  every  man  to  be  master  of  his 
own  business.” 

[This  probably  was  the  person  to 
^5^7  whom  the  following  anecdote,  told 
by  Sir  J.  Hawkins,  relates.  John- 
son would  frequently  adjourn  with  Psalma- 
nazar from  his  lodgings  to  a neighbouring 
alehouse,  and,  in  the  common  room,  con- 
verse with  him  on  subjects  of  importance. 
In  one  of  these  conversations,  Johnson  took 
occasion  to  remark  on  the  human  mind, 
that  it  had  a necessary  tendency  to  improve- 
ment, and  that  it  would  frequently  antici- 
pate instruction,  and  enable  ingenious  minds 
to  acquire  knowledge.  “ Sir,”  said  a stran- 
ger that  overheard  him,  “ that  I deny:  I am 
a tailor,  and  have  had  many  apprentices, 
but  never  one  that  could  make  a<coat  till  I 
had  taken  great  pains  in  teaching  him.”] 

In  pleasant  reference  to  himself  and  Mr. 
Hoole,  as  brother  authours,  he  often  said, 
“ Let  you  and  I,  sir,  go  together,  and  eat  a 
beef-steak  in  Grub-street.” 

Sir  William  Chambers,  that  great  archi- 
tect, whose  works  show  a sublimity  3 of  ge- 
nius, and  who  is  esteemed  by  all  who  knew 
him,  for  his  social,  hospitable,  and  generous 
qualities,  submitted  the  manuscript  of  his 
“ Chinese  Architecture  ” to  Dr.  Johnson’s 
perusal.  Johnson  was  much  pleased  with 
it,  and  said,  “ It  wants  no  addition  nor  cor- 

1  The  particular  passage  which  excited  this 
strong  emotion  was,  as  I have  heard  from  my 
father,  the  third  stanza,  “ ’Tis  night,” — &c. — 
J.  Boswell.  [It  is  the  fourth  stanza. — J.  II. 
Markland. 

2 [A  kind  of  novel  founded  on  the  story  of  Mr. 
Hackman  and  Miss  Ray,  see  p.  208  of  the 
present  volume. — Ed.] 

3 [The  Editor  does  not  recollect  any  wotk  of 

Sir  YV.  Chambers  which  can  be  said  to  exhibit 

* sublimity  of  genius .” — Ed.] 


rection,  but  a few  lines  of  introduction,  i 
which  he  furnished,  and  Sir  William 
adopted  4. 

He  said  to  Sir  William  Scott,  <£  The  age 
is  running  mad  after  innovation;  and  all 
the  business  of  the  world  is  to  be  done  in  a 
new  way;  men  are  to  be  hanged  in  a new 
way;  Tyburn  itself  is  not  safe  from  the 
fury  of  innovation.”  It  having  been  ar- 
gued that  this  was  an  improvement, — “ No, 
sir,”  said  he,  eagerly, tc  it  is  not  an  improve- 
ment; they  object,  that  the  old  method  drew 
together  a number  of  spectators.  Sir,  ex- 
ecutions are  intended  to  draw  spectators. 
If  they  do  not  draw  spectators,  they  don’t 
answer  their  purpose.  The  old  method 
was  most  satisfactory  to  all  parties;  the 
publick  was  gratified  by  a procession;  the 
criminal  was  supported  by  it.5.  Why  is  all 
this  to  be  swept  away?  ” I perfectly  agree 
with  Dr.  Johnson  upon  this  head,  and  am 
persuaded  that  executions  now,  the  solemn 
procession  being  discontinued,  have  not 
nearly  the  effect  which  they  formerly  had. 
Magistrates,  both  in  London  and  elsewhere, 
have,  I am  afraid,  in  this  had  too  much  re- 
gard to  their  own  ease. 

Of  Dr.  Hurd,  Bishop  of  Worcester 
Johnson  said  to  a friend, — u Hurd,  sir,  is 
one  of  a set  of  men  who  account  for  every 
thing  systematically  ; for  instance,  it  has 
been  a fashion  to  wear  scarlet  breeches  ; 
these  men  would  tell  you,  that  according  to 
causes  and  effects,  no  other  wear  could  at 
that  time  have  been  chosen.”  He,  however, 

4 The  Honourable  Horace  Walpole,  now  Eari 
of  Orford,  thus  bears  testimony  to  this  gentleman’s 
merit  as  a writer:  “ Mr.  Chambers’s  ‘ Treatise  on 
Civil  Architecture’  is  the  most  sensible  book,  and 
the  most  exempt  from  prejudices,  that  ever  was 
written  on  that  science.” — Preface  to  Anecdotes 
of  Painting  in  England.  The  introductory 
lines  are  these:  “ It  is  difficult  to  avoid  praising 
too  little  or  too  much.  The  boundless  pane- 
gyricks  which  have  been  lavished  upon  the 
Chinese  learning,  policy,  and  arts,  show  with 
what  power  novelty  attracts  regard,  and  how 
naturally  esteem  swells  into  admiration. 

“ I am  far  from  desiring  to  be  numbered 
among  the  exaggerators  of  Chinese  excellence.  I 
consider  them  as  great,  or  wise,  only  in  compari- 
son with  the  nations  that  surround  them;  and 
have  no  intention  to  place  them  in  competition 
either  with  the  ancients  or  with  the  moderns  of 
this  part  of  the  world;  yet  they  must  be  allowed 
to  claim  our  notice  as  a distinct  and  very  singular 
race  of  men;  as  the  inhabitants  of  a region  divided 
by  its  situation  from  all  civilized  countries,  who 
have  formed  their  own  manners,  and  invented 
their  own  arts,  without  the  assistance  of  example.” 
— Boswell. 

5 [What  could  Dr.  Johnson  have  meant  by 
saying,  that  the  criminal  was  supported  by  a 
publick  procession ? The  reverse  is  obviously 
the  truth.  It  must  be  recollected  that  Boswell 
had  the  mania  of  witnessing  executions. — Ed.] 


1783. — yETAT.  74. 


335 


said  of  him  at  another  time  to  the  same 
gentleman,  “ Hurd,  sir,  is  a man  whose  ao 
ouaintance  is  a valuable  acquisition.” 

That  learned  and  ingenious  prelate,  it  is 
well  known,  published  at  one  period  of  his 
life  “ Moral  and  Political  Dialogues,”  with 
a wofully  whiggish  cast.  Afterwards,  his 
lordship  having  thought  better,  came  to  see 
his  error,  and  republished  the  work  with  a 
more  constitutional  spirit.  Johnson,  how- 
ever, was  unwilling  to  allow  him  full  credit 
for  his  political  conversion.  I remember 
when  his  lordship  declined  the  honour  of  be- 
ing the  archbishop  of  Canterbury,  Johnson 
said,  “ 1 am  glad  he  did  not  go  to  Lambeth; 
for,  after  all,  I fear  he  is  a whig  in  his  heart.” 

Johnson’s  attention  to  precision  and 
clearness  in  expression  was  very  remarka- 
ble. He  disapproved  of  a parenthesis;  and 
I believe  in  all  his  voluminous  writings, 
not  half  a dozen  of  them  will  be  found. 
He  never  used  the  phrases  the  former  and 
the  latter , having  observed,  that  they  often 
occasioned  obscurity ; he  therefore  con- 
trived to  construct  his  sentences  so  as  not  to 
have  occasion  for  them,  and  would  even 
rather  repeat  the  same  words,  in  order  to 
avoid  them.  Nothing  is  more  common 
than  to  mistake  surnames,  when  we  hear 
them  carelessly  uttered  for  the  first  time. 
To  prevent  this,  he  used  not  only  to  pro- 
nounce them  slowly  and  distinctly,  but  to 
take  the  trouble  of  spelling  them  ; a prac- 
tice which  I have  often  followed,  and  which 
I wish  were  general. 

Such  was  the  heat  and  irritability  of  his 
blood,  that  not  only  did  he  pare  his  nails  to 
the  quick,  but  scraped  the  joints  of  his  fin- 
gers with  a penknife,  till  they  seemed  quite 
red  and  raw  h 

The  heterogeneous  composition  of  hu- 
man nature  was  remarkably  exemplified  in 
Johnson.  His  liberality  in  giving  his 
money  to  persons  in  distress  was  extraordi- 
nary. Yet  there  lurked  about  him  a pro- 
pensity to  paltry  saving.  One  day  I owned 
to  him,  that  “ I was  occasionally  troubled 
with  a fit  of  narrowness .”  “ Why,  sir,” 

said  he,  “so  am  I.  But  I do  not  tell  it .” 
He  has  now  and  then  borrowed  a shilling  of 
me  ; and  when  I asked  him  for  it  again, 
seemed  to  he  rather  out  of  humour.  A 
droll  little  circumstance  once  occurred  ; as 
if  he  meant  to  reprimand  my  minute  exact- 
ness as  a creditor,  he  thus  addressed  me; — 
“ Boswell,  lend  me  sixpence — not  to  be  re- 
paid.” 

This  great  man’s  attention  to  small 
things  was  very  remarkable.  As  an  in- 
stance of  it,  he  one  day  said  to  me,  “ Sir, 

1  [This  looks  like  what  Mr.  Partridge  would 
call  a non  scquitur;  at  least,  the  Editor  does  not 
see  how  extreme  heat  and  irritability  of  the  blood 
should  cause  a man  to  \ are  his  nails  too  close. — 

Ed.] 


when  you  get  silver  in  change  for  a guinea, 
look  carefully  at  it;  you  may  find  some  cu- 
rious piece  of  coin.” 

Though  a stern  true-born  Englishman , 
and  fully  prejudiced  against  all  other  na- 
tions, he  had  discernment  enough  to  see, 
and  candour  enough  to  censure,  the  cold 
reserve  too  common  among  Englishmen 
towards  strangers:  “Sir,”  said  he,  “two 
men  of  any  other  nation  who  are  shown 
into  a room  together,  at  a house  where 
they  are  both  visitors,  will  immediately  find 
some  conversation.  But  two  Englishmen 
will  probably  go  each  to  a different  window, 
and  remain  in  obstinate  silence.  Sir,  we 
as  yet  do  not  enough  understand  the  com 
mon  rights  of  humanity.” 

Johnson  was  at  a certain  period  of  his 
life  a good  deal  with  the  Earl  of  Shel- 
burne 2,  now  Marquis  of  Lansdown,  as  he 
doubtless  could  not  but  have  a due  value 
for  that  nobleman’s  activity  of  mind,  and 
uncommon  acquisitions  of  important  know- 
ledge, however  much  he  might  disapprove 
of  other  parts  of  his  lordship’s  character, 
which  were  widely  different  from  his  own. 

Maurice  Morgann,  Esq.,  authour  of  the 
very  ingenious  “ Essay  on  the  Character 
of  Falstaff3,”  being  a particular  friend  of 
his  lordship,  had  once  an  opportunity  of 
entertaining  Johnson  a day  or  two  at  Wy- 
combe, when  its  lord  was  absent,  and  by 
him  I have  been  favoured  with  two  anec- 
dotes. 

One  is  not  a little  to  the  credit  of  John- 
son’s candour.  Mr.  Morgann  and  he  had  a 
dispute  pretty  late  at  night,  in  which 
Johnson  would  not  give  up,  though  he  had 
the  wrong  side;  and,  in  short,  both  kept 
the  field.  Next  morning,  when  they  met 
in  the  breakfasting-room,  Dr.  Johnson  ac- 
costed Mr.  Morgann  thus:  “ Sir,  I have 
been  thinking  on  -our  dispute  last  night; — 
You  were  in  the  right  ” 

The  other  was  as  follows:  Johnson,  for 
sport  perhaps,  or  from  the  spirit  of  contra- 
diction, eagerly  maintained  that  Derrick 
had  merit  as  a writer.  Mr.  Morgann  ar- 
gued with  him  directly,  in  vain.  At 
length  he  had  recourse  to  this  device. 
“Pray,  sir,”  said  he,  “whether  do  you 
reckon  Derrick  or  Smart  the  best  poet?” 
Johnson  at  once  felt  himself  roused;  and 

2 [The  accuracy  of  this  assertion  seems  doubt- 
ful; at  which  period  of  his  life  could  Johnson 
“ have  been  a good  deal  with  Lord  Shel- 
burne?”  words  that  imply  a familiar  intercourse: 
of  which  neither  in  Mr.  Boswell’s  detail  of  his 
life,  nor  in  his  letters,  does  any  trace  appear. 
See  ante,  p.  158,  note. — Ed.] 

3 Johnson  being  asked  his  opinion  of  this  Essay, 
answered,  “ Why,  sir,  we  shall  have  the  man 
come  forth  again;  and  as  he  has  proved  Falstaff 
to  be  no  coward,  he  may  prove  Iago  to  be  a very 
good  character.” — Boswell. 


136 


1783. — iETAT.  74. 


mswered,  “ Sir,  there  is  no  settling-  the 
joint  of  precedency  between  a louse  and  a 
flea.” 

[It  has  been  asserted  ( European  Mag. 
i796,  p.  16),  that  the  foregoing  comparison 
was  made,  not  between  Derrick  and  Smart , 
but  between  Derrick  and  Boyce,  a person] 
Piozzi  [of  whose  ingenuity  and  distress 
Anec.  Johnson  told  some  curious  anec- 
p,92‘  dotes;  particularly  that  when  he 
was  almost  perishing  with  hunger,  and 
some  money  was  produced  to  purchase  him 
a dinner,  he  got  a bit  of  roast  beef,  but 
could  not  eat  it  without  ketchup,  and  laid 
out  the  last  half-guinea  he  possessed  in 
truffles  and  mushrooms,  eating  them  in  bed 
too,  for  want  of  clothes,  or  even  a shirt  to 
sit  up  in.] 

Once,  when  checking  my  boasting  too 
frequently  of  myself  in  company,  he  said  to 
me,  “ B-oswell,  you  often  vaunt  so  much  as 
to  provoke  ridicule.  You  put  me  in  mind 
of  a man  who  was  standing  in  the  kitchen 
of  an  inn  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  and  thus 
accosted  the  person  next  him.  c Do  you 
know,  sir,  who  I am? 5 ‘ No,  sir,’  said  the 

other,  c I have  not  that  advantage.’  c Sir,’ 
said  he,  ‘ I am  the  great  Twalmley,  who 
invented  the  New  Floodgate  Iron  V ” The 
Bishop  of  Killaloe,  on  my  repeating  the  sto- 
ry to  him,  defended  Twalmley,  by  observ- 
ing that  he  was  entitled  to  the  epithet  of 
great ; for  Virgil  in  his  group  of  worthies  in 
the  Elysian  fields — 

Hie  manus  ob  patriam  pugnaudo  vulnera  passi,  &e. 

zEn.  6.  v.  660. 

mentions 

Inventas  aut  qui  vitam  excoluere  per  artes. 

v.  663. 

He  was  pleased  to  say  to  me  one  morn- 
ing when  we  were  left  alone  in  his  study, 
“ Boswell,  I think  I am  easier  with  you  than 
with  almost  any  body.” 

He  would  not  allow  Mr.  David  Hume 
any  credit  for  his  political  principles,  though 
similar  to  his  own;  saying  of  him,  “ Sir,  he 
was  a tory  by  chance.” 

His  afeute  observation  of  human  life  made 
him  remark,  “ Sir,  there  is  nothing  by  which 
a man  exasperates  most  people  more  than 
by  displaying  a superior  ability  of  brilliancy 
in  conversation.  They  seem  pleased  at  the 
time;  but  their  envy  makes  them  curse  him 
at  their  hearts 1  2.” 

My  readers  will  probably  be  surprised  to 
hear  that  the  great  Dr.  Johnson  could 


1 What  the  great  Twalmley  was  so  proud  of 
naving  invented  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  a 
kind  of  box-iron  for  smoothing  linen. — Boswell. 

2 [This  may  be  doubted.  Johnson  himself  was, 
as  we  have  seen,  sometimes  envious  of  the  bril- 
liancy of  his  friends;  but,  in  general,  surely  per- 
sons of  a brilliant  conversation  (if  it  be  not  sar- 
castic) are  rather  popular. — Ed. 


amuse  himself  with  so  slight  and  playful  a 
species  of  composition  as  a charade.  I 
have  recovered  one  which  he  made  on  Dr. 
Barnard,  now  Lord  Bishop  of  Killaloe;  who 
has  been  pleased  for  many  years  to  treat 
me  with  so  much  intimacy  and  social  ease, 
j that  I may  presume  to  call  him  not  only 
my  right  reverend,  but  my  very  dear  friend. 
I therefore  with  peculiar  pleasure  give  to 
the  world  a just  and  elegant  compliment 
thus  paid  to  his  lordship  by  Johnson. 

CHARADE. 

“My  first 3 shuts  out  thieves  from  your  house  or 
your  room, 

My  second 4 expresses  a Syrian  perfume. 

My  whole 5 is  a man  in  whose  converse  is  shared 

The  strength  of  a Bar  and  the  sweetness  ofNard.” 

Johnson  asked  Richard  Owen  Cambridge, 
Esq.  if  he  had  read  the  Spanish  translation 
of  Sallust,  said  to  be  written  by  a prince  of 
Spain,  with  the  assistance  of  his  tutor,  who 
is  professedly  the  authour  of  a treatise  an- 
nexed, on  the  Phoenician  language. 

Mr.  Cambridge  commended  the  work, 
particularly  as  he  thought  the  translator  un- 
derstood his  authour  better  than  is  common- 
ly the  case  with  translators;  but  said,  he 
was  disappointed  in  the  purpose  for  which 
he  borrowed  the  book;  to  see  whether  a 
Spaniard  could  be  better  furnished  with  in- 
scriptions from  monuments,  coins,  or  other 
antiquities,  which  he  might  more  probably 
find  on  a coast  so  immediately  opposite  to 
Carthage,  than  the  antiquaries  of  any  other 
countries.  Johnson.  “I  am  very  sorry 
you  were  not  gratified  in  your  expectations.” 
Cambridge.  c<  The  language  would  have 
been  of  little  use,  as  there  is  no  history  ex- 
isting in  that  tongue  to  balance  the  partial 
accounts  which  the  Roman  writers  have 
left  us.”  Johnson.  “No,  sir.  They  have 
not  been  partial,  they  have  told  their  own 
story  without  shame  or  regard  to  equitable 
treatment  of  their  injured  enemy;  they  had 
no  compunction,  no  feeling  for  a Carthagin- 
ian. Why,  sir,  they  would  never  have 
borne  Virgil’s  description  of  Eneas’s  treat- 
ment of  Dido,  if  she  had  not  been  a Cartha* 
ginian.” 

I gratefully  acknowledge  this  and  other 
communications  from  Mr.  Cambridge, 
whom,  if  a beautiful  villa  on  the  banks  of 
the  Thames,  a few  miles  distant  from  Lon- 
don, a numerous  and  excellent  library, 
which  he  accurately  knows  and  reads,  a 
choice  collection  of  pictures,  which  he  un- 
derstands and  relishes,  an  easy  fortune,  an 
amiable  family,  an  extensive  circle  of  friends 
and  acquaintance,  distinguished  by  rank, 
fashion,  and  genius,  a literary  fame,  various, 
elegant,  and  still  increasing,  colloquial  tal- 
ents rarely  to  be  found,  and,  with  all  these 
means  of  happiness,  enjoying,  when  well 

3  Bar.  4 Nard.  6 Barnard 


1788  -jETAT.  74 


331 


advanced  in  years,  health  and  vigour  of  bo- 
dy, serenity  and  animation  of  mind,  do  not 
entitle  to  be  addressed  fortunate  senex!  I 
know  not  to  whom,  m any  age,  that  expres- 
sion could  with  propriety  have  been  used. 
Long  may  he  live  to  hear  and  to  feel  it 1 ! 

Johnson’s  love  of  little  children,  which  he 
discovered  upon  all  occasions,  calling  them 
11  pretty  dears,”  and  giving  them  sweet- 
meats, was  an  undoubted  proof  of  the  real 
humanity  and  gentleness  of  his  disposition  2. 

His  uncommon  kindness  to  his  servants, 
and  serious  concern,  not  only  for  their  com 
fort  in  this  world,  but  their  happiness  in  the 
next,  was  another  unquestionable  evidence 
of  what  all,  who  were  intimately  acquainted 
with  him,  knew  to  be  true. 

Nor  would  it  be  just,  under  this  head,  to 
omit  the  fondness  which  he  showed  for  ani- 
mals which  he  had  taken  under  his  protec- 
tion. I never  shall  forget  the  indulgence 
with  which  he  treated  Hodge,  his  cat;  for 
whom  he  himself  used  to  go  out  and  buy 
oysters,  lest  the  servants,  having  that  trou- 
ble, should  take  a dislike  to  the  poor  crea- 
ture. I am,  unluckily,  one  of  those  who 
have  an  antipathy  to  a cat,  so  that  I am  un- 
easy when  in  the  room  with  one;  and  I own 
I frequently  suffered  a good  deal  from  the 
presence  of  this  same  Hodge.  I recollect 
him  one  day  scrambling  up  Dr.  Johnson’s 
breast,  apparently  with  much  satisfaction, 
while  my  friend,  smiling  and  half-whistling, 
rubbed  down  his  back,  and  pulled  him  by 
the  tail;  and  when  I observed  he  was  a fine 
cat,  saying,  “ Why,  yes,  sir,  but  I have  had 
cats  whom  I liked  better  than  this;  ” and 
then,  as  if  perceiving  Hodge  to  be  out  of 
countenance,  adding,  u But  he  is  a very  fine 
cat,  a very  fine  cat  indeed.” 

This  reminds  me  of  the  ludicrous  account 
which  he  gave  Mr.  Langton  of  the  despica- 
ble state  of  a young  gentleman  of  good  fam- 
ily. “ Sir,  when  I heard  of  him  last,  he  was 
running  about  town  shooting  cats.”  And 
then,  in  a sort  of  kindly  reverie,  he  be- 
thought himself  of  his  own  favourite  cat, 
and  said,  “ But  Hodge  sha  n’t  be  shot;  no, 
no,  Hodge  shall  not  be  shot.” 

He  thought  Mr.  Beauclerk  made  a shrewd 
and  judicious  remark  to  Mr.  Langton,  who, 
after  having  been  for  the  first  time  in  com- 
pany with  a well-known  wit  about  town, 
was  warmly  admiring  and  praising  him, — 
“ See  him  again,”  said  Beauclerk. 

His  respect  for  the  hierarchy,  and  par- 
ticularly the  dignitaries  of  the  church,  has 
been  more  than  once  exhibited  in  the  course 

1 Mr  Cambridge  enjoyed  all  the  blessings  here 
enumerated  for  many  years  after  this  passage  was 
written.  He  died  at  his  seat  near  Twickenham, 
Sept.  17,  1802,  in  his  eighty-sixth  year. — Ma- 
lone. 

2 [See  ante,  p.  59,  where  Johnson  gives  a less 
amiable  account  of  himself. — Ed  ] 

vol  n 4.8 


of  this  work.  Mr.  Sewara  saw  him  pre 
sented  to  the  Archbishop  of  York,  and  de- 
scribed his  bow  to  an  archbishop  as  such 
a studied  elaboration  of  homage,  such  an 
extension  of  limb,  such  a flexion  of  body, 
as  have  seldom  or  ever  been  equalled. 

I cannot  help  mentioning  with  much  re- 
gret, that  b}»  my  own  negligence  I lost  an 
opportunity  of  having  the  history  of  my 
family  from  its  founder,  Thomas  Boswell, 
in  1504,  recorded  and  illustrated  by  John- 
son’s pen.  Such  was  his  goodness  to  me, 
that  when  I presumed  to  solicit  him  for  so 
great  a favour,  he  was  pleased  to  say,  “ Let 
me  have  all  the  materials  you  can  collect, 
and  I will  do  it  both  in  Latin  and  English; 
then  let  it  be  printed,  and  copies  o',  it  be 
deposited  in  various  places  for  security  and 
preservation.”  I can  now  only  do  the  best 
I can  to  make  up  for  this  loss,  keeping  my 
great  master  steadily  in  view.  Family  his- 
tories, like  the  imagines  majorum  of  the 
ancients,  excite  to  virtue  ; and  I wish  that 
they  who  really  have  blood,  would  be  more 
careful  to  trace  and  ascertain  its  course. 
Some  have  affected  to  laugh  at  the  history 
of  the  house  of  Yvery  3 : it  would  be  well 
if  many  others  would  transmit  their  pedi- 
grees to  posterity,  with  the  same  accuracy 
and  generous  zeal  with  which  the  noble 
lord  who  compiled  that  work  has  honoured 
and  perpetuated  his  ancestry. 

On  Thursday,  April  10,  I introduced  to 
him,  at  his  house  in  Bolt-court,  the  Hon- 
ourable and  Reverend  William  Stuart4, 
son  of  the  Earl  of  Bute  ; a gentleman  truly 
worthy  of  being  known  to  Johnson  ; being, 
with  all  the  advantages  of  high  birth,  learn 
ing,  travel,  and  elegant  manners,  an  exem 
plary  parish  priest  in  every  respect. 

After  some  compliments  on  both  sides, 
the  tour  which  Johnson  and  1 had  made  to 
the  Hebrides  was  mentioned.  Johnson.  “I 
got  an  acquisition  of  more  ideas  by  it  than 
by  any  thing  that  I remember.  I saw  quite 
a different  system  of  life.”  Boswell 
“ You  would  not  like  to  make  the  same 
journey  again  ? ” Johnson.  i:  Why  no, 
sir;  not  the  same : it  is  a tale  told.  Gravina, 
an  Italian  critick,  observes,  that  every  man 
desires  to  see  that  of  which  he  has  read  , 
but  no  man  desires  to  read  an  account  of 
what  he  has  seen:  so  much  does  descrip 
tion  fall  short  of  reality.  Description  only 
excites  curiosity  ; seeing  satisfies  it.  Other 


3 Written  by  John,  Earl  of  Egmont,  and  printed 
(but  not  published)  in  1764. — Malone. 

4 At  that  time  vicar  of  Luton,  in  Bedfordshire, 
where  he  lived  for  some  years,  and  fully  merited 
the  character  given  of  h.m  in  the  text;  he  was 
afterwards  Lord  Archbishop  of  Armagh,  and  Pri- 
mate of  Ireland — Malone:  [and  died  May 
1822,  in  a very  strange  way,  having  had  poison 
by  mistake  for  medicine,  administered  iO  him  bj 
the  hand  of  his  lady. — Ed.] 


838 


1783. — iETAT.  74. 


people  may  go  and  see  the  Hebrides.”  Bos- 
well. “ I should  wish  to  go  and  see 
some  country  totally  different  from  what  I 
have  been  used  to  ; such  as  Turkey,  where 
religion  and  every  thing  else  are  different.” 
Johnson.  “Yes,  sir;  there  are  two  ob- 
jects of  curiosity, — the  Christian  world,  and 
the  Mahometan  world.  All  *he  rest  may 
be  considered  as  barbarous.”  Boswell. 
“ Pray,  sir,  is  the  f Turkish  Spy  ’ a genuine 
book?”  Johnson.  “ No,  sir.  Mrs.  Man- 
ley,  in  her  life,  says,  that  her  father  wrote 
the  first  two  volumes  : and  in  another  book, 
* Dunton’s  1 Life  and  Errours,’  we  find  that 
the  rest  was  written  by  one  Sault,  at  two 
guineas  a sheet,  under  the  direction  of  Dr. 
Midgeley  2.” 

Boswell.  “ This  has  been  a very  fac- 
tious reign,  owing  to  the  too  great  indul- 
gence of  government.”  Johnson.  “ I 
think  so,  sir.  What  at  first  was  lenity, 
grew  timidity.  Yet  this  is  reasoning  a pos- 
teriori,  and  may  not  be  just.  Supposing  a 
few  had  at  first  been  punished,  I believe 
faction  would  have  been  crushed  ; but  it 
might  have  been  said,  that  it  was  a sangui- 
nary reign.  A man  cannot  tell  a priori 
what  will  be  best  for  government  to  do. 
This  reign  has  been  very  unfortunate.  W e 
have  had  an  unsuccessful  war  ; but  that 
does  not  prove  that  we  have  been  ill  govern- 
ed. One  side  or  other  must  prevail  in  war, 
as  one  or  other  must  win  at  play.  When 
we  beat  Louis,  we  were  not  better  governed; 
nor  were  the  French  better  governed  when 
Louis  beat  us.” 

On  Saturday,  April  12,  I visited  him,  in 
company  with  Mr.  Windham,  of  Norfolk, 
whom,  though  a whig,  he  highly  valued. 
One  of  the  best  things  he  ever  said  was  to 
this  gentleman  ; who,  before  he  set  out  for 
Ireland  as  secretary  to  Lord  Northington, 
when  lord  lieutenant,  expressed  to  the  sage 
some  modest  and  virtuous  doubts,  whether 
he  could  bring  himself  to  practise  those  arts 
which  it  is  supposed  a person  in  that  situa- 
tion has  occasion  to  employ.  “ Do  n’t  be 
afraid,  sir,”  said  Johnson,  with  a pleasant 
smile  ; “you  will  soon  make  a very  pretty 
rascal.” 

He  talked  to-day  a good  deal  of  the  won- 
derful extent  and  variety  of  London,  and 
observed,  that  men  of  curious  inquiry  might 

1 [John  Dunton  was  a mad  bookseller. — Ed.] 

2 “ The  Turkish  Spy  ” was  pretended  to  have 

been  written  originally  in  Arabick;  from  Arabick 
translated  into  Italian,  and  thence  into  English. 
The  real  authour  of  the  work,  which  was  in  fact 
originally  written  in  Italian,  was  I.  P.  Marana,  a 
Genoese,  who  died  at  Paris  in  1693.  John  Dun- 
ton,  in  his  life,  says,  that  “ Mr.  William  Brad- 
shaw received  from  Dr.  Midgeley  forty  shillings 
a sheet  for  writing  part  of  the  * Turkish  Spy;’  but 
1 do  not  find  that  he  any  where  mentions  Sault 
is  engaged  in  that  work.” — Malone. 


see  in  it  such  modes  of  life  as  very  few 
could  even  imagine.  He  in  particular 
recommended  to  us  to  explore  Wapping, 
which  we  resolved  to  do  3. 

Mr.  Lowe,  the  painter,  who  was  with 
him,  was  very  much  distressed  that  a large 
picture  which  he  had  painted  was  refused 
to  be  received  into  the  Exhibition  of  the 
Royal  Academy.  Mrs.  Thrale  knew  John- 
son’s character  so  superficially,  as  to  repre- 
sent him  as  unwilling  to  do  small  acts  of 
benevolence  ; and  mentions,  in  particular, 
that  he  would  hardly  take  the  trouble  tc 
write  a letter  in  favour  of  his  friends.  The 
truth,  however,  is  that  he  was  remarkable, 
in  an  extraordinary  degree,  for  what  she 
denies  to  him  ; and,  above  all,  for  this  very 
sort  of  kindness,  writing  letters  for  those  to 
whom  his  solicitations  might  be  of  service. 
He  now  gave  Mr.  Lowe  the  following,  of 
which  I was  diligent  enough,  with  his  per- 
mission, to  take  copies  at  the  next  coffee- 
house, while  Mr.  Windham  was  so  good 
as  to  stay  by  me. 

“ TO  SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS. 

“ 12th  April,  1783 

“ Sir, — Mr.  Lowe  considers  himself  as 
cut  off  from  all  credit  and  all  hope  by  the 
rejection  of  his  picture  from  the  Exhibition. 
Upon  this  work  he  has  exhausted  all  his 
powers,  and  suspended  all  his  expectations: 
and,  certainly,  to  be  refused  an  opportunity 
of  taking  the  opinion  of  the  publick,  is  m 
itself  a very  great  hardship.  It  is  to  be 
condemned  without  a trial. 

“ If  you  would  procure  the  revocation  of 
this  incapacitating  edict,  you  would  deliver 
an  uhappy  man  from  great  affliction.  The 
council  has  sometimes  reversed  its  own  de- 
termination ; and  I hope  that,  by  your  m 
terposition,  this  luckless  picture  may  be  got 
admitted.  I am,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“TO  MR.  BARRY. 

“ 12th  April,  1783 

“ Sir, — Mr.  Lowe’s  exclusion  from  the 
Exhibition  gives  him  more  trouble  than 
you  and  the  other  gentlemen  of  the  council 
could  imagine  or  intend.  He  considers  dis- 
grace and  ruin  as  the  inevitable  consequence 
of  your  determination. 

“ He  says,  that  some  pictures  have  been 
received  after  rejection  ; and  if  there  be 
any  such  precedent,  I earnestly  entreat  that 
you  will  use  your  interest  in  his  favour. 
Of  his  work  I can  say  nothing  ; I pretend 
not  to  judge  of  painting,  and  this  picture  I 

3  We  accordingly  carried  our  scheme  into  exe- 
cution, in  October,  1792;  but  whether  from  that 
uniformity  which  has  in  modern  times,  in  a great 
degree,  spread  through  every  part  of  the  me- 
tropolis, or  from  our  want  of  sufficient  exertion, 
we  were  disappointed. — Bos  well. 


1783.— iETAT.  74 


339 


never  saw  ; but  I conceive  it  extremely 
hard  to  shut  out  any  man  from  the  possibil- 
ity of  success  and  therefore  I repeat  my 
request  that  ym  will  -propose  the  re-con- 
sideration of  Mr.  Lowe’s  case  ; and  if  there 
be  any  among  the  council  with  whom  my 
name  can  have  any  weight,  be  pleased  to 
communicate  to  them  the  desire  of,  sir,  your 
most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

Such  intercession  was  too  powerful  to  be 
resisted;  and  Mr.  Lowe’s  performance  was 
admitted  at  Somerset-place.  The  subject, 
as  I recollect,  was  the  deluge,  at  that  point 
of  time  when  the  water  was  verging  to  the 
top  of  the  last  uncovered  mountain.  Near 
to  the  spot  was  seen  the  last  of  the  antedi- 
luvian race,  exclusive  of  those  who  were 
saved  in  the  ark  of  Noah.  This  was  one 
of  those  giants,  then  the  inhabitants  of  the 
earth,  who  had  still  strength  to  swim,  and 
with  one  of  his  hands  held  aloft  his  infant 
child.  Upon  the  small  remaining  dry  spot 
appeared  a famished  lion,  ready  to  spring 
at  the  child  and  devour  it.  Mr.  Lowe 
told  me  that  Johnson  said  to  him,  “ Sir, 
your  picture  is  noble  and  probable.”  “ A 
compliment,  indeed,”  said  Mr.  Lowe,  “from 
a man  who  cannot  lie,  and  cannot  be  mis- 
taken.” 

About  this  time  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Lucy 
Porter,  mentioning  his  bad  health,  and  that 
he  intended  a visit  to  Lichfield.  “ It  is,” 
says  he,  “with  no  great  expectation  of 
amendment  that  I make  every  year  a jour- 
ney into  the  country  ; but  it  is  pleasant  to 
risit  those  whose  kindness  has  been  often 
experienced.” 

On  April  18  (being  Good  Friday),  I 
found  him  at  breakfast,  in  his  usual  manner 
upon  that  day,  drinking  tea  without  milk, 
and  eating  a cross  bun  to  prevent  faintness ; 
we  went  to  St.  Clement’s  church,  as  for- 
merly. When  we  came  home  from  church, 
he  placed  himself  on  one  of  the  stone  seats 
at  his  garden  door,  and  I took  the  other, 
and  thus  in  the  open  air,  and  in  a placid 
frame  of  mind,  he  talked  away  very  easily. 
Johnson.  “Were  I a country  gentleman 
I should  not  be  very  hospitable  , I should 
not  have  crowds  in  my  house.”  Bos- 
well. “ Sir  Alexander  Dick  tells  me  that 
he  remembers  having  a thousand  people  in 
a year  to  dine  at  his  house  ; that  is,  reck- 
oning each  person  as  one,  each  time  that 
he  dined  there.”  Johnson.  “ That,  sir, 
is  about  three  a day.”  Boswell.  “ How 
your  statement  lessens  the  idea  ! ” John- 
son. “ That,  sir,  is  the  good  of  counting. 
It  brings  every  thing  to  a certainty,  which 
before  floated  in  the  mind  indefinitely. 
Boswell.  “ But  Omne  ignolum  pro 
magnifico  est : one  is  sorry  to  have  this 
diminished  ” Johnson.  “ Sir,  you  should 


not  allow  yourself  to  be  delighted  with 
errour.”  Boswell.  “ Three  a day  seem 
but  few.”  Johnson.  “ Nay,  sir,  he  who 
entertains  three  a day  does  very  liberally. 
And  if  there  is  a large  family,  the  poor  en- 
tertain those  three,  for  they  eat  what  the 
poor  would  get  : there  must  be  superfluous 
meat ; it  must  be  given  to  the  poor,  or 
thrown  out.”  Boswell.  “I  observe  in 
London,  that  the  poor  go  about  and  gather 
bones,  which  I understand  are  manufac- 
tured.” Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir  ; they  boil 
them,  and  extact  a grease  from  them  for 
greasing  wheels  and  other  purposes.  Of 
the  best  pieces  they  make  a mock  ivory, 
which  is  used  for  hafts  to  knives,  and  vari- 
ous other  things  ; the  coarser  pieces  they 
burn  and  pound,  and  sell  the  ashes.”  Bos- 
well. “ F or  what  purpose,  sir  ? ” John- 
son. “ Why,  sir,  for  making  a furnace  for 
the  chemists  for  melting  iron.  A paste 
made  of  burnt  bones  will  stand  a stronger 
heat  than  any  thing  else.  Consider,  sir,  if 
you  are  to  melt  iron,  you  cannot  line  your 
pot  with  brass,  because  it  is  softer  than 
iron,  and  would  melt  sooner  ; nor  with  iron, 
for  though  malleable  iron  is  harder  than 
cast  iron,  yet  it  would  not  do  ; but  a paste 
of  burnt  bones  will  not  melt.”  Boswell. 
“ Do  you  know,  sir,  I have  discovered  a 
manufacture  to  a great  extent,  of  what  you 
only  piddle  at — scraping  and  drying  the  peel 
of  oranges 1 ? At  a place  in  Newgate-street 
there  is  a prodigious  quantity  prepared, 
which  they  sell  to  the  distillers.”  John 
son.  “ Sir,  I believe  they  make  a higher 
thing  out  of  them  than  a spirit ; they  make 
what  is  called  orange-butter,  the  oil  of  the 
orange  inspissated,  which  they  mix  per- 
haps with  common  pomatum,  and  make  it 
fragrant.  The  oil  does  not  fly  off*  in  the 
drying.” 

Boswell.  “ I wish  to  have  a good  wall 
ed  garden.”  Johnson.  “ I do  n’t  think  it 
would  be  worth  the  expense  to  you.  We 
compute,  in  England,  a park-wall  at  a thou- 
sand pounds  a mile;  now  a garden-wall 
must  cost  at  least  as  much.  You  intend 
your  trees  should  grow  higher  than  a deer 
will  leap.  Now  let  us  see;  for  a hundred 
pounds  you  could  only  have  forty-four 
square  yards2,  which  is  very  little;  for  two 

1 It  is  suggested  to  me  by  an  anonymous  anno- 
tator on  my  work,  that  the  reason  why  Dr.  John- 
son collected  the  peels  of  squeezed  orangee  may 
be  found  in  the  358th  Letter  in  Mrs.  Piozzi’s 
Collection,  where  it  appears  that  he  recommended 
“ dried  orange-peel,  finely  powdered,”  as  a medi- 
cine.— Boswell.  [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  512, 
note. — Ed.] 

2 [The  Bishop  of  Ferns  observes,  that  Mr 
Boswell  here  mistakes  forty-four  square  yards 
for  forty-four  yards  square , and  thus  makes 
Johnson  talk  nonsense.  What  Johnson  probably 
said  was  this:  1760  yards  of  wall  cost  a thousand 


1785. — iETAT.  74. 


340 


hundred  pounds  /ou  may  hav?  eighty-four 
square  yards,  which  is  very  well.  But 
when  will  you  get  the  value  of  two  hundred 
pounds  of  walls,  in  fruit,  in  your  climate? 
No,  sir;  such  contention  with  nature  is  not 
worth  while.  I would  plant  an  orchard, 
and  have  plenty  of  such  fruit  as  ripen  well 
in  your  country.  My  friend,  Dr.  Madden, 
of  Ireland,  said,  that  c in  an  orchard  there 
should  be  enough  to  eat,  enough  to  lay  up, 
enough  to  be  stolen,  and  enough  to  rot  upon 
the  ground. 5 Cherries  are  an  early  fruit; 
you  may  have  them;  and  you  may  have  the 
early  apples  and  pears.”  Boswell.  “We 
cannot  have  nonpareils  ” Johnson  “Sir, 
you  can  no  more  have  nonpareils  than  you 
can  have  grapes.”  Boswell.  “We  have 
them,  sir;  but  they  are  very  bad  ” John- 
son. “ Nay,  sir,  never  try  to  have  a thing 
merely  to  show  that  you  cannot  have  it. 
From  ground  that  would  let  for  forty  shil 
ings  you  may  have  a large  orchard;  and 
you  see  it  costs  you  only  forty  shillings. 
Nay,  you  may  graze  the  ground  when  the 
trees  are  grown  up;  you  cannot,  while  they 
are  young.”  Boswell.  “ Is  not  a good 
garden  a very  common  thing  in  England, 
sir?”  Johnson.  “Not  so  common,  sir, 
as  you  imagine.  In  Lincolnshire  there  is 
hardly  an  orchard;  in  Staffordshire  very  lit- 
tle fruit.”  Boswell.  “ Has  Langton  no 
orchard?”  Johnson.  “No,  sir.”  Bos- 
well. “ How  so,  sir?  ” Johnson  “Why, 
sir,  from  the  general  negligence  of  the  coun- 
ty. He  has  it  not,  because  nobody  else  has 
it.”  Boswell.  “ A hot-house  is  a certain 
thing;  I may  have  that.”  Johnson.  “A 
hot-house  is  pretty  certain;  but  you  must 
first  build  it,  then  you  must  keep  fires  in  it, 
and  you  must  have  a gardener  to  take  care 
of  it.”  Boswell.  “ But  if  I have  a gar- 
dener at  any  rate?”  Johnson.  “Why, 
yes.”  Boswell.  “ I ’d  have  it  near  my 
house;  there  is  no  need  to  have  it  in  the 
orchard.”  Johnson.  “ Yes,  I ’d  have  it 
near  my  house.  I would  plant  a great 
many  currants;  the  fruit  is  good,  and  they 
make  a pretty  sweetmeat.” 

I record  this  minute  detail,  which  some 
may  think  trilling,  in  order  to  show  clearly 
how  this  great  man,  whose  mind  could 
grasp  such  large  and  extensive  subjects,  as 
he  has  shown  in  his  literary  labours,  was  yet 
well-informed  in  the  common  affairs  of  life, 
and  loved  to  illustrate  them. 


pounds;  therefore,  one  hundred  and  seventy-six 
yards  will  cost  a hundred  pounds.  One  hundred 
and  seventy-six  yards  will  enclose  a garden — not 
of  forty-four  square  yards , which  would  be  a 
small  closet — but  of  forty-four  yards  square, 
nearly  half  an  acre.  Of  course,  its  double  will 
well  enclose  a garden  of  eighty-eight  yards  square 
(eight y-four  is  either  a misprint  or  an  additional 
error),  and  that,  as  Johnson  remarks,  is  very  well, 
for  it  wou'd  be  above  an  acre  and  a half. — ED.j 


Mr.  Walker,  the  celebrated  master  of  elo- 
cution !,  came  in,  and  then  we  went  up 
stairs  into  the  study.  I asked  him  if  he  had 
taught  many  clergymen.  Johnson.  “ I 
hope  not.”  Walker.  “ I have  taught 
only  one,  and  he  is  the  best  reader  I ever 
heard,  not  by  my  teaching,  but  by  his  own 
natural  talents.”  Johnson.  “Were  he 
the  best  reader  in  the  world,  I would  not  have 
it  told  that  he  was  taught.”  Here  was  one 
of  his  peculiar  prejudices.  Could  it  be  any 
disadvantage  to  the  clergyman  to  have  it 
known  that  he  was  taught  an  easy  and 
graceful  delivery?  Boswell.  “Will  you 
not  allow,  sir,  that  a man  may  be  taught  to 
read  well  ? ” Johnson  “ Why,  sir,  so  far 
as  to  read  better  than  he  might  do  without 
being  taught,  yes.  Formerly  it  was  sup 
posed  that  there  was  no  difference  in  read 
ing,  but  that  one  read  as  well  as  another.” 
Boswell.  “ It  is  wonderful  to  see  old 
Sheridan  as  enthusiastick  about  oratory  as 
ever.”  Walker  “ His  enthusiasm  as  to 
what  oratory  will  do,  may  be  too  great: 
but  he  reads  well  ” Johnson.  “ He  reads 
well,  but  he  reads  low;  and  you  know  it  is 
much  easier  to  read  low  than  to  read  high; 
for  when  you  read  high,  you  are  much  more 
limited,  your  loudest  note  can  be  but  one, 
and  so  the  variety  is  less  in  proportion  to 
the  loudness.  Now  some  people  have  occa 
sion  to  speak  to  an  extensive  audience,  and 
must  speak  loud  to  be  heard.”  Walker. 
“ The  art  is  to  read  strong,  though  low.” 

Talking  of  the  origin  of  language: — 
Johnson.  “ It  must  have  come  by  inspira- 
tion. A thousand,  nay  a million  of  children 
could  not  invent  a language.  While  the 
organs  are  pliable,  there  is  not  understand- 
ing enough  to  form  a language;  by  the  time 
that  there  is  understanding  enough,  the  or- 
gans are  become  stiff.  We  know  that  af- 
ter a certain  age  we  cannot  learn  to  pro- 
nounce a new  language.  No  foreigner, 
who  comes  to  England  when  advanced  in 
life,  ever  pronounces  English  tolerably  well, 
at  least  such  instances  are  very  rare 
When  I maintain  that  language  must  have 
come  by  inspiration,  I do  not  mean  that  in- 
spiration is  required  for  rhetorick,  and  all 
the  beauties  of  language;  for  when  once 
man  has  language,  we  can  conceive  that  he 
may  gradually  form  modifications  of  it.  I 
mean  only  that  inspiration  seems  to  me  to 
be  necessary  to  give  man  the  faculty  of 
speech;  to  inform  him  that  he  may  have 
speech;  which  I think  he  could  no  more 
find  out  without  inspiration,  than  cows  oi 
hogs  would  think  of  such  a faculty.” 
Walker.  “ Do  you  think,  sir,  tl  at  there  are 
any  perfect  synonymes  in  any  language?” 
Johnson.  “ Originally  there  were  not: 

1 [He  published  several  works  on  elocution 
and  pronunciation,  and  died  August  1,  1807,  in 
the  seventy-sixth  year  of  his  age. — Ed.1 


1783. — iETAT.  74. 


341 


but  by  using-  words  negligently,  or  in  poet- 
ry, one  wore  comes  to  be  confounded  with 
another.” 

He  talked  of  Dr.  Dodd.  “A  friend  of 
mine,”  said  he,  “ came  to  me  and  told  me, 
that  a lady1  wished  to -have  Dr.  Dodd’s 
picture  in  a bracelet,  and  asked  me  for  a 
motto.  I said,  I could  think  of  no  better 
than  Currat  Lex.  I was  very  willing  to 
have  him  pardoned,  that  is,  to  have  the 
sentence  changed  to  transportation:  but, 
when  he  was  once  hanged,  1 did  not  wish 
he  should  be  made  a saint;.” 

Mrs.  Burney,  wife  of  his  friend,  Dr.  Bur- 
ney, came  in,  and  he  seemed  to  be  enter- 
tained with  her  conversation. 

Garrick’s  funeral  was  talked  of  as  extrav- 
agantly expensive.  Johnson,  from  his  dis- 
like to  exaggeration,  would  not  allow  that 
it  was  distinguished  by  an  extraordinary 
pomp.  “Were  there  not  six  horses  to 
each  coach?”  said  Mrs.  Burney.  Johnson. 
“Madam,  there  were  no  more  six  horses 
than  six  phoenixes.” 

Mrs.  Burney  wondered  that  some  very 
beautiful  new  buildings  should  be  erected 
in  Moorfields,  in  so  shocking  a situation  as 
between  Bedlam  and  St.  Luke’s  Hospital; 
and  said  she  could  not  live  there.  John- 
son. “ Nay,  madam,  you  see  nothing 
there  to  hurt  you.  You  no  more  think  of 
madness  by  having  windows  that  look  to 
Bedlam,  than  you  think  of  death  by  hav- 
ing windows  that  look  to  a churchyard.” 
Mrs.  Burney.  “We  may  look  to  a 
churchyard,  sir ; for  it  is  right  that  we 
should  be  kept  in  mind  of  death.”  John- 
son. “ Nay,  madam,  if  you  go  to  that,  it 
is  right  that  we  should  be  kept  in  mind  of 
madness,  which  is  occasioned  by  too  much 
indulgence  of  imagination.  I think  a very 
moral  use  may  be  made  of  these  new 
buildings:  I would  have  those  who  have 
heated  imaginations  live  there,  and  take 
warning.”  Mrs.  Burney.  “ But,  *sir, 
many  of  the  poor  people  that  are  mad  have 
become  so  from  disease,  or  from  distressing 
events.  It  is,  therefore,  not  their  fault,  but 
their  misfortune  ; and,  therefore,  to  think 
of  them  is  a melancholy  consideration.” 

Time  passed  on  in  conversation  till  it 
was  too  late  for  the  service  of  the  church  at 
three  o’clock.  I took  a walk,  and  left  him 
alone  for  some  time;  then  returned,  and  we 
had  coffee  and  conversation  again  by  our- 
selves. 

I stated  the  character  of  a noble  friend  of 
mine  as  a curious  case  for  his  opinion2: — 

1 [The  Editor  has  been  told  that  the  lady  was 
Dr.  Dodd’s  relict;  but  if  tnis  was  so,  Dr.  Johnson 
‘could  not  have  been  aware  of  it,  as  he  could 
hardly  have  disapproved  of  her  wearing  his 
picture,  and  would  surely  not  have  insulted  her 
oy  such  an  answer. — Ed.] 

2 [Probably  Lord  Mountstuart,  afterwards  first 
Marquis  “f  Bute. — Ed.] 


“ He  is  the  most  inexplicable  man  to  me 
that  I ever  knew.  Can  you  explain  him, 
sir?  He  is,  I really  believe,  noble-mmded. 
generous,  and  princely.  But  his  most  in 
timate  friends  may  be  separated  from  him 
for  years,  without  his  ever  asking  a ques- 
tion concerning-  them.  He  will  meet  them 
with  a formality,  a coldness,  a stately  in- 
difference ; but  when  they  come  close  to 
him,  and  fairly  engage  him  in  conversation, 
they  find  him  as  easy,  pleasant,  and  kind  as 
they  could  wish.  One  then  supposes  that 
what  is  so  agreeable  will  soon  be  renewed; 
but  stay  away  from  him  for  half  a year, 
and  he  will  neither  call  on  you,  nor  send  to 
inquire  about  you.”  Johnson.  “ Why, 
sir,  I cannot  ascertain  his  character  exactly, 
as  I do  not  know  him  ; but  I should  not 
like  to  have  such  a man  for  my  friend.  He 
may  love  study,  and  wish  not  to  be  inter- 
rupted by  his  friends;  Amici  fures  tempo- 
ris.  He  may  be  a frivolous  man,  and  be  so 
much  occupied  with  petty  pursuits  that  he 
may  not  want  friends.  Or  he  may  have  a no- 
tion that  there  is  dignity  in  appearing  in- 
different, while  he  in  fact  may  not  be  more 
indifferent  at  his  heart  than  another.” 

We  went  to  evening  prayers  at  St.  Clem 
ent’s  at  seven,  and  then  parted. 

[The  reader  will  recollect,  that  in 
the  year  1775,  when  Dr.  Johnson  A a one 
visited  France,  he  was  kindly  entertained 
by  the  English  Benedictine  monks  at  Pa- 
ris3. One  of  that  body,  the  Rev.  James 
Compton,  in  the  course  of  some  conversa- 
tion with  him  at  that  time,  asked  him,  if 
any  of  them  should  become  converts  to  the 
protestant  faith,  and  should  visit  England, 
whether  they  might  hope  for  a friendly  re- 
ception from  him : to  which  he  warmly  re- 
plied, “ that  ne  should  receive  such  a con- 
vert most  cordially.”  In  consequence  of 
this  conversation,  Mr.  Compton,  a few 
years  afterwards,  having  some  doubts  con- 
cerning the  religion  in  which  he  had  been 
bred,  was  induced,  by  reading  the  110th 
Number  of  “ The  Rambler,”  (on  Repent- 
ance,) to  consider  the  subject  more  deeply; 
and  the  result  of  his  inquiries  was,  a deter- 
mination to  become  a protestant4.  With 
this  view,  in  the  summer  of  1782,  he  re- 
turned to  his  native  country,  from  whence 
he  had  been  absent  from  his  sixth  to  his 
thirty-fifth  year;  and  on  his  arrival  in  Lon- 
don, very  scantily  provided  with  the  means 
of  subsistence,  he  immediately  repaired  to 

3 See  ante , p.  9. — Malone. 

4 [Mr.  Markland  observes,  that  in  the  very 
paper  of  the  Rambler,  to  which  Mr.  Compton’s 
conversion  is  attributed,  is  to  be  found  a passage, 
by  no  means  in  principle  hostile  to  the  fasts  and 
other  penitential  observances  practised  by  the 
Romish  church.  It  is,  indeed,  to  be  hoped  ami 
believed  that  Mr.  Compton's  conversion  rested 
upon  deeper  grounds  than  the  observations  in  the 
Rambler. — Ed.] 


342 


1783. — ;ETAT  74. 


Bolt-court,  to  visit  Dr.  Johnson;  and  hav- 
ing- informed  him  of  his  desire  to  be  ad- 
mitted into  the  church  of  England,  for  this 
purpose  solicited  his  aid  to  procure  for  him 
an  introduction  to  the  bishop  of  London, 
Dr.  Lowth.  At  the  time  of  his  first  visit, 
Johnson  was  so  much  indisposed,  that  he 
could  allow  him  only  a short  conversation 
of  a few  minutes;  but  he  desired  him  to  call 
again  in  the  course  of  the  following  week. 
When  Mr.  Compton  visited  him  a second 
time,  he  was  perfectly  recovered  from  his 
indisposition;  received  him  with  the  utmost 
cordiality;  and  not  only  undertook  the  man- 
agement of  the  business  in  which  his  friend- 
ly interposition  had  been  requested,  but 
with  great  kindness  exerted  himself  in  this 
gentleman’s  favour,  with  a view  to  his  fu- 
ture subsistence,  and  immediately  supplied 
him  with  the  means  of  present  support. 

Finding  that  the  proposed  introduction 
to  the  bishop  of  London  had  from  some  ac- 
cidental causes  been  deferred,  lest  Mr. 
Compton,  who  then  lodged  at  Highgate, 
should  suppose  himself  neglected,  he  wrote 
aim  the  following  note: 

‘to  THE  REVEREND  MR.  COMPTON. 

“ 6th  October,  1782. 

“ Sir. — I have  directed  Dr.  Vyse’s  letter 
to  be  sent  to  you,  that  you  may  know  the 
situation  of  your  business.  Delays  are  in- 
cident to  all  affairs;  but  there  appears  no- 
thing in  your  case  of  either  supercilious- 
ness or  neglect.  Dr.  Vyse  seems  to  wish 
you  well.  I am,  sir,  your  most  humble 
servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

Mr.  Compton  having,  by  Johnson’s  ad- 
vice, quitted  Highgate,  and  settled  in  Lon- 
don, had  now  more  frequent  opportunities 
of  visiting  his  friend,  and  profiting  by  his 
conversation  and  advice.  Still,  however, 
his  means  of  subsistence  being  very  scanty, 
Dr.  Johnson  kindly  promised  to  afford  him 
a decent  maintenance,  until  by  his  own  ex- 
ertions he  should  be  able  to  obtain  a liveli- 
hood; which  benevolent  offer  he  accepted, 
and  lived  entirely  at  Johnson’s  expense  till 
the  end  of  January,  1783;  in  which  month, 
having  previously  been  introduced  to  Bish- 
op Lowth,  he  was  received  into  our  com- 
munion in  St.  James’s  parish-church.  In 
the  following  April,  the  place  of  under- 
master of  St.  Paul’s  school  having  become 
vacant,  his  friendly  protector  did  him  a 
more  essential  service,  by  writing  the  fol- 
lowing letter  in  his  favour,  to  the  Mercers’ 
Company,  in  whom  the  appointment  of  the 
under-master  lay: 

'£  TO  THE  WORSHIPFUL  COMPANY  OF  THE 
MERCERS. 

“ Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  19th  April,  1783. 

“Gentlemen, — At  the  request  of  the 
Reverend  Mr.  James  Compton,  who  now 


solicits  your  votes  to  be  elected  under-mas 
terof  St.  Paul’s  school,  I testify,  with  grea; 
sincerity,  that  he  is,  in  my  opinion,  a man 
of  abilities  sufficient,  and  more  than  suffi- 
cient, for  the  duties  of  the  office  for  which 
he  is  a candidate.  I am,  gentlemen,  youi 
most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

Though  this  testimony  in  Mr.  Compton’s 
favour  was  not  attended  with  immediate 
success,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Edwards,  who 
had  been  bred  in  St.  Paul’s  school,  having 
been  elected  to  fill  the  vacant  office,  yet 
Johnson’s  kindness  was  not  without  effect; 
and  the  result  of  his  recommendation  shows 
how  highly  he  was  estimated  in  the  great 
commercial  city  of  London;  for  his  letter 
procured  Mr.  Compton  so  many  well-wish- 
ers in  the  respectable  company  of  mercers, 
that  he  was  honoured,  by  the  favour  of  se- 
veral of  its  members,  with  more  applica- 
tions to  teach  Latin  and  French  than  he 
could  find  time  to  attend  to.  In  1796,  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Gilbert,  one  of  his  majesty’s 
French  chaplains,  having  accepted  a living 
in  Guernsey,  nominated  Mr.  Compton  as 
his  substitute  at  the  French  chapel  of  St. 
James’s ; which  appointment,  in  April, 
1811,  he  relinquished  for  a better  in  the 
French  chapel  at  Bethnal  Green.  By  the 
favour  of  Dr.  Porteus,  the  late  excellent 
Bishop  of  London,  he  was  also  appointed, 
in  1802,  chaplain  of  the  Dutch  chapel  at 
St.  James’s ; a station  which  he  still 
holds  ].] 

On  Sunday,  April  20,  being  Easter-dav, 
after  attending  solemn  service  at  St.  Paul’s, 
I came  to  Dr.  Johnson,  and  found  Mr. 
Lowe,  the  painter,  sitting  with  him.  Mr. 
Lowe  mentioned  the  great  number  of  new 
buildings  of  late  in  London,  yet  that  Dr. 
Johnson  had  observed,  that  the  number  of 
inhabitants  was  not  increased.  Johnson. 
“ Why,  sir,  the  bills  of  mortality  prove  that 
no  more  people  die  now  than  formerly;  so 
it  is  plain  no  more  live.  The  register  of 
births  proves  nothing,  for  not  one-tenth  of 
the  people  of  London  are  born  there.” 
Boswell.  “ I believe,  sir,  a great  many 
of  the  children  born  in  London  die  early.” 
Johnson.  “Why,  yes,  sir.”  Boswell 
“ But  those  who  do  live  are  as  stout  and 
strong  people  as  any.  Dr.  Price  says,  they 
must  be  naturally  strong  to  get  through.” 
Johnson.  “ That  is  system,  sir.  A great 
traveller  observes,  that  it  is  said  there  are 


1 The  preceding  account  of  this  gentleman's  con- 
version, and  of  Johnson’s  subsequent  liberality  to 
him,  would,  doubtless,  have  been  embodied  by 
Mr.  Boswell  in  his  work,  had  he  been  apprized 
of  the  circumstances  above  related,  which  add 
one  more  proof  to  those  which  he  has  accumula- 
ted of  Johnson’s  uniform  and  unbounded  benevo- 
lence — Malone 


1783.—  ^ETAT.  74. 


343 


no  weak  or  deformed  people  among  the  In- 
dians; hit  he,  with  much  sagacity,  assigns 
the  reason  of  this,  wThich  is,  that  the  hard- 
ship of  their  life  as  hunters  and  fishers  does 
not  allow  weak  or  diseased  children  to  grow 
up.  Now  had  I been  an  Indian  I must 
have  died  early;  my  eyes  would  not  have 
served  me  to  get  food.  I,  indeed,  now 
could  fish,  give  me  English  tackle;  hut  had 
I been  an  Indian,  I must  have  starved,  or 
they  would  have  knocked  me  on  the  head, 
when  they  saw  I could  do  nothing.”  Bos- 
well. “ Perhaps  they  would  have  taken 
care  of  you;  we  are  told  they  are  fond  of 
oratory, — you  would  have  talked  to  them.” 
Johnson.  “ Nay,  sir,  I should  not  have 
lived  long  enough  to  be  fit  to  talk;  I should 
have  been  dead  before  I was  ten  years  old. 
Depend  upon  it,  sir,  a savage,  when  he  is 
hungry,  will  not  carry  about  with  him  a 
looby  of  nine  years  old,  who  cannot  help 
himself.  They  have  no  affection,  sir.” 
Boswell.  “ I believe  natural  affection,  of 
which  we  hear  so  much,  is  very  small.” 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  natural  affection  is  noth- 
ing; but  affection  from  principle  and  es- 
tablished duty  is  sometimes  wonderfully 
strong.”  Lowe.  “ A hen,  sir,  will  feed 
her  chickens  in  preference  to  herself.” 
Johnson.  “ But  we  do  n’t  know  that  the 
hen  is  hungry;  let  the  hen  be  fairly  hun- 
gry, and  I’ll  warrant  she’ll  peck  the  corn 
herself.  A cock,  I believe,  will  feed  hens 
instead  of  himself:  but  we  do  n’t  know  that 
the  cock  is  hungry.”  Boswell.  “And 
that,  sir,  is  not  from  affection,  but  gallantry. 
But  some  of  the  Indians  have  affection.” 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  that  they  help  some  of 
their  children  is  plain;  for  some  of  them 
live,  which  they  could  not  do  without  be- 
ing helped.” 

I dined  with  him  ; the  company  were 
Mrs.  Williams,  Mrs.  Desmoulins,  and  Mr. 
Lowe.  He  seemed  not  to  be  well,  talked 
little,  grew  drowsy  soon  after  dinner,  and 
retired  ; upon  which  I went  away. 

Having  next  day  gone  to  Mr.  Burke’s 
seat  in  the  country,  from  whence  I was  re- 
called by  an  express,  that  a near  relation  of 
mine  had  killed  his  antagonist  in  a duel, 
and  was  himself  dangerously  wounded,  I 
saw  little  of  Dr.  Johnson  till  Monday, 
April  28,  when  I spent  a considerable  part 
of  the  day  with  him,  and  introduced  the 
subject  which  then  chiefly  occupied  my 
mind.  Johnson.  “ I do  not  see,  sir,  that 
fighting  is  absolutely  forbidden  in  scripture; 
I see  revenge  forbidden,  but  not  self-de- 
fence.” Boswell  “ The  quakers  say  it 
is. — ‘ Unto  him  that  smiteth  thee  on  one 
cheek,  offer  him  aiso  the  other.’  ” John- 
son. “ But  stay,  sir;  the  text  is  meant 
only  to  have  the  effect  of  moderating  pas- 
sion ; it  is  plain  that  we  are  not  to  take  it 
in  a literal  sense  We  see  this  from  the 


context,  where  theie  are  other  eoommen 
dations  ; which,  I warrant  you,  the  quaker 
will  not  take  literally;,  as,  for  instance, 
c From  him  that  would  borrow  of  thee  turn 
thou  not  away.’  Let  a man  whose  credit 
is  bad  come  to  a quaker,  and  say,  c Well, 
sir,  lend  me  a hundred  pounds  ; ’ he  ’ll  find 
him  as  unwilling  as  any  other  man.  No, 
sir;  a man  may  shoot  the  man  who  invades 
his  character,  as  he  may  shoot  him  who  at- 
tempts to  break  into  his  house  h So,  in 
1 745,  my  friend,  Tom  C umming,  the  quaker, 
said  he  would  not  fight,  but  he  would  drive 
an  ammunition  cart  ; and  we  know  that  the 
quakers  have  sent  flannel  waistcoats  to  our 
soldiers,  to  enable  them  to  fight  better.” 
Boswell.  “ When  a man  is  the  aggres- 
sor, and  by  ill  usage  forces  on  a duel  in 
which  he  is  killed,  have  we  not  little  ground 
to  hope  that  he  is  gone  to  a state  of  happi- 
ness?” Johnson.  “Sir,  we  are  not  to 
judge  determinately  of  the  state  in  which  a 
man  leaves  this  life.  He  may  in  a momenl 
have  repented  effectually,  and  it  is  possible 
may  have  been  accepted  of  God.  There  is 
in  £ Camden’s  Remains  ’ an  epitaph  upon  a 
very  wicked  man,  who  was  killed  by  a fall 
from  his  horse,  in  which  he  is  supposed  to 
say, 

‘ Between  the  stirrup  and  the  ground, 

I  mercy  ask’d,  I mercy  found 1  2.’  ” 

Boswell.  “ Is  not  the  expression  in  the 
burial-service, — c in  the  sure  and  certain 
hope  of  a blessed  3 resurrection  ’ — too  strong 

1 I think  it  necessary  to  caution  my  readers 
against  concluding  that,  in  this  or  any  other  con- 
versation of  Dr.  Johnson,  they  have  his  serious 
and  deliberate  opinion  on  the  subject  of  duelling. 
In  my  Journal  of  a Tour  to  the  Hebrides,  third 
edit.  p.  386,  it  appears  that  he  made  this  frank 
confession  : “ Nobody,  at  times,  talks  more  laxly 
than  I do  ;”  and  ibid.  p.  231,  “ He  fairly  owned 
he  could  not  explain  the  rationality  of  duelling.” 
We  may,  therefore,  infer,  that  he  could  not  think 
that  justifiable,  which  seems  so  inconsistent  with 
the  spirit  of  the  gospel.  At  the  same  time,  it 
must  be  confessed,  that,  from  the  prevalent 
notions  of  honour,  a gentleman  who  receives  a 
challenge  is  reduced  to  a dreadful  alternative.  A 
remarkable  instance  of  this  is  furnished  by  a 
clause  in  the  will  of  the  late  Colonel  Thomas,  of 
the  Guards,  written  the  night  before  he  fell  in  a 
duel,  September  3,  1783:  “ In  the  first  place,  I 
commit  my  soul  to  Almighty  God,  in  hopes  of 
his  mercy  and  pardon  for  the  irreligious  step  1 
now  (in  compliance  with  the  unwarrantable 
customs  of  this  wicked  world)  put  myself  under 
the  necessity  of  taking.” — Boswell. 

2 In  repeating  this  epitaph,  Johnson  improved 
it.  The  original  runs  thus: 

‘ Betwixt  the  stirrup  and  the  ground, 

Mercy  1 ask’d,  mercy  I found.” — Malone. 

3 [Mr.  Boswell,  quoting  from  memory,  has  in- 
terpolated the  word  “ blessed.”  The  words  are 
“ in  sure  and  certain  hope  of  the  resurrection.” 


344 


1783.— ^TAT.  74 


to  be  used  indiscriminately,  and,  indeed, 
sometimes  when  those  over  whose  bodies  it 
is  said  have  been  notoriously  profane  ?” 
Johnson.  “ It  is  sure  and  certain  hope , 
sir,  not  belief.”  I did  not  insist  further  ; 
but  cannot  help  thinking  that  less  positive 
words  would  be  more  proper 1. 

Talking  of  a man  who  was  grown  very 
fat,  so  as  to  be  incommoded  with  corpulen- 
cy, he  said,  “ He  eats  too  much,  sir.”  Bos- 
well “ I don’t  know,  sir;  you  will  see 
one  man  fat,  who  eats  moderately,  and 
another  lean,  who  eats  a great  deal.” 
Johnson.  “Nay,  sir,  whatever  may  be 
the  quantity  that  a man  eats,  it  is  plain 
that  if  he  is  too  fat,  he  has  eaten  more  than 
he  should  have  done.  One  man  may  have 
a digestion  that  consumes  food  better  than 
common  ; but  it  is  certain  that  solidity  is 
increased  by  putting  something  to  it.” 
Boswell.  “ But  may  not  solids  swell  and 
bedistended?  ” Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir,  they 
may  swell  and  be  distended  ; but  that  is  not 
fat.” 

We  talked  of  the  accusation  against  a 
gentleman2  for  supposed  delinquencies  in 
India.  Johnson.  cc  What  foundation 
there  is  for  accusation  I know  not,  but  they 
will  not  get  at  him.  Where  bad  actions  are 
committed  at  so  great  a distance,  a defin- 
ite. &c  L ’Estrange,  in  his  “ Alliance  of  Divine 
Offices,”  p.  302,  observes  “ these  words  import 
the  faith  of  the  congregation  then  present  in  the 
article  of  the  resurrection.  The  plural,  ‘ our  vile 
bodies,’  excludes  the  restraint  to  a singular 
number.”  The  reformed  liturgies  have  uniformly 
employed  the  same  cautious  language.  In  one  of 
the  prayers  used  in  the  burial  service,  in  the  first 
book  of  Edward  VI.  the  following  passage  occurs: 
“We  give  thee  hearty  thanks  for  this,  thy  servant, 
whom  thou  hast  delivered,  &c.  &c.  And,  as  we 
trust,  hast  brought  his  soul  into  sure  consolation 
of  rest.” — J.  H.  Makkland.] 

1 Upon  this  objection  the  Reverend  Mr.  Ralph 
Churtorx,  fellow  of  Brazennose  College,  Oxford, 
has  favoured  me  with  the  following  satisfactory 
observation:  “The  passage  in  the  burial-service 
does  not  mean  the  resurrection  of  the  person  in- 
terred, but  the  general  resurrection;  it  is  in  sure 
and  certain  hope  of  the  resurrection;  not  his 
resurrection.  Where  the  deceased  is  really  spoken 
of,  the  expression  is  very  different, — ‘ as  our  hope 
is  this  our  brother  doth’  [rest  in  Christ] ; a mode 
of  speech  consistent  with  every  thing  but  absolute 
certainty  that  the  person  departed  doth  not  rest  in 
Christ,  which  no  one  can  be  assured  of  without 
immediate  revelation  from  Heaven.  In  the  first 
of  these  places,  also,  * eternal  life  ’ does  not  neces- 
sarily mean  eternity  of  bliss,  but  merely  the 
eternity  of  the  state,  whether  in  happiness  or  in 
misery,  to  ensue  upon  the  resurrection;  which  is 
probably  the  sense  of  ‘ the  life  everlasting,’  in  the 
Apostles’  Creed.  See  Wheatly  and  Bennet  on 
the  Common  Prayer.” — Boswell. 

2 [Either  Sir  Elijah  Impey,  or  Mr.  Warren 
Hastings. — Ed.] 


quent  can  obscure  \he  evidence  til1  the  scent 
becomes  cold  ; there  is  a cloud  between, 
which  cannot  be  penetrated  : therefore  all 
distant  power  is  bad.  I am  clear  that  the 
best  plan  for  the  government  of  India  is  a 
despotick  governour ; for  if  he  be  a good 
man,  it  is  evidently  the  best  government ; 
and  supposing  him  to  be  a bad  man,  it  is 
better  to  have  one  plunderer  than  many. 
A governour  whose  power  is  checked  lets 
others  plunder,  that  he  himself  may  be  al- 
lowed to  plunder  ; but  if  despptick,  he  sees 
that  the  more  he  lets  others  plunder,  the 
less  there  will  be  for  himself,  so  he  restrains 
them  ; and  though  he  himself  plunders,  the 
country  is  a gainer,  compared  with  being 
plundered  by  numbers.” 

I mentioned  the  very  liberal  payment 
which  had  been  received  for  reviewing  ; and 
as  evidence  of  this,  that  it  had  been  proved  in 
a trial,  that  Dr.  Shebbeare  had  received  six 
guineas  a sheet  for  that  kind  of  literary  la- 
bour. Johnson.  “ Sir,  he  might  get  six 
guineas  for  a particular  sheet,  but  not  com- 
munibus  sheetibus.”  Boswell.  “ Pray, 
sir,  by  a sheet  of  review,  is  it  meant  that  it 
shall  be  all  of  the  writer’s  own  composition? 
or  are  extracts,  made  from  the  book  review- 
ed, deducted  ? ” Johnson.  “ No,  sir  ; it  is 
a sheet,  no  matter  of  what.”  Boswell. 
“ I think  that  is  not  reasonable.”  John- 
son. “ Yes,  sir,  it  is.  A man  will  more 
easily  write  a sheet  all  his  own,  than  read 
an  octavo  volume  to  get  extracts.”  To 
one  of  Johnson’s  wonderful  fertility  of  mind 
I believe  writing  was  really  easier  than 
reading  and  extracting  ; but  with  ordinary 
men  the  case  is  very  different.  A great 
deal,  indeed,  will  depend  upon  the  care  and 
judgment  with  which  extracts  are  made. 
I can  suppose  the  operation  to  be  tedious 
and  difficult ; but  in  many  instances  we 
must  observe  crude  morsels  cut  out  of  books 
as  if  at  random  ; and  when  a large  extract 
is  made  from  one  place,  it  surely  may  be 
done  with  very  little  trouble.  One,  how 
ever,  I must  acknowledge,  might  be  led, 
from  the  practice  of  reviewers,  to  suppose 
that  they  take  a pleasure  in  original  writing; 
for  we  often  find,  that  instead  of  giving  an 
accurate  account  of  what  has  been  done  by 
the  authour  whose  work  they  are  reviewing, 
which  is  surely  the  proper  business  of  a lit- 
erary journal,  they  produce  some  plausible 
and  ingenious  conceits  of  their  own,  upon 
the  topicks  which  have  been  discussed. 

Upon  being  told  that  old  Mr.  Sheridan, 
indignant  at  the  neglect  of  his  oratorical 
plans,  had  threatened  to  go  to  America: 
Johnson.  “ I hope  he  will  go  to  America.” 
Boswell.  “The  Americans  don’t  want 
oratory.”  Johnson.  “ But  we  can  want 
Sheridan.” 

On  Monday,  April  28,  I found  him  at 
home  in  the  morning,  and  Mr.  Seward  with 


1783.— JET  AT.  74. 


345 


him.  Horace  having  been  mentioned: 
Boswell.  “ There  is  a great  deal  of 
thinking  in  his  works.  One  finds  there 
almost  every  thing  but  religion.”  Seward. 
'£  He  speaks  of  his  returning  to  it,  in  his 
Ode  Parcus  Deorum  cultor  et  infrequens .” 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  he  was  not  in  earnest; 
this  was  merely  poetical.”  Boswell. 
“ There  are,  I am  afraid,  many  people  who 
have  no  religion  at  all.”  Seward.  “ And 
sensible  people  too.”  Johnson.  “Why, 
sir,  not  sensible  in  that  respect.  There 
must  be  either  a natural  or  a moral  stupidi- 
ty, if  one  lives  in  a total  neglect  of  so  very 
important  a concern.”  Seward.  “ I 
wonder  that  there  should  be  people  without 
religion.”  Johnson.  “ Sir,  you  need  not 
wonder  at  this,  when  you  consider  how 
large  a proportion  of  almost  every  man’s 
life  is  passed  without  thinking  of  it.  I 
myself  was  for  some  years  totally  regardless 
of  religion.  It  had  dropped  out  of  my 
mind.  It  was  at  an  early  part  of  my  life. 
Sickness  brought  it  back,  and  I hope  I have 
never  lost  it  since.”  Boswell.  “ My  dear 
sir,  what  a man  must  you  have  been  with- 
out religion!  Why  you  must  have  gone 
on  drinking,  and  swearing,  and — ” John- 
son (with  a smile).  “ I drank  enough, 
and  swore  enough,  to  be  sure.”  Seward. 
“ One  should  think  that  sickness  and  the 
view  of  death  would  make  more  men  reli- 
gious.” Johnson.  ££  Sir,  they  do  not 
know  how  to  go  about  it:  they  have  not 
the  first  notion.  A man  who  has  never  had 
religion  before,  no  more  grows  religious 
when  he  is  sick,  than  a man  who  has  never 
learnt  figures  can  count  when  he  has  need 
of  calculation.” 

I mentioned  a worthy  friend  of  ours  whom 
we  valued  much,  but  observed  that  he  was 
too  ready  to  introduce  religious  discourse 
upon  all  occasions1.  Johnson.  £C  Why, 
yes,  sir,  he  will  introduce  religious  dis- 
course without  seeing  whether  it  will  end 
in  instruction  and  improvement,  or  produce 
some  profane  jest.  He  would  introduce  it 
in  the  company  of  Wilkes,  and  twenty  more 
such.” 

I mentioned  Dr.  Johnson’s  excellent  dis- 
tinction between  liberty  of  conscience  and 
liberty  of  teaching.  Johnson.  “Consider, 
sir;  if  you  have  children  whom  you  wish 
to  educate  in  the  principles  of  the  church 
of  England,  and  there  comes  a Quaker 
who  tries  to  pervert  them  to  his  principles, 
you  would  drive  away  the  Quaker.  You 
would  not  trust  to  the  predomination  of 
right,  which  you  believe  is  in  your  opin- 
ions ; you  will  keep  wrong  out  of  their 
heads.  Now  the  vulgar  are  the  children  of 
the  state.  If  any  one  attempts  to  teach 
them  doctrines  contrary  to  #hat  the  state 


[Mr.  Langton:  see  ante,  v.  i.  pp.  319,  351, 
and  p.  126  o the  present  vol. — Ed.] 
vol.  ii  44 


approves,  the  magistrate  may  and  ought  to 
restrain  him.”  Seward.  “Would  you 
restrain  private  conversation,  sir?  ” John 
son.  ££  Why,  sir,  it  is  difficult  to  say  where 
private  conversation  begins,  and  where  it 
ends.  If  we  three  should  discuss  even  the 
great  question  concerning  the  existence  oi 
a Supreme  Being  by  ourselves,  we  should 
not  be  restrained;  for  that  wquld  be  to  put 
an  end  to  all  improvement  But  if  wTe 
should  discuss  it  in  the  presence  of  ten 
boarding-school  girls,  and  as  many  boys,  I 
think  the  magistrate  would  do  well  to  put 
us  in  the  stocks,  to  finish  the  debate  there.” 

Lord  Hailes  had  sent  him  a present  of  a 
curious  little  printed  poem,  on  repairing  the 
university  of  Aberdeen,  by  David  Malloch , 
which  he  thought  would  please  Johnson,  as 
affording  clear  evidence  that  Mallet  had  ap- 
peared even  as  a literary  character  by  the 
name  of  Malloch;  his  changing  which  to  one 
of  softer  sound  had  given  Johnson  occasion 
to  introduce  him  into  his  Dictionary,  under 
the  article  Alias  2.  This  piece  was,  I sup- 
pose, one  of  Mallet’s  first  essays.  It  is 
preserved  in  his  works,  with  several  varia- 
tions. Johnson  having  read  aloud,  from 
the  beginning  of  it,  where  there  were  some 
common-place  assertions  as  to  the  superior- 
ity of  ancient  times : — “ How  false,”  said 
he,  “ is  all  this,  to  say  that £ in  ancient  times 
learning  was  not  a disgrace  to  a peer,  as  it 
is  now ! ’ In  ancient  times  a peer  was  as 
ignorant  as  any  one  else.  He  would  have 
been  angry  to  have  it  thought  he  could 
write  his  name.  Men  in  ancient  times 
dared  to  stand  forth  with  a degree  of  igno 
ranee  with  which  nobody  would  now  dare 
to  stand  forth.  I am  always  angry  when  I 
hear  ancient  times  praised  at  the  expense 
of  modern  times.  There  is  now  a great 
deal  more  learning  in  the  world  than  there 
was  formerly;  for  it  is  universally  diffused. 
You  have,  perhaps,  no  man  who  knows  as 
much  Greek  and  Latin  as  Bentley;  no  man 
who  knows  as  much  mathematicks  as  New- 
ton: but  you  have  many  more  men  who 

2 Malloch,  as  Mr.  Bindley  observes  to  me, 
“ continued  to  write  his  name  thus,  after  he 
came  to  London.  His  verses  prefixed  to  the 
second  edition  of  Thomson’s  ‘ Winter  ’ are  so 
subscribed,  and  so  are  his  Letters  written  in 
London,  and  published  a few  years  ago  in  * The 
European  Magazine;’  but  he  soon  afterwards 
adopted  the  alteration  to  Mallet,  for  he  is  so  called 
in  the  list  of  subscribers  to  Savage’s  Miscellanies, 
printed  in  1726;  and  thenceforward  uniformly 
Mallet,  in  all  his  writings.” — Malone.  A 
notion  has  been  entertained,  that  no  such  exem- 
plification of  Alias  is  to  be  found  in  Johnson’s 
Dictionary,  and  that  the  whole  story  was  wag- 
gishly fabricated  by  Wilkes  in  the  “ North 
Briton.”  The  real  Let  is,  that  it  is  not  to  be 
found  in  the  folio  or  quarto  editions,  but  was 
added  by  Johnson  in  his  own  octavo  abridgement 
in  1756. — J.  Boswell 


346 


1783. — jETAT.  74. 


know  Greek  and  Latin,  and  who  know 
mathematicks  ” 

[“  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  May-day,  1783. 

Letters,  “ For  some  days  after  your  de- 
voi.  ii.  parture  I was  pretty  well;  but  I have 
257 255’  begun  to  languish  again,  and  last 
night  was  very  tedious  and  oppres- 
sive. I excused  myself  to-day  from  dining 
with  General  Paoli,  where  I love  to  dine; 
but  I was  griped  by  the  talons  of  necessity. 

“ On  Saturday  I dined,  as  is  usual,  at  the 
opening  of  the  Exhibition.  Our  company 
was  splendid,  whether  more  numerous  than 
at  any  former  time  I know  not.  Our  ta- 
bles seem  always  full.  On  Monday,  if  I 
am  told  truth,  were  received  at  the  door 
one  hundred  and  ninety  pounds,  for  the  ad- 
mission of  three  thousand  eight  hundred 
spectators.  Supposing  the  show  open  ten 
hours,  and  the  spectators  staying  one  with 
another  each  an  hour,  the  room  never  had 
fewer  than  three  hundred  and  eighty  jost- 
ling against  each  other.  Poor  Lowe  met 
some  discouragement;  but  I interposed  for 
him,  and  prevailed. 

“ Mr.  Barry’s  exhibition  was  opened  the 
same  day,  and  a book  is  published  to  re- 
commend it;  which,  if  you  read  it,  you  will 
find  decorated  with  some  satirical  pictures 
of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  and  others.  I have 
not  escaped.  You  must,  however,  think 
with  some  esteem  of  Barry  for  the  compre- 
hension of  his  design.” 

“ TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  8th  May,  1783. 

“ I thought  your  letter  long  in  coming. 
I suppose  it  is  true  that  I looked  but  lan- 
guid at  the  Exhibition,  but  have  been  worse 
since.  Last  Wednesday — the  Wednesday 
of  last  week — I came  home  ill  from  Mr. 
Jodrel’s,  and  after  a tedious,  oppressive,  im- 
patient night,  sent  an  excuse  to  General 
Paoli,  and  took  on  Thursday  two  brisk  ca- 
tharticks  and  a dose  of  calomel.  Little  things 
do  me  no  good.  At  night  I was  much  bet- 
ter. Next  day  cathartick  again,  and  the 
third  day  opium  for  my  cough.  I lived 
without  flesh  all  the  three  days.  The  re- 
covery was  more  than  I expected.  I went 
to  church  on  Sunday  quite  at  ease. 

“ The  Exhibition  prospers  so  much  that 
Sir  Joshua  says  it  will  maintain  the  academy. 
He  estimates  the  probable  amount  at  three 
thousand  pounds.  Steevens  is  of  opinion 
that  Croft’s  books  will  sell  for  near  three 
times  as  much  as  they  cost;  which,  how- 
ever, is  not  more  than  might  be  expected. 

“Favour  me  with  a direction  to  Mus- 
grave1  of  Ireland;  I have  a charitable  oifice 
to  propose  to  him.  Is  he  knight  or  baronet? 


1 [Sir  Richard  Musgrave,  of  Turin,  in  the 

county  of  Waterford,  in  Ireland,  created  a baronet 


“My  present  circle  cf  enjoyment  is  aa 
narrow  for  me  as  the  Circus  [at  Bath]  for 
Mrs.  Montague.  When  I first  settled  in 
this  neighbourhood  I had  Richardson  and 
Lawrence  and  Mrs.  Allen  at  hand.  I had 
Mrs.  Williams,  then  no  bad  companion; 
and  Levett  for  a long  time  always  to  be  had. 

If  I now  go  out,  I must  go  far  for  company, 
and  at  last  come  back  to  two  sick  and  dis- 
contented women,  who  can  hardly  talk  if 
they  had  any  thing  to  say,  and  whose  hatred 
of  each  other  makes  one  great  exercise  of 
their  faculties.”] 

On  Thursday,  1st  May,  I visited  him  in 
the  evening  along  with  young  Mr.  Burke. 
He  said,  “ It  is  strange  that  there  should  be 
so  little  reading  in  the  world,  and  so  much 
writing.  People  in  general  do  not  willingly 
read,  if  they  can  have  any  thing  else  to 
amuse  them.  There  must  be  an  external 
impulse;  emulation,  or  vanity,  or  avarice. 
The  progress  which  the  understanding 
makes  through  a book  has  more  pain  than 
pleasure  in  it.  Language  is  scanty  and  in- 
adequate to  express  the  nice  gradations  and 
mixtures  of  our  feelings.  No  man  reads  a • 
book  of  science  from  pure  inclination.  The 
books  that  we  do  read  with  pleasure  are 
light  compositions,  which  contain  a quick 
succession  of  events.  However,  I have  this 
year  read  all  Virgil  through.  I read  a book  of 
the  iEneid  every  night,  so  it  was  done  in 
twelve  nights,  and  I had  a great  delight  in 
it.  The  Georgicks  did  notgivemeso'much 
pleasure,  except  the  fourth  book.  The 
Eclogues  I have  almost  all  by  heart.  I do 
not  think  the  story  of  the  JEneid  interest- 
ing. I like  the  story  of  the  Odyssey  much 
better;  and  this  not  on  account  of  the  won- 
derful things  which  it  contains;  for  there 
are  wonderful  things  enough  in  the  A£neid; 
— the  ships  of  the  Trojans  turned  to  sea- 
nymphs, — the  tree  at  Polydorus’s  tomb  drop- 
ping blood.  The  story  of  the  Odyssey  is 
interesting,  as  a great  part  of  it  is  domestick. 
It  has  been  said  there  is  pleasure  in  writing, 
particularly  in  writing  verses.  I allow  you 
may  have  pleasure  from  writing  after  it  is 
over,  if  you  have  written  well2;  but  you 
don’t  go  willingly  to  it  again.  I know 
when  I have  been  writing  verses,  I have  run 
my  finger  down  the  margin,  to  see  how 
many  I had  made,  and  how  few  I had  tc 
make.” 

He  seemed  to  be  in  a very  placid  humour; 
and  although  I have  no  note  of  the  particu- 

in  1782.  He  published  several  political  works, 
particularly  a History  of  the  Irish  Rebellion  in 
1798;  written  with  great  asperity  against  the 
Roman  Catholics,  to  whose  tenets  Sir  Richard 
attributed  that  rebellion.  He  was  for  many  years 
a member  of  the  Irish  parliament,  and  died  in 
1818.— Ed.] 

2 Dum  pingit,  fruitur  arte;  postquam  pinxera 
fruitur  fructu  artis. — Seneca. — Kearney 


1783  -dSTAT.  74. 


347 


ars  of  young  Mr.  Burke’s  conversation,  it  is 
but  justice  to  mention  in  general,  that  it 
was  such  that  Dr.  Johnson  said  to  me  after- 
wards, “He  did  very  well  indeed,  I have 
a mind  to  tell  his  father  1.” 

“ TO  SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS. 

“ 2d  May,  1783. 

“ Dear  sir, — The  gentleman  who  waits 
on  you  with  this  is  Mr.  Cruikshanks,  who 
wishes  to  succeed  his  friend  Dr.  Hunter  as 
professor  of  anatomy  in  the  royal  academy. 
His  qualifications  are  very  generally  known, 
and  it  adds  dignity  to  the  institution  that 
such  men2  are  candidates.  I am,  sir,  your 
most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

I have  no  minute  of  any  interview  with 
Johnson  till  Thursday,  May  15th,  when  I 
find  what  follows:  Boswell.  “ I wish 
much  to  he  in  parliament,  sir.”  Johnson. 
“ Why,  sir,  unless  you  come  resolved  to 
support  any  administration,  you  would  be 
the  worse  for  being  in  parliament,  because 
you  would  be  obliged  to  live  more  expen- 
sively.” Boswell.  “ Perhaps,  sir,  I should 
be  the. less  happy  for  being  in  parliament. 

I never  would  sell  my  vote,  and  I should  be 
vexed  if  things  went  wrong.”  Johnson. 
“ That ’s  cant,  sir.  It  would  not  vex  you 
more  in  the  House  than  in  the  gallery:  pub- 
lick  affairs  vex  no  man.”  Boswell.  “Have 
not  they  vexed  yourself  a little,  sir?  Have 
not  you  been  vexed  by  all  the  turbulence  of 
this  reign,  and  by  that  absurd  vote  of  the 
house  of  commons,  c That  the  influence  of 
the  crown  has  increased,  is  increasing,  and 
ought  to  be  diminished?’”  Johnson.  “Sir, 
I have  never  slept  an  hour  less,  nor  ate  an 
ounce  less  meat.  I would  have  knocked  the 
factious  dogs  on  the  head,  to  be  sure;  but  I 
was  not  vexed.”  Boswell.  “ I declare, 
sir,  upon  my  honour,  I did  imagine  I was 
vexed,  and  took  a pride  in  it;  but  it  was, 
perhaps,  cant;  for  I own  I neither  ate  less 
nor  slept  less.”  Johnson.  “My  dear 
friend,  clear  your  mind  of  cant.  You  may 
talk  as  other  people  do:  you  may  say  to  a 
man,  £ Sir,  I am  your  humble  servant.5 
You  are  not  his  most  humble  servant.  You 
may  say, c These  are  bad  times;  it  is  a mel- 
ancholy thing  to  be  reserved  to  such  times.5 
Y ou  do  n’t  mind  the  times.  You  tell  a man, 

1 [The  fond  partiality  of  his  father  (for  such  it 
must  be  admitted  to  have  been)  for  the  talents  of 
Mr.  Richard  Burke  is  now  well  known.  Mr. 
Burke  is  reported,  with  a mixture  of  personal  and 

paternal  pride,  to  have  remarked  how  extraordi- 
nary it  was  that  Lord  Chatham,  Lord  Holland, 

and  he  should  each  have  had  a son  so  superiour 

to  their  fathers. — Ed.] 

* Let  it  be  remembered  by  those  who  accuse 
Dr.  Johnson  of  illiberality,  that  both  were  Scotch- 
men — Boswell 


£ I am  sorry  you  had  such  bad  Weather  the 
last  day  of  your  journey,  and  were  so  much 
wet.5  You  don’t  care  sixpence  whether  he 
is  wet  or  dry.  You  may  talk  in  this  man- 
ner; it  is  a mode  of  talking  in  society:  but 
do  n’t  think  foolishly.” 

• I talked  of  living  in  the  country.  Johnson. 
“ Do  n’t  set  up  for  what  is  called  hospitality: 
it  is  a waste  of  time,  and  a waste  of  money: 
you  are  eaten  up,  and  not  the  more  respect- 
ed for  your  liberality.  If  your  house  be  like 
an  inn,  nobody  cares  for  you.  A man  who 
stays  a week  with  another  makes  him  a 
slave  for  a week.”  Boswell.  “But  there 
are  people,  sir,  who  make  their  houses  a 
home  to  their  guests,  and  are  themselves 
quite  easy.”  Johnson.  “ Then,  sir,  home 
must  be  the  same  to  the  guests,  and  they 
need  not  come.” 

Here  he  discovered  a notion  common 
enough  in  persons  not  much  accustomed  to 
entertain  company,  that  there  must  be  a de- 
gree of  elaborate  attention,  otherwise  com- 
pany will  think  themselves  neglected;  and 
such  attention  is  no  doubt  very  fatiguing 
He  proceeded : “ I would  not,  however,  be 
a stranger  in  my  own  country;  I would  visit 
my  neighbours,  and  receive  their  visits;  but 
I would  not  be  in  haste  to  return  visits.  If 
a gentleman  comes  to  see  me,  I tell  him  he 
does  me  a great  deal  of  honour.  I do  not  go 
to  see  him  perhaps  for  ten  weeks;  then  we 
are  very  complaisant  to  each  other.  No, 
sir,  you  will  have  much  more  influence  by 
giving  or  lending  money  where  it  is  wanted, 
than  by  hospitality.” 

On  Saturday,  17th  May,  I saw  him  for  a 
short  time.  Having  mentioned  that  I had 
that  morning  been  with  old  Mr.  Sheridan, 
he  remembered  their  former  intimacy  with 
a cordial  warmth,  and  said  to  me,  “ Tell 
Mr.  Sheridan  I shall  be  glad  to  see  him  and 
shake  hands  with  him.”  Boswell.  “ It 
is  to  me  very  wonderful  that  resentment 
should  be  kept  up  so  long.”  Johnson. 
“ Why,  sir,  it  is  not  altogether  resentment 
that  he  does  not  visit  me;  it  is  partly  fall- 
ing out  of  the  habit, — partly  disgust,  such 
as  one  has  at  a drug  that  has  made  him 
sick.  Besides,  he  knows  that  I laugh  at  his 
oratory.” 

[Of  Sheridan’s  Book  on  Oratory,  Gent> 
Dr.  Johnson  said,  “ It  is  impossible  Mag. 
to  read  without  feeling  a perpetual  vo1^ 
elevation  of  hope,  and  a perpetual  p’ 
disappointment.  If  we  should  have  a bad 
harvest  this  year,  Sheridan  would  say  it 
was  owing  to  the  neglect  of  oratory.”] 

Another  day  I spoke  of  one  of  our  friends, 
of  whom  he,  as  well  as  I,  had  a very  high 
opinion.  He  expatiated  in  his  praise;  but 
added,  “ Sir,  he  is  a cursed  whig,  a bollom- 
iess  whig,  as  they  all  are  now  3 *.” 


3 [Mr.  Burke,  who,  however,  proved  hiuiaelf, 


348 


1783. — iETAT.  74. 


I mentioned  my  expectations  from  the 
interest  of  an  eminent  person *  1 then  in  pow- 
er; adding,  “ But  I have  no  claim  but  the 
claim  of  friendship:  however,  some  people 
will  go  a great  way  from  that  motive.” 
Johnson.  “Sir,  they  will  go  all  the  way 
from  that  motive.”  A gentleman  talked 
of  retiring.  “ Never  think  of  that,”  said 
Johnson.  The  gentleman  urged,  “ I 
should  then  do  no  ill.”  Johnson.  “Nor 
no  good  either.  Sir,  it  would  be  a civil 
suicide.” 

Ed  [Mr.  Boswell  about  this  period 

D‘  was  negotiating  another  dinner  with 
Dr.  Johnson  and  Mr.  Wilkes  at  the  house 
of  the  latter;  but  though  Johnson  had  no 
objection,  the  dinner  does  not  seem  to  have 
taken  place. 

“JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,.  TO  JOHN 
WILKES,  ESQ,. 

“ Wednesday,  21st  May,  [1783]. 

“ Mr.  Boswell’s  compliments  to 
Mr.  Wilkes.  He  rejoices  to  find 
he  is  so  much  better  as  to  be 
abroad.  He  finds  that  it  would 
not  be  unpleasant  to  Dr.  Johnson 
to  dine  at  Mr.  Wilkes’s.  The  thing  would 
be  so  curiously  benignant,  it  were  a pity  it 
should  not  take  place.  Nobody  but  Mr. 
Boswell  should  be  asked  to  meet  the  Doc- 
tor. Mr.  Boswell  goes  for  Scotland  on 
Friday  the  30th.  If  then  a card  were  sent 
to  the  Doctor  on  Monday,  Tuesday,  or 
Wednesday  without  delay,  it  is  to  be  hoped 
he  would  be  fixed  ; and  notice  will  be  sent 
to  Mr.  Boswell.” 

“MR.  BOSWELL  TO  MR.  AND  MISS 
WILKES. 

“Mr.  Boswell  presents  his  best  compli- 
ments to  Mr.  and*  Miss  Wilkes  ; encloses 
Dr.  Johnson’s  answer;  and  regrets  much 
that  so  agreeable  a meeting  must  be  de- 
ferred till  next  year,  as  Mr.  Boswell  is  to 
set  out  for  Scotland  in  a few  days.  Hopes 
Mr.  Wilkes  will  write  to  him  there.” 

Enclosed. 

“24th  May,  1783. 

“Dr.  Johnson  returns  thanks  to  Mr. 
and  Miss  Wilkes  for  their  kind  invitation; 
but  he  is  engaged  for  Tuesday  to  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  and  for  Wednesday  to 
Mr.  Paradise.”] 

On  Monday,  May  26,  I found  him  at  tea, 
and  the  celebrated  Miss  Burney,  the  au- 
thour  of  “ Evelina  ” and  “ Cecilia,”  with 
him.  I asked  if  there  would  be  any  speak- 
ers in  parliament,  if  there  were  no  places  to 
be  obtained.  Johnson.  “Yes,  sir.  Why 

on  the  French  Revolution,  not  to  be  a bottomless 
whig. — Ed.] 

1 [Probably  Lord  Mountstuart.  See  ante , p. 

31. --Ed.] 


do  you  speak  here?  Either  to  instruct  and 
entertain,  which  is  a benevolent  motive;  or 
for  distinction,  which  is  a selfish  motive.” 
I mentioned  ‘^Cecilia.”  Johnson  (with 
an  air  of  animated  satisfaction).  “ Sir,  if 
you  talk  of  ‘ Cecilia,’  talk  on.” 

We  talked  of  Mr.  Barry’s  exhibition  of 
his  pictures.  Johnson.  “ Whatever  the 
hand  may  have  done,  the  mind  has  done  its 
part.  There  is  a grasp  of  mind  there  which 
you  find  nowhere  else2.” 

I asked  whether  a man  naturally  virtu- 
ous, or  one  who  has  overcome  wicked  in- 
clinations, is  the  best  Johnson.  “ Sir, 
to  you,  the  man  who  has  overcome  wicked 
inclinations  is  not  the  best.  He  has  more 
merit  to  himself.  I would  rather  trust  my 
money  to  a man  who  has  no  hands,  and  so 
a physical  impossibility  to  steal,  than  to  a 
man  of  the  most  honest  principles.  There 
is  a witty  satirical  story  of  Foote.  He  had 
a small  bust  of  Garrick  placed  upon  his 
bureau.  c You  may  be  surprised,’  said  he, 
£ that  I allow  him  to  be  so  near  my  gold; — 
but  you  will  observe  he  has  no  hands.’  ” 

On  Friday,  May  29,  being  to  set  out  for 
Scotland  next  morning,  I passed  a part  of 
the  day  with  him  in  more  than  usual  ear- 
nestness, as  his  health  was  in  a more  preca- 
rious state  than  at  any  time  when  I had 
parted  from  him.  He,  however,  was  quick 
and  lively,  and  critical,  as  usual.  I men 
tioned  one  who  was  a very  learned  man. 
Johnson.  “ Yes,  sir,  he  has  a great  deal 
of  learning  ; but  it  never  lies  straight. 
There  is  never  one  idea  by  the  side  of 
another;  ’t  is  all  entangled:  and  then  he 
drives  it  so  awkwardly  upon  conversation!” 
I stated  to  him  an  anxious  thought,  by 
which  a sincere  Christian  might  be  dis- 
turbed, even  when  conscious  of  having 
lived  a good  life,  so  far  as  is  consistent 
with  human  infirmity:  he  might  fear  that 
he  should  afterwards  fall  away,  and  be 
guilty  of  such  crimes  as  would  render  all 
his  former  religion  vain.  Could  there  be, 
upon  this  awful  subject,  such  a thing  as 
balancing  of  accounts  ? Suppose  a man  who 
has  led  a good  life  for  seven  years  commits 
an  act  of  wickedness,  and  instantly  dies ; 
will  his  former  good  life  have  any  effect  in 
his  favour?  Johnson.  “ Sir,  if  a man  has 
led  a good  life  for  seven  years,  and  then  is 
hurried  by  passion  to  do  what  is  wrong,  and 
is  suddenly  carried  off,  depend  upon  it  he 
will  have  the  reward  of  his  seven  years’ 
good  life : God  will  not  take  a catch  of  him. 
Upon  this  principle  Richard  Baxter  believes 


2 In  Mr.  Barry’s  printed  analysis  or  description 
of  these  pictures,  he  speaks  of  Johnson’s  character 
in  the  highest  terms. — Boswell.  [Yet  see 
what  Johnson  himself  says  on  this  point,  in  the 
conclusion  of  his  Letter  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  of  the  1st 
of  May,  ante , p.  346. — Ed.] 


Wilkes 
Corresp. 
vol.  iv. 
pp.  314, 
821 


1783.— iETAT.  74. 


349 


that  a suicide  may  be  saved.  * If,’  says  he, 
4 it  should  he  objected  that  what  maintain 
may  encourage  suicide,  I answer,  l am  not 
to  tell  a lie  to  prevent  it.’  ” Boswell. 
ct  But  does  not  the  text  say,  c As  the  tree 
falls,  so  it  must  lie?’  ” Johnson.  “ Yes, 
sir  ; as  the  tree  falls : but,” — after  a little 
pause — “ that  is  meant  as  to  the  general 
state  of  the  tree,  not  what  is  the  effect  of 
a sudden  blast.”  In  short,  he  interpreted 
the  expression  as  referring  to  condition , 
not  to  position.  The  common  notion, 
therefore,  seems  to  be  erroneous  ; and 
Shenstone’s  witty  remark  1 on  divines  try- 
ing to  give  the  tree  a jerk  upon  a death- 
bed, to  make  it  lie  favourably,  is  not  well 
founded. 

I asked  him  what  works  of  Richard  Bax- 
ter’s I should  read.  He  said,  “ Read  any 
of  them;  they  are  all  good.” 

He  said,  cc  Get  as  much  force  of  mind  as 
you  can.  Live  within  your  income.  Al- 
ways have  something  saved  at  the  end  of 
the  year.  Let  your  imports  be  more  than 
your  exports,  and  you  ’ll  never  go  far 
wrong.” 

I assured  him,  that  in  the  extensive  and 
various  range  of  his  acquaintance  there  ne- 
ver had  been  any  one  who  had  a more  sin- 
cere respect  and  affection  for  him  than  I 
had.  He  said,  “ I believe  it,  sir.  Were  I 
in  distress,  there  is  no  man  to  whom  I should 
sooner  come  than  to  you.  I should  like  to 
come  and  have  a cottage  in  your  park,  tod- 
dle about,  live  mostly  on  milk,  and  be  taken 
care  of  by  Mrs.  Bosw  11.  She  and  I are 
good  friends  now;  are  we  not?” 

Talking  of  devotion,  he  said,  “ Though 
it  be  true  that  ‘ God  dwelleth  not  in  temples 
made  with  hands,’  yet  in  this  state  of  being 
our  minds  are  more  piously  affected  in 
places  appropriated  to  divine  worship,  than 
in  others.  Some  people  have  a particular 
room  in  their  houses  where  they  say  their 
prayers;  of  which  Ido  not  disapprove,  as  it 
may  animate  their  devotion.” 

He  embraced  me,  and  gave  me  his  bless- 
ing, as  usual  when  I was  leaving  him  for 
any  length  of  time.  I walked  from  his  door 
to-day  with  a fearful  apprehension  of  what 
might  happen  before  I returned. 

“to  the  right  honourable  william 

WINDHAM. 

“ London,  31  .-t  May,  1783. 

“ Sir, — The  bringer  of  this  letter  is  the 

1  [“  When  a tree  is  falling,  I have  seen  the 
labourers,  by  a trivial  jerk  with  a rope,  throw  it 
upon  the  spot  where  they  would  wish  it  to  lie. 
Divines  understanding  this  text  too  literally, 
pretend,  by  a little  interposition  in  the  article  of 
death,  to  regulate  a person’s  everlasting  happiness. 
I fancy  the  allusion  will  hardly  countenance  their 
presumption.”  Shenstone’s  Works , v.  ii.  p. 
297.  The  text  not  here  accurately  quoted,  is  in 
Ecclesiastes,  c.  xi.  v.  3. — Ed.' 


father  of  Miss  Philips2,  a singer,  who 
comes  to  try  her  voice  on  the  stage  at 
Dublin. 

<c  Mr.  Philips  is  one  of  my  old  friends; 
and  as  I am  of  opinion  that  neither  he  nor 
his  daughter  will  do  any  thing  that  can  dis- 
grace their  benefactors,  I take  the  liberty 
of  entreating  you  to  countenance  and  pro- 
tect them  so  far  as  may  be  suitable  to 
your  station  3 and  character,  and  shall  con 
sider  myself  as  obliged  by  any  favourable 
notice  which  they  shall  have  the  honoui 
of  receiving  from  you.  I am,  sir,  youi 
most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

The  following  is  another  instance  of  hia, 
active  benevolence : 

“ TO  SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS. 

“2d  June,  1783 

“ Dear  sir, — I have  sent  you  some  of 
my  godson’s  4 performances,  of  which  I do 
not  pretend  to  form  any  opinion.  When  1 
took  the  liberty  of  mentioning  him  to  you, 
I did  not  know  what  I have  since  been  told, 
that  Mr.  Moser  had  admitted  him  among 
the  students  of  the  Academy.  What  more 
can  be  done  for  him,  I earnestly  entreat  you 
to  consider;  for  I am  very  desirous  that  he 
should  derive  some  advantage  from  my  con 
nexion  with  him.  If  you  are  inclined  to 
see  him,  I will  bring  him  to  wait  on  you  at 
any  time  that  you  shall  be  pleased  to  ap 
point.  I am,  sir,  your  most  humble  ser- 
vant, u Sam.  Johnson.” 

[“to  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ Oxford,  11th  June,  1783. 

tl  Yesterday  I came  to  Oxford  with-  Letterg 
out  fatigue  or  inconvenience.  I read  voi.  ii.  ’ 
in  the  coach  before  dinner.  I dined  P* 261 » 
moderately,  and  slept  well;  but  find 
my  breath  not  free  this  morning. 

“ Dr.  Edwards,  to  whom  I wrote  of  my 
purpose  to  come,  has  defeated  his  own  kind- 
ness by  its  excess.  He  has  gone  out  of  hi? 
own  rooms  for  my  reception;  and  therefore 
I cannot  decently  stay  long,  unless  I can 
change  my  abode,  which  it  will  not  be  very 
easy  to  do:  nor  do  I know  what  attractions 
I shall  find  here.  Here  is  Miss  Moore  at 
Dr.  Adams’s,  with  whom  I shall  dine  to- 
morrow.” 

“London,  13  h June,  1783. 

“ Seward  called  on  me  yesterday.  He  is 
going  only  for  a few  weeks — first  to  Paris, 
and  then  to  Flanders,  to  contemplate  the 

2 Now  the  celebrated  Mrs.  Crouch. — Boswell 
[She  died  in  October,  1805,  set.  45. — Ed.] 

3 Mr.  Windham  was  at  this  time  in  Dublin, 
secretary  to  the  Earl  of  Northington,  then  lord 
lieutenant  of  Ireland. — Boswell. 

4 Son  of  Mr.  Samuel  Paterson. — Boswell. 
[Probably  a brother  of  him  mentioned  ante,  n. 
[83.— Ed. 


350 


1783. — A2TAT.  74. 


pictures  of  Claude  Loraine;  and  he  asked 
me  if  that  was  not  as  good  a way  as  any  of 
spending  time — that  time  which  returns  no 
more — of  which,  however,  a great  part 
seems  to  be  very  foolishly  spent,  even  by 
the  wisest  and  the  best. 

“ Poor  Lawrence  1 and  his  youngest  son 
died  almost  on  the  same  day.”] 

My  anxious  apprehensions  at  parting 
with  him  this  year  proved  to  be  hut  too  well 
founded;  for  not  long  afterwards  he  had  a 
dreadful  stroke  of  the  palsy,  of  which  there 
are  very  full  and  accurate  accounts  in  let- 
ters .written  by  himself,  to  show  with  what 
composure  of  mind  and  resignation  to  the 
Divine  Will  his  steady  piety  enabled  him 
to  behave. 

tc  TO  MR.  EDMUND  ALLEN. 

“ 17th  June,  1783. 

“ It  has  pleased  God  this  morning  to  de- 
prive me  of  the  powers  of  speech ; and  as  I 
do  not  know  but  that  it  may  be  his  further 
good  pleasure  to  deprive  me  soon  of  my 
senses,  I request  you  will,  on  the  receipt  of 
this  note,  come  to  me,  and  act  for  me  as 
the  exigences  of  my  case  may  require.  I 
am  sincerely  yours, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

1 TO  THE  REVEREND  DR.  JOHN  TAYLOR. 

“17th  June,  1783. 

“ Dear  sir, — It  has  pleased  God,  by  a 
paralytick  stroke  in  the  night,  to  deprive 
me  of  speech. 

“ I am  very  desirous  of  Dr.  Heberden’s 
assistance,  as  I think  my  case  is  not  past 
remedy.  Let  me  see  you  as  soon  as  it  is 
possible.  Bring  Dr.  Heberden  with  you, 
if  you  can;  but  come  yourself  at  all  events. 
I am  glad  you  are  so  well  when  I am  so 
dreadfully  attacked. 

“ I think  that  by  a speedy  application  of 
stimulants  much  may  be  done.  I question 
if  a vomit,  vigorous  and  rough,  would  not 
rouse  the  organs  of  speech  to  action.  As  it 
is  too  early  to  send,  I will  try  to  recollect 
what  I can  that  can  be  suspected  to  have 
brought  on  this  dreadful  distress. 

“ I have  been  accustomed  to  bleed  fre- 
quently for  an  asthmatick  complaint;  but 
have  forborne  for  some  time  by  Dr.  Pepys’s 
persuasion,  who  perceived  my  legs  begin- 
ning to  swell.  I sometimes  alleviate  a pain- 
ful, or,  more  properly,  an  oppressive  con- 
striction of  my  chest,  by  opiates;  and  have 

1 [Dr.  Lawrence,  bom  in  1711,  died  in  1783, 
the  13th  of  June.  Ilis  son,  the  Reverend  J. 
Lawrence,  died  on  the  loth.  The  Biographical 
Dictionary  says  that  Johnson’s  Latin  Ode  to  Dr. 
Lawrence  was  on  the  death  of  one  of  his  sons,  who 
died  in  India.  It  would  rather  appear  to  have 
been  written  on  th a fatal  illness  of  this  son;  who, 
however,  survived  his  father  »*o  days  — Fd.] 


lately  taken  opium  frequently;  but  tin;  ast, 
or  two  last  times,  in  smaller  quantities.  My 
largest  dose  is  three  grains,  and  last  night 
I took  but  two.  You  will  suggest  these 
things,  (and  they  are  all  that  I can  call  to 
mind)  to  Dr.  Heberden.  I am,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

Two  days  after  he  wrote  thus  to  Mrs. 
Thrale2: 

“ On  Monday,  the  16th,  I sat  for  my  pic 
ture,  and  walked  a considerable  way  with 
little  inconvenience.  In  the  afternoon  and 
evening  I felt  myself  light  and  easy,  and 
began  to  plan  schemes  of  life.  Thus  I went 
to  bed,  and  in  a short  time  waked  and  sat 
up,  as  has  been  long  my  custom,  when  I 
felt  a confusion  and  indistinctness*  in  my 
head,  which  lasted,  I suppose,  about  half  a 
minute.  I was  alarmed,  and  prayed  God, 
that  however  he  might  afflict  my  body,  he 
would  spare  my  understanding.  This 
prayer,  that  I might  try  the  integrity  of  my 
faculties,  I made  in  Latin  verse.  The  lines 
were  not  very  good,  but  I knew  them  not 
to  be  very  good:  I made  them  easily,  and 
concluded  myself  to  be  unimpaired  in  my 
faculties. 

“ Soon  after  I perceived  that  I had  suf- 
fered a paralytick  stroke,  and  that  my 
speech  was  taken  from  me.  I had  no  pain, 
and  so  little  dejection  in  this  dreadful  state, 
that  I wondered  at  my  own  apathy,  and 
considered  that  perhaps  death  itself,  when 
it  should  come,  would  excite  less  honour 
than  seems  now  to  attend  it. 

“ In  order  to  rouse  the  vocal  organs,  I 
took  two  drams.  Wine  has  been  celebrated 
for  the  production  of  eloquence.  I put  my 
self  into  violent  motion,  and  I think  repeat 
ed  it;  but  all  was  vain.  I then  went  to 
bed,  and,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  I think 
slept.  When  1 saw  light,  it  was  time  to 
contrive  what  I should  do.  Though  God 
stopped  my  speech,  he  left  me  my  hand:  I 
enjoyed  a mercy  which  was  not  granted  to 
my  dear  friend  Lawrence,  who  now  per- 
haps overlooks  me  as  I am  writing,  and  re- 
joices that  I have  what  he  wanted.  My 
first  note  was  necessarily  to  my  servant, 
who  came  in  talking,  and  could  not  imme- 
diately comprehend  why  he  should  read 
what  I put  into  his  hands. 

“ I then  wrote  a card  to  Mr.  Allen,  that 
I might  have  a discreet  friend  at  hand,  to 
act  as  occasion  should  require.  In  penning 
this  note  I had  some  difficulty:  my  hand,  I 
knew  not  how  nor  why,  made  wrong  let- 
ters. I then  wrote  to  Dr.  Taylor  to  come 
to  me,  and  bring  Dr.  Heberden;  and  I sent 
to  Dr.  Brocklesby,  who  is  my  neighbour. 


2 Vol.  ii.  p.  268,  of  Mrs  Thrale’s  Collection 
— Boswell. 


178 3. — JET  AT.  74. 


My  physicians  are  very  friendly,  and  give 
me  great  hopes;  but  you  may  imagine  my 
situation.  I have  so  far  recovered  my  vo- 
cal powers,  as  to  repeat  the  Lord’s  Prayer 
with  no  imperfect  articulation.  My  me- 
mory, I hope,  yet  remains  as  it  was;  but 
such  an  attack  produces  solicitude  for  the 
safety  of  every  faculty. 

“TO  MR.  THOMAS  DAVIES. 

“ 18th  June,  1783. 

“ Dear  sir, — I have  had,  indeed,  a very 
heavy  blow;  but  God,  who  yet  spares  my 
life,  I humbly  hope  will  spare  my  under- 
standing and  restore  my  speech.  As  I am 
not  at  all  helpless,  I want  no  particular  as- 
sistance, but  am  strongly  affected  by  Mrs. 
Davies’s  tenderness;  and  when  I think  she 
can  do  me  good,  shall  be  very  glad  to  call 
upon  her.  I had  ordered  friends  to  be  shut 
out;  but  one  or  two  have  found  the  way 
in;  and  if  you  come  you  shall  be  admitted; 
for  I know  not  whom  I can  see  that  will 
bring  more  amusement  on  his  tongue,  or 
more  kindness  in  his  heart.  I am,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

It  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  preserve 
such  a memorial  of  Johnson’s  regard  for 
Mr.  Davies,  to  whom  I was  indebted  for 
my  introduction  to  him  h He  indeed  loved 
Davies  cordially,  of  which  I shall  give  the 
following  little  evidence: — One  day  when 
he  had  treated  him  with  too  much  asperity, 
Tom,  who  was  not  without  pride  and  spirit, 
went  off'  in  a passion;  but  he  had  hardly 
reached  home,  when  Frank,  who  had  been 
sent  after  him,  delivered  this  note:  “ Come, 
come,  dear  Davies,  I am  always  sorry 
when  we  quarrel;  send  me  word  that  we 
are  friends.” 

[“  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  20th  June,  1783. 

Letters  “ You  will  forgive  the  gross  im- 
roi.  ii.  ’ ages  that  disease  must  necessarily 
p.  273.  present.  Dr.  Lawrence  said  that 
medical  treatises  should  be  always  in  Latin. 

“ I never  had  any  distortion  of  the  coun- 
tenance but  what  Dr.  Brocklesby  called  a 
little  prolapsus,  which  went  away  the  sec- 
ond day. 

“ I was  this  day  directed  to  eat  flesh,  and 
I dined  very  copiously  upon  roasted  lamb 
and  boiled  pease.  I then  went  to  sleep  in 
a chair;  and  when  I waked,  I found  Dr. 
Brocklesby  sitting  by  me,  and  fell  to  talk- 
ing with  him  in  such  a manner  as  made  me 
glad,  and  I hope  made  me  thankful.  The 
doctor  fell  to  repeating  Juvenal’s  ninth  sa- 

1  Poor  Derrick,  however,  though  he  did  not 
himself  introduce  me  to  Dr.  Johnson  as  he 
promised,  had  the  merit  of  introducing  me  to 
Davies,  the  immediate  introductor. — Boswell. 


35 1 

tire;  but  I let  him  see  that  the  province  was 
mine. 

“ I am  to  take  wine  to-night,  and  hope  ii 
will  do  me  good.” 

“ DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER 
“ Loudon,  25th  June.  1783. 

“ Dear  madam, — Since  the  pa- 
pers have  given  an  account  of  my  ^j|gS on 
illness,  it  is  proper  that  I should  give 
my  friends  some  account  of  it  myself. 

“ Very  early  in  the  morning  of  the  16th  2 
of  this  month  I perceived  my  speech  taken 
from  me.  When  it  was  light  I sat  down 
and  wrote  such  directions  as  appeared  pro 
per.  Dr.  Heberden  and  Dr.  Brocklesby 
were  called.  Blisters  were  applied,  and 
medicines  given.  Before  night  1 began  to 
speak  with  some  freedom,  which  has  been 
increasing  ever  since,  so  that  I have  now 
very  little  impediment  in  my  utterance. 
Dr.  Heberden  took  his  leave  this  morning. 

“ Since  I received  this  stroke  I have  in 
other  respects  been  better  than  I was  be- 
fore, and  hope  yet  to  have  a comfortable 
summer.  Let  me  have  your  prayers. 

“ If  writing  is  not  troublesome,  let  ine 
know  whether  you  are  pretty  well,  and 
how  you  have  passed  the  winter  and  spring. 

“ Make  my  compliments  to  all  my  friends. 
I am,  dear  madam,  your  most  humble  ser- 
vant, “ Sam.  Johnson  ” 

“TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

London,  28th  June,  1783. 

“ Your  letter  is  just  such  as  I de-  Letters 
sire,  and  as  from  you  I hope  always  voi.  ii. 
to  deserve.  p’ 28°* 

“The  black  3 dog  I hope  always  to  re- 
sist, and  in  time  to  drive,  though  I am  de- 
prived of  almost  all  those  that  used  to  help 
me.  The  neighbourhood  is  impoverished. 
I had  once  Richardson  and  Lawrence  in 
my  reach.  Mrs.  Allen  is  dead.  My  home 
has  lost  Levett;  a man  who  took  interest  in 
every  thing,  and  therefore  ready  at  conver- 
sation. Mrs.  Williams  is  so  weak  that  she 
can  be  a companion  no  longer.  When  1 
rise,  my  breakfast  is  solitary;  the  black  dog 
waits  to  share  it.  From  breakfast  to  din 
ner  he  continues  barking,  except  that  Dr. 
Brocklesby  for  a little  keeps  him  at  a dis- 
tance. Dinner  with  a sick  woman  you  may 
venture  to  suppose  not  much  better  than 
solitary.  After  dinner,  what  remains  but 
to  count  the  clock,  and  hope  for  that  sleep 
which  I can  scarce  expect?  Night  comes' 
at  last,  and  some  hours  of  restlessness  and 
confusion  bring  me  again  to  a day  of  soli- 
tude. What  shall  exclude  the  black  dog 
from  an  habitation  like  this?  If  I were  a 
little  richer,  I would  perhaps  take  some 
cheerful  female  into  the  house.  * * * * 

2 [Mistake  for  17th. — Ed.] 

3 [See  ante,  p.  223. — Ed.] 


352 


1783.— AETAT.  74. 


“ Last  night  fresh  flies  were  put  to  my 
head,  and  hindered  me  from  sleeping. 
To-day  I fancy  myself  incommoded  with 
heat. 

“ I have,  however,  watered  the  garden 
both  yesterday  and  to-day,  just  as  I water- 
ed the  laurels  in  the  island  ”]  [at  Streat- 
ham.] 

[Amidst  all  this  distress  and  danger, 
D'  we  find  by  the  following  and  some  sub- 
sequent letters  to  or  concerning  Mr.  Lowe  i, 
that  he  was  still  ready  to  exert  himself  for 
his  humble  friend. 

c<  TO  MR.  LOWE. 

“ Friday,  20th  June,  1783. 

Mg  “ Sir, — You  know,  I suppose,  that 

a sudden  illness  makes  it  impracticable 
to  me  to  wait  on  Mr.  Barry,  and  the  time 
is  short.  If  it  be  your  opinion  that  the  end 
can  be  obtained  by  writing,  I am  very  wil- 
ling to  write,  and,  perhaps,  it  may  do  as 
well  : it  is,  at  least,  all  that  can  be  expect- 
ed at  present  from,  sir,  your  most  humble 
servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson. 

“ If  you  would  have  me  write,  come  to 
me : I order  your  admission.”] 

tc  TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“London,  3d  July,  1783. 

“Dear  sir, — Your  anxiety  about  my 
health  is  very  friendly  and  very  agreeable 
with  your  general  kindness.  I have  indeed 
had  a very  frightful  blow.  On  the  17th  of 
last  month,  about  three  in  the  morning,  as 
near  as  I can  guess,  I perceived  myself  al- 
most totally  deprived  of  speech.  I had  no 
pain.  My  organs  were  so  obstructed  that 
I could  say  no,  but  could  scarcely  say  yes. 
I wrote  the  necessary  directions,  for  it 
pleased  God  to  spare  my  hand,  and  sent  for 
Dr.  Heberden  and  Dr.  Brocklesby.  Be- 
tween the  time  in  which  I discovered  my 
own  disorder,  and  that  in  which  I sent  for 
the  doctors,  I had,  I believe,  in  spite  of  my 
surprise  and  solicitude,  a little  sleep,  and 
nature  began  to  renew  its  operations. 
They  came  and  gave  the  directions  which 
the  disease  required,  and  from  that  time  I 
have  been  continually  improving  in  articu- 
lation. I can  now  speak  ; but  the  nerves 
are  weak,  and  I cannot  continue  discourse 
long  ; but  strength,  I hope,  will  return. 
The  physicians  consider  me  as  cured.  I 
was  last  Sunday  at  church.  On  Tuesday 
I took  an  airing  to  Hampstead,  and  dined 
with  the  Club,  where  Lord  Palmerston  was 
proposed,  and,  against  my  opinion,  was  re- 
jected 2.  I designed  to  go  next  week  with 
Mr.  Langton  to  Rochester,  where  I pur- 


' [Communicated  by  Mr.  Markland  from  Mr. 

J C.  Creeling. — Ed.] 

- His  lordship  was  soon  after  chosen,  and  is 
□ow  a member  of  the  Club. — Bosweli. 


pose  to  stay  about  ten  days,  ar.d  then  try 
some  other  air.  I have  many  kind  invita- 
tions. Your  brother  has  very  frequently 
inquired  after  me.  Most  of  my  friends 
have,  indeed,  been  very  attentive.  Thank 
dear  Lord  Hailes  for  his  present. 

“ I hope  you  found  at  your  return  every 
thing  ga#y  and  prosperous,  and  your  lady, 
in  particular,  quite  recovered  and  confirm- 
ed. Pay  her  my  respects.  I am,  dear  sir, 
your  most  humble  servant, 

ft  Sam.  Johnson  ” 

[“  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  3d  July,  1783. 

“Dr.  Brocklesby  yesterday  dis-  Letters 
missed  the  cantharides,  and  I can  voi.  ».  ’ 
now  find  a soft  place  upon  my  pillow.  P-  ?86- 
Last  night  was  cool,  and  I rested  well , 
and  this  morning  I have  been  a friend  at  a 
poetical  difficulty.  Here  is  now  a glimpse 
of  daylight  again  ; but  how  near  is  the 
evening  none  can  tell,  and  I will  not  prog- 
nosticate. We  all  know  that  from  none  of 
us  it  can  be  far  distant : may  none  of  us 
know  this  in  vain  ! 

“ I went,  as  I took  care  to  boast,  on 
Tuesday  to  the  Club,  and  hear  that  I was 
thought  to  have  performed  as  well  as 
usual. 

“ I dined  on  fish,  with  the  wing  of  a 
small  turkey-chick,  and  left  roast  beef,  goose, 
and  venison-pie  untouched.  I live  much 
on  pease,  and  never  had  them  so  good  for 
so  long  a time  in  any  year  that  I can  re- 
member. 

**#**## 

cc  Along  with  your  kind  letter  yesterday 
came  one,  likewise  very  kind,  from  the  As- 
tons at  Lichfield;  but  I do  not  know  whether, 
as  the  summer  is  so  far  advanced,  I shall 
travel  so  far;  though  I am  not  without  hopes 
that  frequent  change  of  air  may  fortify  me 
against  the  winter,  which  has  been,  in 
modern  phrase,  of  late  years  very  inimical 
to,  madam,  your,  &c.”] 

“ TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER,  IN  LICHFIELD. 

“ London,  5th  July,  1783. 

“ Dear  madam, — The  account  which 
you  give  of  your  health  is  but  melancholy. 
May  it  please  God  to  restore  you.  My 
disease  affected  my  speech,  and  still  con- 
tinues, in  some  degree,  to  obstruct  my  ut- 
terance ; my  voice  is  distinct  enough  for  a 
while,  but  the  organs  being  still  weak  are 
quickly  weary  ; but  in  other  respects  I am, 
I think,  rather  better  than  I have  lately 
been,  and  can  let  you  know  my  state  with- 
out the  help  of  any  other  hand. 

“ In  the  opinion  of  my  friends,  and  in 
my  own,  I am  gradually  mending.  The 
physicians  consider  me  as  cured,  and  I had 
leave  four  days  ago  to  wash  the  cantharides 
from  my  head.  Last  Tuesday  I dined  at 
the  Clqb. 


1783.— jETAT.  74. 


353 


“ I am  going  next  week  into  Kent,  and 
purpose  to  change  the  air  frequently  this 
summer  : whether  I shall  wander  so  far  as 
Staffordshire  I cannot  tell.  I should  be 
glad  to  come.  Return  my  thanks  to  Mrs. 
Cobb,  and  Mr.  Pearson  i,  and  all  that  have 
shown  attention  to  me. 

“ Let  us,  my  dear,  pray  for  one  another, 
and  consider  our  sufferings  as  notices 
mercifully  given  us  to  prepare  ourselves  for 
another  state. 

“ I live  now  but  in  a melancholy  way. 
My  old  friend  Mr.  Levett  is  dead,  who 
lived  with  me  in  the  house,  and  was  useful 
and  companionable ; Mrs.  Desmoulins  is 
gone  away  ; and  Mrs.  Williams  is  so  much 
decayed,  that  she  can  add  little  to  another’s 
gratifications.  The  world  passes  away, 
and  we  are  passing  with  it ; but  there  is, 
doubtless,  another  world,  which  will  endure 
for  ever.  Let  us  all  fit  ourselves  for  it.  I 
am,  &c.  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

Murph  [During  his  illness  Mr.  Murphy 
Essay,  visited  him,  and  found  him  reading 
p.  121.  Watson’s  Chemistry  : articula- 
ting with  difficulty,  he  said,  “ From  this 
book  he  who  knows  nothing  may  leam  a 
great  deal,  and  he  who  knows  will  be 
pleased  to  find  his  knowledge  recalled  to  his 
mind  in  a manner  highly  pleasing.”] 

Such  was  the  general  vigour  of  his  con- 
stitution, that  he  resovered  from  this  alarm- 
ing and  severe  attack  with  wonderful  quick- 
ness ; so  that  in  July  he  was  able  to  make 
a visit  to  Mr.  Langton  at  Rochester,  where 
he  passed  about  a fortnight,  and  made  little 
excursions  as  easily  as  at  any  time  of  his 
life. 

[‘‘TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  8th  July,  1783. 

« Langton  and  1 have  talked  of  passing 
a little  time  at  Rochester  together,  tiH 
neither  knows  well  how  to  refuse  ; though 
I think  he  is  not  eager  to  take  me,  and  I 
am  not  desirous  to  be  taken.  His  family  is 
numerous,  and  his  house  little.  I have  let 
him  know,  for  his  relief,  that  I do  not  mean 
to  burden  him  more  than  a week.  He  is, 
however,  among  those  who  wish  me  well, 
and  would  exert  what  power  he  has  to  do 
me  good.” 

“ London,  23d  July,  1783. 

«*  1 have  been  thirteen  days  at  Rochester, 
and  am  now  just  returned.  I came  back  by 
water  in  a common  boat  twenty  miles  for  a 
shilling,  and  when  I landed  at  Billingsgate 
1 carried  my  budget  myself  to  Cornhill  be- 
fore I could  get  a coach,  and  was  not  much 
incommoded.”] 

i  The  Reverend  Mr.  Pearson,  to  whom  Mrs. 
Lucy  Porter  bequeathed  the  greater  part  of  her 
property. — M alon  e. 

vol.  II.  45 


[Mr.  Murphy  states  that  in  the  Murph. 
month  of  August  he  set  out  for  Essay 
Lichfield  on  a visit  to  Miss  Lucy  p’ lai* 
Porter ; and  in  his  way  back  paid  his  re- 
spects to  Dr.  Adams,  at  Oxford.  If  the 
dates  of  the  letters  published  by  Mrs. 
Thrale  be  correct,  it  is  hardly  possible  Ed* 
that  he  could  have  gone  to  Lichfield,  and 
there  is  barely  time  for  a short  excursion  to 
Oxford,  where,  however,  it  seems  from  the 
following  letters,  he  certainly  was  about  this 
period.] 

[“TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  13th  August,  1783. 

“ Of  this  world,  in  which  you  Letters 
represent  me  as  delighting  to  live,  I vol.  ii 

can  say  little.  Since  I came  home  P-  300- 
I have  only  been  to  church,  once  to  Bur- 
ney’s, once  to  Paradise’s,  and  once  to  Rey- 
nolds’s. With  Burney  I saw  Dr.  Rose, 
his  new  relation,  with  whom  I have  been 
many  years  acquainted.  If  I discovered 
no  reliques  of  disease,  I am  glad  ; but  Fan- 
ny’s trade  is  fiction  2. 

“I  have  since  partaken  of  an  epidemical 
disorder ; but  common  evils  produce  no  de- 
jection. 

“ Paradise’s  company,  I fancy,  disappoint- 
ed him ; I remember  nobody.  With  Rey- 
nolds was  the  Archbishop  of  Tuam,  a man 
coarse  of  voice  and  inelegant  of  language  3. 

“ I am  now  broken  with  disease,  without 
the  alleviation  of  familiar  friendship  or  do- 
fnestick  society:  1 have  no  middle  state 
between  clamour  and  silence,  between  gen- 
eral conversation  and  self-tormenting  soli- 
tude. Levett  is  dead,  and  poor  Williams  is 
making  haste  to  die  : I know  not  if  she  will 
ever  come  out  of  her  chamber. 

“ I am  now  quite  alone ; but  let  me  turn 
my  tnoughts  another  way.” 

“TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“ 18th  August,  1783. 

“My  dearest  dear, — I wish  all 
that  you  have  heard  of  my  health  Reyn- 
were  true ; but  be  it  as  it  may,  if  b 
you  will  be  pleased  to  name  the  day  and 
hour  when  you  would  see  me,  I will  be 
as  punctual  as  I can.  I am,  madam,  your 
most  humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

“TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  20th  August,  1783. 

“ This  has  been  a day  of  great  Letters, 
emotion  ; the  office  of  the  commu-  vol.  ii. 
nionforthe  sick  has  been  perform-  p-  301  • 
ed  in  poor  Mrs.  Williams’s  chamber.  At 

2 [Miss Fanny  Burney,  the  celebrated  novel- 
ist, had,  it  seems,  given  what  Johnson  feared 
was  too  favourable  an  account  of  him. — Ed.1 

3 [Hon.  Jos.  Deane  Bourke,  afterwards  Earl 
of  Mayo.  -Ed  1 


354 


1783. — iETAT.  74. 


Home  1 see  almost  all  my  companions  dead 
or  dying.  At  Oxford  I have  just  left  Whee- 
ler. the  man  with  whom  I most  delighted 
to  converse.  The  sense  of  my  own  diseases, 
and  the  sight  of  the  world  sinking  round 
me,  oppress  me  perhaps  too  much.  I hope 
hat  all  these  admonitions  will  not  be  vain, 
and  that  I shall  learn  to  die  as  dear  Wil- 
liams is  dying,  who  was  very  cheerful  be- 
fore and  after  this  awful  solemnity,  and 
seems  to  resign  herself  with  calmness  and 
hope  upon  eternal  mercy. 

“ I read  your  last  land  letter  with  great 
delight ; but  when  I came  to  love  and  hon- 
our, what  sprung  in  my  mind? — How 
loved,  how  honoured  once,  avails  thee 
not. 

“I  sat  to  Mrs.  Reynolds  yesterday  for 
my  picture,  perhaps  the  tenth  time ; and  I 
sat  for  three  hours  with  the  patience  of  mor- 
tal horn  to  bear.” 

“ TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

24th  August,  1783. 

“ Dear  madam, — When  your  let- 
Mss  *er  came  J was  s0  engaged  that  I 
could  not  conveniently  write.  Wheth- 
er 1 shall  go  to  Salisbury  I know  not, 
for  I have  had  no  answer  to  my  last  letter ; 
but  I would  not  have  you  put  off  your  jour- 
ney, for  all  my  motions  are  uncertain.  I 
wish  you  a happy  journey.  I am,  madam, 
your  most  humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

t 

“ TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  26th  August,  1783. 
Letters,  “Things  stand  with  me  much  as 
voi.  ii.  ’ they  have  done  for  some  time.  Mrs. 
P-  303.  Williams  fancies  now  and  then  that 
she  grows  better,  but  her  vital  powers  ap- 
pear to  be  slowly  burning  out.  Nobody 
thinks,  however,  that  she  will  very  soon  be 
quite  wasted ; and  as  she  suffers  me  to  be 
of  very  little  use  to  her,  I have  determined 
to  pass  some  time  with  Mr.  Bowles,  near 
Salisbury,  and  have  taken  a place  for  Thurs- 
day. 

“ Some  benefit  may  be  perhaps  received 
from  change  of  air,  some  from  change  of 
company,  and  some  from  mere  change  of 
place.  It  is  not  easy  to  grow  well  in  a 
chamber  where  one  has  long  been  sick,  and 
where  every  thing  seen,  and  every  person 
speaking,  revives  and  impresses  images  of 
pain.  Though  it  be  true  that  no  man  can 
run  away  from  himself,  yet  he  may  escape 
from  many  causes  of  useless  uneasiness. 
That  the  mind  is  its  own  place  is  the  boast 
of  a fallen  angel  that  had  learned  to  lie  L 
External  locality  has  great  effects,  at  least 
upon  all  embodied  beings.  I hope  this  little 
ioumey  will  afford  me  at  least  some  suspense 
of  melancholy.”] 

i [“  Paradise  Lost,”  book  i.  line  254. — Ed.] 


Toward  the  end  of  August  he  went  as  far 
as  the  neighbourhood  of  Salisbury,  to  Heale, 
the  seat  of  William  Bowles,  Esq.,  a gentle- 
man whom  I have  heard  him  praise  for  ex- 
emplary religious  order  in  his  family.  In 
his  diary  I find  a short  but  honourable  men- 
tion of  this  visit : — “ August  28,  I came  to 
Heale  without  fatigue.  30. 1 am  entertained 
quite  to  my  mind.” 

“ TO  DR.  BROCKLESBY. 

“ Heale,  near  Salisbury,  29th  August,  1783 

“ Dear  sir, — Without  appearing  to 
want  a just  sense  of  vour  kind  attention,  I 
cannot  omit  to  give  an  account  of  the  day 
which  seemed  to  appear  in  some  sort  peril- 
ous. I rose  at  five,  and  went  out  at  six; 
and  having  reached  Salisbury  about  nine, 
went  forward  a few  miles  in  my  friend’s 
chariot.  I was  no  more  wearied  with  the 
journey,  though  it  was  a high-hung,  rough 
coach,  than  I should  have  been  forty  years 
ago.  We  shall  now  see  what  air  will  do. 
The  country  is  all  a plain ; and  the  house  in 
which  I am,  so  far  as  I can  judge  from  my 
window,  for  I write  before  I have  left  my 
chamber,  is  sufficiently  pleasant. 

“ Be  so  kind  as  to  continue  your  attention 
to  Mrs.  Williams.  It  is  great  consolation 
to  the  well,  and  still  greater  to  the  sick,  that 
they  find  themselves  not  neglected ; and  I 
know  that  you  will  be  desirous  of  giving  com- 
fort, even  where  you  have  no  great  hope  of 
giving  help. 

“ Since  I wrote  the  former  part  of  the 
letter,  I find  that  by  the  course  of  the  post  1 
cannot  send  it  before  the  thirty-first.  I am, 
&c.  “ Sam/  Johnson.” 

While  he  was  here,  he  had  a letter  from 
Dr.  Brocldesby,  acquainting  him  of  the  death 
of  Mrs.  Williams,  which  affected  him  a good 
deal.  Though  for  several  years  her  temper 
had  not  been  complacent,  she  had  valuable 
qualities,  and  her  departure  left  a blank  in 
his  house.  Upon  this  occasion  he,  accord- 
ing to  his  habitual  course  of  piety,  composed 
a prayer  2 

[“DR.  BROCKLESBY  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“ 6th  September,  1783. 

“Mrs.  Williams,  from  mere  inanition, 
has  at  length  paid  the  great  debt  to  nature 
about  three  o’clock  this  morning.  She  died 
without  a struggle,  retaining  her  faculties 
entire  to  the  very  last ; and,  as  she  express- 
ed it,  having  set  her  house  in  order,  was 
prepared  to  leave  it  at  the  last  summons  of 
nature.” 

“TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  22d  Sept.  1783. 

« Poor  Williams  has,  I hope,  seen  the  end 
of  her  afflictions.  She  acted  with  prudence, 

2 Prayers  and  Meditations,  p.  226.— Boswei  l. 


1783.— JETAT.  74. 


355 


and  she  bore  with  fortitude  She  has  left 
me. 

Thou  thy  weary  task  hast  done, 

Home  art  gone,  and  ta’en  thy  wages  i. 

“ Had  she  had  good  humour  and  prompt  elo- 
cution, her  universal  curiosity  and  compre- 
hensive knowledge  would  have  made  her  the 
delight  of  all  that  knew  her.  She  left  her 
little  to  your  charity  school.”] 

I shall  here  insert  a few  particulars  con- 
cerning him,  with  which  I have  been  favoured 
by  one  of  his  friends. 

“He  had  once  conceived  the  design  of 
writing  the  Life  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  say- 
ing, that  he  thought  it  must  be  highly  curi- 
ous to  trace  his  extraordinary  rise  to  the 
supreme  power  from  so  obscure  a beginning. 
He  at  length  laid  aside  his  scheme,  on  dis- 
covering that  all  that  can  be  told  of  him  is 
already  in  print ; and  that  it  is  impracticable 
to  procure  any  authentick  information  in 
addition  to  what  the  world  is  already  in  pos- 
session of  2. 

“ He  had  likewise  projected,  but  at  what 
part  of  his  life  is  not  known,  a work  to  show 
how  small  a quantity  of  real  fiction  there 
is  in  the  world ; and  that  the  same  images, 
with  very  little  variation,  have  served  all  the 
authours  who  have  ever  written.” 

“His  thoughts  in  the  latter  part  of  his 
life  were  frequently  employed  on  his  de- 
ceased friends.  He  often  muttered  these  or 
such  like  sentences : ‘ Poor  man ! and  then 
he  died/  ” 

“Speaking  of  a certain  literary  friend, 

• He  is  a very  pompous  puzzling  fellow,’  said 
he : « he  lent  me  a letter  once  that  somebody 
had  written  to  him,  no  matter  what  it  was 
about ; but  he  wanted  to  have  the  letter 
back,  and  expressed  a mighty  value  for  it : he 
hoped  it  was  to  be  met  with  again ; he  would 
not  lose  it  for  a thousand  pounds.  1 laid  my 
nand  upon  it  soon  afterwards,  and  gave  it 


1 [Dirge  in  Cymbeline. — Ed.] 

2 Mr.  Malone  observes,  “ This,  however,  was 
entirely  a mistake,  as  appears  from  the  Memoirs 
published  by  Mr.  Noble.  Had  Johnson  been 
furnished  with  the  materials  which  the  industry 
of  that  gentleman  has  procured,  and  with  others 
which  ii  is  believed  are  yet  preserved  in  manu- 
script, he  would,  without  doubt,  have  produced  a 
most  valuable  and  curious  history  of  Cromwell’s 
life.” — Boswell.  I may  add,  that,  had  John- 
son given  us  a Life  of  Cromwell,  we  should  not 
have  been  disgusted  in  numberless  instances 
with — “ My  Lord  Protector  ” and  “ My  Lady 
Protectress  and  certainly  the  brutal  ruffian 
who  presided  in  the  bloody  assembly  that  mur- 
dered their  sovereign  would  have  been  charac- 
terised by  very  different  epithets  than  those 
which  are  applied  to  him  in  this  work,  where  we 
find  him  described  as  “ the  bcio  and  deter- 
mined Bradshaw.” — Malone. 


him.  I believe;  1 said  I was  very  glad  to  have 
met  with  it.  O,  then  he  did  not  know  that  it 
signified  any  thing.  So  you  see,  when  the 
letter  was  lost  it  was  worth  a thousand 
pounds,  and  when  it  was  found  it  was  not 
worth  a farthing/  ” 

“ The  style  and  character  of  his  conver- 
sation is  pretty  generally  known:  it  was 
certainly  conducted  in  conformity  with  a 
precept  of  Lord  Bacon,  but  it  is  not  clear,  1 
apprehend,  that  this  conformity  was  either 
perceived  or  intended  by  Johnson.  The 
precept  alluded  to  is  as  follows : ‘ In  all  kinds 
of  speech,  either  pleasant,  grave,  severe,  or 
ordinary,  it  is  convenient  to  speak  leisurely, 
and  rather  drawlingly  than  hastily  : because 
hasty  speech  confounds  the  memory,  and 
oftentimes,  besides  the  unseemliness,  drives 
a man  either  to*  stammering,  a nonplus,  or 
harping  on  that  which  should  follow ; 
whereas  a slow  speech  confirmeth  the  mem- 
ory, addeth  a conceit  of  wisdom  to  the  hear- 
ers, besides  a seemliness  of  speech  and 
countenance  3/  Dr.  Johnson’s  method  of 
conversation  was  certainly  calculated  to  ex- 
cite attention,  and  to  amuse  and  instruct  (as 
it  happened),  without  wearying  or  confus- 
ing his  company.  He  was  always  most 
perfectly  clear  and  conspicuous  ; and  his  lan- 
guage was  so  accurate,  and  his  sentences  so 
neatly  constructed,  that  his  conversation 
might  have  been  all  printed  without  any 
correction.  At  the  same  time,  it  was  easy 
and  natural ; the  accuracy  of  it  had  no  ap- 
pearance of  labour,  constraint,  or  stiffness  : 
he  seemed  more  correct  than  others  by  the 
force  of  habit,  and  the  customary  exercises 
of  his  powerful  mind.” 

“ He  spoke  often  in  praise  of  French  lite- 
rature. ‘ The  French  are  excellent  in  this, 
he  would  say,  ‘ they  have  a book  on  every 
subject.’  From  what  he  had  seen  of  them 
he  denied  them  the  praise  of  superior  polite- 
ness, and  mentioned,  with  very  visible  dis- 
gust, the  custom  they  have  of  spitting  on 
the  floors  of  their  apartments.  ‘ This,’  said 
the  Doctor,  ‘ is  as  gross  a thing  as  can  well 
be  done;  and  one  wonders  how  any  man, 
or  set  of  men,  can  persist  in  so  offensive  a 
practice  for  a whole  day  together:  one 
should  expect  that  the  first  effort  towards 
civilization  would  remove  it  even  among 
savages.’  ” 

“Baxter’s  ‘Reasons  of  the  Christian  Re- 
ligion’ he  thought  contained  the  best  col- 
lection of  the  evidences  of  the  divinity  of  the 
Christian  system.” 

“Chymistry  was  always  an  interesting 
pursuit  with  Dr.  Johnson.  Whilst  he  was 
in  Wiltshire,  he  attended  some  experiments 
that  were  made  by  a physician  at  Salisbury 
on  the  new  kinds  of  air.  In  the  course  of 


3 Hints  for  Civil  Conversation. — Rrtm'x 
Works,  4ta  vol.  i.  p 571. — Malone. 


366 


783.-  iETAT.  74. 


the  experiments  frequent  mention  being 
made  of  Dr.  Priestley,  Dr.  Johnson  knit  his 
brows,  and  in  a stern  manner  inquired, 
‘ Why  do  we  hear  so  much  of  Dr.  Priestley 1 V 
He  was  very  properly  answered,  ‘Sir,  be- 
cause we  are  indebted  to  him  for  these  im- 
portant discoveries.’  On  this  Dr.  Johnson 
appeared  well  content ; and  replied,  ‘Well, 
well,  I believe  we  are ; and  let  every  man 
have  the  honour  he  has  merited.’  ” 

“ A friend  was  one  day,  about  two  years 
before  his  death,  struck  with  some  instance 
of  Dr.  Johnson’s  great  candour.  ‘ Well, 
sir,’  said  he,  ‘ I will  always  say  that  you  are 
a very  candid  man.’  ‘Will  youl’  replied 
the  Doctor  ; ‘ I doubt  then  you  will  be  very 
singular.  But,  indeed,  sir,’  continued  he, 
‘ I look  upon  myself  to  be  a man  very  much 
misunderstood.  I am  not  an  uncandid,  nor 
am  I a severe  man.  I sometimes  say  more 
than  I mean,  in  jest ; and  people  are  apt  to 
believe  me  serious : however,  I am  more 
candid  than  I was  when  I was  younger. 
As  I know  more  of  mankind,  I expect  less 
of  them,  and  am  ready  now  to  call  a man 
a good  man  upon  easier  terms  than  I was 
formerly.’  ” 

On  his  return  from  Heale  he  wrote  to  Dr. 
Burney : 


i I do  not  wonder  at  Johnson’s  displeasure 
when  the  name  of  Dr.  Priestley  was  mentioned  ; 
for  I know  no  writer  who  has  been  suffered  to 
publish  more  pernicious  doctrines.  I shall  in- 
stance only  three.  First,  Materialism  ; by  which 
mind  is  denied  to  human  nature  ; which,  if  be- 
lieved, must  deprive  us  of  every  elevated  princi- 
ple. Secondly,  Necessity;  or  the  doctrine  that 
every  action,  whether  good  or  bad,  is  included  in 
an  unchangeable  and  unavoidable  system  ; a no- 
tion utterly  subversive  of  moral  government. 
Thirdly,  that  we  have  no  reason  to  think  that  the 
future  world  (which,  as  he  is  pleased  toinformus , 
Will  be  adapted  to  our  merely  improved  nature) 
will  be  materially  different  from  this  ; which,  if 
believed,  would  sink  wretched  mortals  into  des- 
pair, as  they  could  no  longer  hope  for  the  “rest 
that  remainethforthe  people  of  God,”  or  for  that 
happiness  which  is  revealed  to  us  as  something 
beyond  our  present  conceptions,  but  would  feel 
themselves  doomed  to  a continuation  of  the  un- 
easy state  under  which  they  now  groan.  I say 
nothing  of  the  petulant  intemperance  with  which 
he  dares  to  insult  the  venerable  establishments  of 
his  country.  As  a specimen  of  his  writings,  I 
shall  quote  the  following  passage,  which  appears 
to  me  equally  absurd  and  impious,  and  which 
might  have  been  retorted  upon  him  by  the  men 
who  were  prosecuted  for  burning  his  house.  “ I 
cannot,”  says  he,  “as  a necessarian  [meaning 
necessitarian],  hate  any  man ; because  I consider 
him  as  being,  in  all  respects,  just  what  God  has 
made  him  to  be  ; and  also  as  doing,  with  respect 
to  me,  nothing  but  what  he  was  expressly  de- 
signed and  appointed  to  do : God  being  the  only 
cause,  and  men  nothing  more  than  the  instru- 
f xcnts  in  his  hands  to  exeeu&e  all  hit  pleasures — 


“ I came  home  on  the  18th  of  Septemoer, 
at  noon,  to  a very  disconsolate  house.  You 
and  I have  lost  our  friends  ; but  you  have 
more  friends  at  home.  My  domestick  com- 
panion is  taken  from  me.  She  is  much  miss- 
ed, for  her  acquisitions  were  many,  and  her 
curiosity  universal ; so  that  she  partook  of 
every  conversation.  I am  not  well  enough 
to  go  much  out ; and  to  sit,  and  eat,  or  fasl 
alone,  is  very  wearisome.  I always  mean 
to  send  my  compliments  to  all  the  ladies.” 

[As  Mrs.  Williams  enjoyed  a pen-  Ed 
sion  from  Mrs.  Montagu,  Johnson 
thought  himself  bound  to  acquaint  her  with 
the  death  of  the  object  of  her  charity. 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  MONTAGU. 

“ 22d  September,  1783 

“ Madam, — That  respect  which 
is  always  due  to  beneficence  makes  it  Mom 
fit  that  you  should  be  informed,  oth-  IS‘ 
erwise  than  by  the  papers,  that,  on  the  6th 
of  this  month,  died  your  pensioner,  Anna 
Williams,  of  whom  it  may  be  truly  said,  that 
she  received  your  bounty  with  gratitude, 
and  enjoyed  it  with  propriety.  You  perhaps 
have  still  her  prayers. 

“ You  have,  madam,  the  satisfaction  of 
having  alleviated  the  sufferings  of  a woman 


Illustrations  of  Philosophical  Necessity,  p.  111. 
The  Reverend  Dr.  Parr,  in  a iate  tracl,  appears 
to  suppose  that  Dr.  Johnson  not  only  endured , 
but  almost  solicited,  an  interview  with  Dr. 
Priestley.  In  justice  to  Dr.  Johnson,  I declare 
my  firm  belief  that  he  never  did.  My  ill  ustrious 
friend  was  particularly  resolute  in  not  giving 
countenance  to  men  whose  writings  he  consi- 
dered as  pernicious  to  society.  I was  present  at 
Oxford  when  Dr.  Price,  even  before  he  had  ren- 
dered himself  so  generally  obnoxious  by  his  zeal 
for  the  French  Revolution,  came  into  a company 
where  Johnson  was,  who  instantly  left  the  room. 
Much  more  would  he  have  reprobated  Dr. 
Priestley.  Whoever  wishes  to  see  a perfect  de 
lineation  of  this  Literary  Jack  of  all  Trades  may 
find  it  in  an  ingenious  tract,  entitled  UA  Small 
Whole-Length  of  Dr.  Priestley ,”  printed  foi 
Rivingtons,  in  St.  Paul’s  Churchyard.— Bos 
well.  [The  foregoing  note  produced  a reply 
from  Dr.  Parr  (Gent.  Mag.  March,  1795),  in 
which  he  endeavoured  to  support  his  assertion 
by  evidence,  which,  however,  really  contradicted 
him.  For  instead  of  Johnson’s  having  so- 
licited an  interview  (which  was  the  point  in  dis- 
pute), Dr.  Parr  is  obliged  to  admit  that  the 
meeting  was  at.  Mr.  Paradise’s  dinner  table,  that 
Dr.  Johnson  did  not  solicit  the  interview,  but 
was  aware  that  Dr.  Priestley  was  invited,  and 
that  he  behaved  to  him  with  civility  : and  then 
Dr.  Parr  concludes,  in  a way  that  does  little  credit 
either  to  his  accuracy  or  his  candour,  “ Should 
Mr.  Boswell  be  pleased  to  maintain  that  Dr 
Johnson  rather  consented  to  the  interview,  than 
almost  solicited  it,  I shall  not  object  to  the  change 
of  expression.” — Ed.] 


1783. — iETAT.  74. 


35? 


t»f  great  merit,  both  intellectual  and  moral. 
Her  curiosity  was  universal,  her  knowledge 
was  very  extensive,  and  she  sustained  forty 
years  of  misery  with  steady  fortitude.  Thir- 
ty years  and  more  she  had  been  my  com- 
panion, and  her  death  has  left  me  very  des- 
olate. 

“ That  I have  not  written  sooner,  you 
may  impute  to  absence,  to  ill  health,  to  any 
thing  rather  than  want  of  regard  to  the  be- 
nefactress of  my  departed  friend.  Iam, 
madam,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

His  fortitude  and  patience  met  with  se- 
vere trials  during  this  year.  The  stroke  of 
the  palsy  has  been  related  circumstantially ; 
but  he  was  also  afflicted  with  the  gout,  and 
was  besides  troubled  with  a complaint  which 
not  only  was  attended  with  immediate  in- 
convenience, but  threatened  him  with  a 
chirurgical  operation,  from  which  most  men 
would  shrink.  The  complaint  was  a sar- 
eocele , which  Johnson  bore  with  uncommon 
firmness,  and  was  not  at  all  frightened  while 
he  looked  forward  to  amputation.  He  was 
attended  by  Mr.  Pott  and  Mr.  Cruikshank. 

I have  before  me  a letter  of  the  30th  of 
July,  tills  year,  to  Mr.  Cruikshank,  in  which 
he  says,  “I  am  going  to  put  myself  into 
your  hands and  another,  accompany- 
ing a set  of  his  “ Lives  of  the  Poets,”  in 
which  he  says,  “ I beg  your  acceptance  of 
these  volumes,  as  an  acknowledgment  of 
the  great  favours  which  you  have  bestowed 
on,  sir,  your  most  obliged  and  most  humble 
servant.”  I have  in  my  possession  several 
more  letters  from  him  to  Mr.  Cruikshank, 
and  also  to  Dr.  Mudge  at  Plymouth,  which 
it  would  be  improper  to  insert,  as  they  are 
filled  with  unpleasing  technical  details.  I 
shall,  however,  extract  from  his  letters  to 
Dr.  Mudge  such  passages  as  show  either  a 
felicity  of  expression,  or  the  undaunted  state 
of  his  mind. 

“ My  conviction  of  your  skill,  and  my  be- 
lief of  your  friendship,  determine  me  to  en- 
treat your  opinion  and  advice.” 

“In  this  state  I with  great  earnestness 
desire  you  to  tell  me  what  is  to  be  done. 
Excision  is  doubtless  necessary  to  the  cure, 
and  I know  not  any  means  of  palliation. 
The  operation  is  doubtless  painful ; but  is  it 
dangerous  1 The  pain  I hope  to  endure  with 
decency  ; but  I am  loath  to  put  life  into  much 
hazard.” 

“ By  representing  the  gout  as  an  antagon- 
ist to  the  palsy,  you  have  said  enough  to  make 
it  welcome.  This  is  not  strictly  the  first  fit, 
but  I hope  it  is  as  good  as  the  first ; for  it  is 
the  second  that  ever  confined  me ; and  the 
first  was  ten  years  ago,  much  less  fierce  and 
fiery  than  this.” 

“ Write,  dear  sir,  what  you  can  to  inform 
or  encourage  me.  The  operation  is  not  de- 
ayed  by  any  fears  or  objections  of  mine.” 


“TO  BENNET  LANGTON,  ESQ. 

“ London,  29tb  Sept.  1783. 

“ Dear  sir, — You  may  very  reasonably 
charge  me  with  insensibility  of  your  kindness 
and  that  of  Lady  Rothes,  since  I have  suf- 
fered so  much  time  to  pass  without  paying 
any  acknowledgment.  1 now,  at  last,  re- 
turn my  thanks  ; and  why  I did  it  not  soon- 
er I ought  to  tell  you.  I went  into  Wilt- 
shire as  soon  as  I well  could,  and  was  there 
much  employed  in  palliating  my  own  mal- 
ady. Disease  produces  much  selfishness. 
A man  in  pain  is  looking  after  ease,  and 
lets  most  other  things  go  as  chance  shall 
dispose  of  them.  In  the  mean  time  I have 
lost  a companion  i,  to  whom  I have  had  re- 
course for  domestick  amusement  for  thirty 
years,  and  whose  variety  of  knowledge 
never  was  exhausted;  and  now  return  to 
a habitation  vacant  and  desolate.  I carry 
about  a very  troublesome  and  danger- 
ous complaint,  which  admits  no  cure  but 
by  the  chirurgical  knife.  Let  me  have 
your  prayers.  I am,  &c. 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

Happily  the  complaint  abated  without  his 
being  put  to  the  torture  of  amputation. 
But  we  must  surely  admire  the  manly  reso- 
lution which  he  discovered  while  it  hung 
over  him. 

In  a letter  to  the  same  gentleman  he  writes, 
“ The  gout  has  within  these  four  days  come 
upon  me  with  a violence  which  I never  ex- 
perienced before.  It  made  me  helpless  as 
an  infant.”  And  in  another,  having  men- 
tioned Mrs.  Williams,  he  says, — “ whose 
death  following  that  of  Levett  has  now  made 
my  house  a solitude.  She  left  her  little 
substance  to  a charity-school.  She  is,  1 
hope,  where  there  is  neither  darkness  a,  nor 
want,  nor  sorrow.” 

I wrote  to  him,  begging  to  know  the 
state  of  his  health,  and  mentioned  that 
“ Baxter’s  Anacreon,  which  is  in  the  libra- 
ry at  Auchinleck,  was,  I find,  collated  by 
my  father  in  1727  with  the  MS.  belonging 
to  the  University  of  Leyden,  and  he  has 
made  a number  of  notes  upon  it.  Would 
you  advise  me  to  publish  a new  edition  of 
it?” 

His  answer  was  dated  September  30. 

“ You  should  not  make  your  letters  such 
rarities,  when  you  know,  or  might  know, 
the  uniform  state  of  my  health.  It  is  very 
long  since  I heard  from  you ; and  that  I 
have  not  answered  is  a very  insufficient  rea- 
son for  the  silence  of  a friend.  Your  Ana- 
creon is  a very  uncommon  book  : neither 
London  nor  Cambridge  can  supply  e copy 
of  that  edition.  Whether  it  should  ho  re- 
printed, you  cannot  do  better  than  consult 

1 Mrs.  Williams. — Boswell. 

2 [An  allusion  to  her  blindness.-  Ed.J 


358 


1783.— JiTAT.  74. 


Lord  Hailes.  Besides  my  constant  and  ra- 
dical disease,  I have  been  for  these  ten  days 
much  harassed  with  the  gout ; but  that  has 
now  remitted.  I hope  God  will  yet  grant 
me  a little  longer  life,  and  make  me  less  un- 
fit to  appear  before  him.” 

[“TO  MR.  TOMKESON,  IN  SOUTHAMPTON- 
STREET,  COVENT  GARDEN  K 

“ 1st  October,  1783. 

“Sir, — I have  known  Mr.  Lowe  very 
familiarly  a great  while.  I consider  him  as 
a man  of  very  clear  and  vigorous  under- 
standing, and  conceive  his  principles  to  be 
such  that,  whatever  you  transact  with  him, 

ou  have  nothing  to  expect  from  him  un- 

ecoming  a gentleman.  I am,  sir,  your 
humble  servant,  “Sam.  Johnson.” 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“ 1st  October,  1783. 

“ Dear  madam, — I am  very  ill  in- 
Reyn.  deed,  and  to  my  former  illness  is  su- 
peradded  the  gout.  I am  now  with- 
out shoes,  and  I have  lately  been  almost  mo- 
tionless. 

“ To  my  other  afflictions  is  added  solitude. 
Mrs.  Williams,  a companion  of  thirty  years, 
is  gone.  It  is  a comfort  to  me  to  have  you 
I am,  madam,  your  most  humble 
“Sam.  Johnson.” 

“TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  6th  October,  1783. 

“ I yet  sit  without  shoes,  with 
voi.  ii.  my  foot  upon  a pillow,  but  my 
p 313‘  pain  and  weakness  are  much 
abated,  and  I am  no  longer  crawling  upon 
two  sticks.  To  the  gout  my  mind  is  re- 
conciled by  another  letter  from  Mr.  Mudge, 
in  which  he  vehemently  urges  the  exci- 
sion, and  tells  me  that  the  gout  will  se- 
cure me  from  every  thing  paralytick  : if  this 
be  true,  I am  ready  to  say  to  the  arthritick 
pains,  Deh!  venite  ogne  di,  durate , un 
anno  2. 

“ My  physician  in  ordinary  is  Dr.  Brock- 
lesby,  who  comes  almost  every  day  ; my 
surgeon,  in  Mr.  Pott’s  absence,  is  Mr. 
Cruikshank,  the  present  reader  in  Dr.  Hun- 
ter’s school.  Neither  of  them,  however, 
do  much  more  than  look  and  talk.  The 
general  health  of  my  body  is  as  good  as  you 
have  ever  known  it — almost  as  good  as  I 
can  remember. 

“The  carriage  which  you  supposed  made 
rough  by  my  weakness  was  the  common 
Salisbury  stage,  high  hung,  and  driven  to 
Salisbury  in  a day.  I was  not  fatigued. 

“ Mr.  Pott  has  been  out  of  town,  but  I 
expect  to  see  him  soon,  and  will  then  tell 
you  something  of  the  main  affair,  of  which 
there  seems  now  to  be  a better  prospect. 

1 [Communicated  by  Mr.  J.C.  Freeling. — Ed.] 

4 [See  ante , p.  113. — Ed.] 


“This  afternoon  I have  given  [tea]  to 
Mrs.  Cholmondeley,  Mrs.  W ay,  Lady  Shef- 
field’s relation,  Mr.  Kindersley,  the  describer 
of  Indian  manners,  and  another  anonymous 
lady. 

“As  Mrs.  Williams  received  a pension 
from  Mrs.  Montagu,  it  was  fit  to  notify  hei 
death.  The  account  has  brought  me.  a let- 
ter not  only  civil  but  tender ; so  I hope  peace 
is  proclaimed.” 

“ London,  9th  October,  1783. 

“Two  nights  ago  Mr.  Burke  sat  with  me 
a long  time.  He  seems  much  pleased  with 
his  journey.  W e had  both  seen  Stonehenge 
this  summer  for  the  first  time.  I told  him 
that  the  view  had  enabled  me  to  confute  two 
opinions  which  have  been  advanced  about 
it.  One,  that  the  materials  are  not  natural 
stones,  but  an  artificial  composition  hardened 
by  time.  This  notion  is  as  old  as  Camden’s 
time ; and  has  this  strong  argument  to  sup- 
port it,  that  stone  of  that  species  is  nowhere 
to  be  found.  The  other  opinion,  advanced 
by  Dr.  Charlton,  is,  that  it  was  erected  by 
the  Danes. 

“ Mr.  Bowles  made  me  observe,  that  the 
transverse  stones  were  fixed  on  the  perpen- 
dicular supporters  by  a knob  formed  on  the 
top  of  the  upright  stone,  which  entered  into 
a hollow  cut  in  the  crossing  stone.  This  is 
a proof  that  the  enormous  edifice  was  raised 
by  a people  who  had  not  yet  the  knowledge 
of  mortar  3;  which  cannot  be  supposed  of 
the  Danes,  who  came  hither  in  ships,  and 
were  not  ignorant  certainly  of  the  arts  of 
life.  This  proves  also  the  stones  not  to  be 
factitious  ; for  they  that  could  mould  such 
durable  masses  could  do  much  more  than 
make  mortar,  and  could  have  continued  the 
transverse  from  the  upright  part  with  the 
same  paste. 

“You  have  doubtless  seen  Stonehenge; 
and  if  you  have  not,  I should  think  it  a 
hard  task  to  make  an  adequate  descrip- 
tion. 

« It  is  in  my  opinion  to  be  referred  to  the 
earliest  habitation  of  the  island,  as  a druidical 
monument  of,  at  least,  two  thousand  years ; 
probably  the  most  ancient  work  of  man 
upon  the  island.  Salisbury  cathedral  and 
its  neighbour  Stonehenge  are  two  eminent 
monuments  of  art  and  rudeness,  and  may 
show  the  first  essay  and  the  last  perfection 
in  architecture.” 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“ 23d  October,  1783. 

“Dear  madam, — Instead  of  hav- 
ing  me  at  your  table,  which  cannot, 

I fear,  quickly  happen,  come,  if  you 

3 [Surely  not.  W e who  have  the  use  of  mot 
tar  use  what  are  called  mortices  ; similar  in  prin- 
ciple at  least  to  the  knobs  and  hollows  of  Slone- 
henge. — Ed.] 


near  me 
servant, 


setters, 


1783. — iETAT.  74. 


359 


cun,  to  dine  this  day  with  me.  It  will  give 
pleasure  to  a sick  friend. 

“ Let  me  know  whether  you  can  come. 
I am,  madam,  yours  affectionately, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

14  DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“ London,  27th  October,  1783. 

« My  dearest  dear, — I am  able  enough 
to  write,  for  I have  now  neither  sickness  nor 
pain ; only  the  gout  has  left  my  ankles  some- 
what weak. 

“ While  the  weather  favours  you,  and  the 
air  does  you  good,  stay  in  the  country  : when 
you  come  home  I hope  we  shall  often  see 
one  another,  and  enjoy  that  friendship  to 
which  no  time  is  likely  to  put  an  end  on  the 
part  of,  madam,  your  most  humble  servant, 
“Sam.  Johnson.” 

He  this  autumn  received  a visit  from  the 
celebrated  Mrs.  Siddons.  He  gives  this  ac- 
count of  it  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Mrs.  Thrale. 

“ 27th  October. 

“ Mrs.  Siddons,  in  her  visit  to  me,  behaved 
with  great  modesty  and  propriety,  and  left 
nothing  behind  her  to  be  censured  or  des- 
pised. Neither  praise  nor  money,  the  two 
powerful  corruptors  of  mankind,  seem  to 
have  depraved  her.  I shall  be  glad  to  see 
her  again.  Her  brother  Kemble  i calls  on 
me,  and  pleases  me  very  well.  Mrs.  Siddons 
and  I talked  of  plays  ; and  she  told  me  her 
intention  of  exhibiting  this  winter  the  cha- 
racters of  Constance,  Catharine,  and  Isabel- 
la 2,  in  Shakspeare.” 

Mr.  Kemble  has  favoured  me  with  the 
following  minute  of  what  passed  at  this 
visit : 

“ When  Mrs.  Siddons  came  into  the  room, 
there  happened  to  be  no  chair  ready  for  her, 
which  he  observing  said,  with  a smile,  ‘ Ma- 
dam, you  who  so  often  occasion  a want  of 
seats  to  other  people  will  the  more  easily  ex- 
cuse the  want  of  one  yourself. 

“ Having  placed  himself  by  her,  he,  with 
great  good-humour,  entered  upon  a consider- 
ation of  the  English  drama;  and,  among 
other  inquiries,  particularly  asked  her  which 
of  Shakspeare’s  characters  she  was  most 

1 [This  great  actor  and  amiable  and  accom- 
plished man  left  the  stage  in  18 — , and  died  26th 
February,  1823,  at  Lausanne.  In  his  own  day 
he  had  no  competitor  in  any  walk  of  tragedy  ; 
and  those  who  remembered  Barry,  Mossop, 
Henderson,  and  Garrick  admitted,  that  in  cha- 
racters of  high  tragic  dignity,  such  as  Hamlet, 
Coriolantis,  Alexander,  Cato,  he  excelled  all  his 
predecessors,  almost  as  much  as  his  sister  did 
all  actresses  in  the  female  characters  of  the  same 
heroic.class. — Ed.] 

2 [Isabella  in  Shakspeare’s  Measure  for  Mea- 
sure. Mrs.  Siddons  had  made  her  first  appear- 
ance in  Isabella  in  The  Fatal  Marriage. — Ed.] 


pleased  with.  Upon  ner  answering  that  she 
thought  the  character  of  Queen  Catharine, 
in  Henry  the  Eighth,  the  most  natural : ‘I 
think  so  too,  madam,’  said  he  ; « and  when- 
ever you  perform  it,  I will  once  more  hobble 
out  to  the  theatre  myself.’  Mrs.  Siddons 
promised  she  would  do  herself  the  honour  of 
acting  his  favourite  part  for  him  ; but  many 
circumstances  happened  to  prevent  the  re- 
presentation of  King  Henry  the  Eighth  during 
the  Doctor’s  life  3. 

“In  the  course  of  the  evening  he  thus 
gave  his  opinion  upon  the  merits  of  some  of 
the  principal  performers  whom  he  remem- 
bered to  have  seen  upon  the  stage.  * Mrs. 
Porter  in  the  vehemence  of  rage,  and  Mrs. 
Clive  in  the  sprightliness  of  humour,  I have 
never  seen  equalled.  What  Clive  did  best, 
she  did  better  than  Garrick  ; but  could  not 
do  half  so  many  things  well : she  was  a 
better  romp  than  any  I ever  saw  in  nature. 
Pritchard,  in  common  life,  was  a vulgar 
idiot ; she  would  talk  of  her  gownd : but, 
when  she  appeared  upon  the  stage,  seemed 
to  be  inspired  by  gentility  and  understand- 
ing. I once  talked  with  Colley  Cibber, 
and  thought  him  ignorant  of  the  principles 
of  his  art.  Garrick,  madam,  was  no  de- 
claimer ; there  was  not  one  of  his  own  scene- 
shifters  who  could  not  have  spoken  To  be  or 
not  to  be  better  than  he  did : yet  he  was  the 
only  actor  I ever  saw,  whom  I could  call 
a master  both  in  tragedy  and  comedy ; 
though  I liked  him  best  in  comedy.  A true 
conception  of  character,  and  natural  ex- 
pression of  it,  were  his  distinguished  excel- 
lences.’ Having  expatiated,  with  his  usual 
force  and  eloquence,  on  Mr.  Garrick’s  ex- 
traordinary eminence  as  an  actor,  he  con- 
cluded with  this  compliment  to  his  social 
talents : * And  after  all,  madam,  I thought 
him  less  to  be  envied  on  the  stage  than  at 
the  head  of  a table.’  ” 

Johnson,  indeed,  had  thought  more  upon 
the  subject  of  acting  than  might  be  gener- 
ally supposed.  Talking  of  it  one  day  to 
Mr.  Kemble,  he  said,  “Are  you,  sir,  one 
of  those  enthusiasts  who  believe  yourself 
transformed  into  the  very  character  you 
represent  ? ” Upon  Mr.  Kemble’s  answer- 
ing that  he  had  never  felt  so  strong  a per- 
suasion himself;  “To  be  sure  not,  sir,” 
said  J ohnson  ; “ the  thing  is  impossible. 
And  if  Garrick  really  believed  himself  to  be 
that  monster,  Richard  the  Third,  he  de- 
served to  be  hanged  every  time  he  perform- 
ed it  4.” 


3 [ft  was  played  many  years  after  with  criti- 
cal attention  to  historical  accuracy,  and  with 
great  success.  Mrs.  Siddons  played  Catharine  - 
Mr.  Kemble,  Wolsey  ; Mr.  Charles  Kemble, 
Cromwell.  There  is  a very  interesting  picture, 
by  Harlow  (since  engraved),  of  the  trial-scene, 
with  portraits  of  all  the  performers.— Ed.] 

4 [Mr.  Kemble  told  the  Editor  that  the  occa- 


U60 


1783. — jETAT.  74. 


My  worthy  friend,  Mr.  John  Nichols,  was 
present  when  Mr.  Henderson,  the  actor,  paid 
a visit  to  Dr.  Johnson,  and  was  received  in  a 
very  courteous  manner  i. 

I found  among  Dr.  Johnson’s  papers  the 
following  letter  to  him,  from  the  celebrated 
Mrs.  Bellamy  2 ; 

“ TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“No.  10  Duke-street,  St.  James’s,  11th  May,  1783. 

“ Sir, — The  flattering  remembrance  of  the 
partiality  you  honoured  me  with  some  years 
ago,  as  well  as  the  humanity  you  are  known 
to  possess,  has  encouraged  me  to  solicit  your 
patronage  at  my  benefit. 

“ By  a long  chancery  suit,  and  a compli- 
cated train  of  unfortunate  events,  I am  re- 
duced to  the  greatest  distress  ; which  obliges 
me,  once  more,  to  request  the  indulgence  of 
the  pubiick. 

“ Give  me  leave  to  solicit  the  honour  of 
your  company,  and  to  assure  you,  if  you 
grant  my  request,  the  gratification  I shall 
feel  from  being  patronized  by  Dr.  Johnson 
will  be  infinitely  superiour  to  any  advantage 
that  may  arise  from  the  benefit ; as  I am, 
with  the  profoundest  respect,  sir,  your  most 
obedient,  humble  servant, 

“G.  A.  Bellamy.” 

I am  happy  in  recording  these  particulars, 
which  prove  that  my  illustrious  friend  lived 
to  think  much  more  favourably  of  players 
than  he  appears  to  have  done  in  the  early 
part  of  his  life  3. 

“TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER,  IN  LICHFIELD. 

“ Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  10th  Nov.  1783. 

“ Dear  madam, — The  death  of  poor  Mr. 
Porter,  of  which  your  maid  has  sent  an  ac- 
count, must  have  very  much  surprised  you. 
The  death  of  a friend  is  almost  always  un- 
expected : we  do  not  love  to  think  of  it,  and 
therefore  are  not  prepared  for  its  coming. 
He  was,  I think,  a religious  man,  and  there- 
fore that  his  end  was  happy. 

“ Death  has  likewise  visited  my  mournful 
habitation.  Last  month  died  Mrs.  Williams, 
who  had  been  to  me  for  thirty  years  in  the 
place  of  a sister  : her  knowledge  was  great 
and  her  conversation  pleasing.  I now  live  in 
cheerless  solitude. 


sion  on  which  he  had  felt  himself  the  most  af- 
fected— the  most  personally  touched— -was  in 
playing  the  last  scene  of  The  Stranger  with  Mrs. 
Siddons.  Her  pathos,  he  said,  in  that  part  al- 
ways overcame  him. — Ed.} 

1 See  Gentleman's  Magazine , June,  1791. — 
Boswell. 

i [An  actress  who  published  memoirs  of  her 
life. — Ed.] 

8 [Johnson’s  dislike  to  players  in  early  life  was 
nothing  more  than  his  jealousy  of  Garrick’s  sud- 
den elevation.  After  Garrick’s  death  he  began 
“to  think  more  favourable  of  them.” — Ed.] 


“My  two  last  years  have  passed  under 
the  pressure  of  successive  diseases.  I hav$ 
lately  had  the  gout  with  some  severity.  But 
I wonderfully  escaped  the  operation  which 
I mentioned,  and  am  upon  the  whole  re- 
stored to  health  beyond  my  own  expecta- 
tion. 

“ As  we  daily  see  our  friends  die  round  us, 
we  that  are  left  must  cling  closer,  and,  if  we 
can  do  nothing  more,  at  least  pray  for  one 
another ; and  remember,  that  as  others  die 
we  must  die  too,  and  prepare  ourselves 
diligently  for  the  last  great  trial.  I am, 
madam,  yours  affectionately, 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

[“  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  13th  November,  1783. 

“ Since  you  have  written  to  me  Letters 
with  the  attention  and  tenderness  of  vol.ii.  ’ 

ancient  time  4,  your  letters  give  me  p'  325' 
a great  part  of  the  pleasure  which  a life  of 
solitude  admits.  You  will  never  bestow  any 
share  of  your  good-will  on  one  who  deserves 
better.  Those  that  have  .loved  longest  love 
best.  A sudden  blaze  of  kindness  may  by 
a single  blast  of  coldness  be  extinguished ; 
but  that  fondness  which  length  of  time  has 
connected  with  many  circumstances  and 
occasions,  though  it  may  for  a while  be  de- 
pressed by  disgust  or  resentment,  with  or 
without  a cause,  is  hourly  revived  by  ac- 
cidental recollection.  To  those  that  have 
lived  long  together,  every  thing  heard  and 
every  thing  seen  recalls  some  pleasure  com- 
municated or  some  benefit  conferred,  some 
petty  quarrel  or  some  slight  endearment. 
Esteem  of  great  powers,  or  amiable  quali- 
ties newly  discovered,  may  embroider  a 
day  or  a week,  but  a friendship  of  twenty 
years  is  interwoven  with  the  texture  of 
life.  A friend  may  be  often  found  and 
lost ; but  an  old  friend  never  can  be  found, 
and  nature  has  provided  that  he  cannot  easily 
be  lost. 

* * * * * * 

“ You  seem  to  mention  Lord  Kilmurrey  5 
as  a stranger.  We  were  at  his  house  in 
Cheshire ; and  he  one  day  dined  with  Sir 
Lynch.  What  he  tells  of  the  epigram  is 
not  true,  but  perhaps  he  does  not  know  it  to 
be  false.  Do  not  you  remember  how  he  re- 
joiced in  having  no  park  ? — he  could  not  dis- 
oblige his  neighbours  by  sending  them  no 
venison.”] 

A pleasing  instance  of  the  generous  at- 


4 [This  is  the  first  letter  in  which  we’perceivc 
a serious  coldness  towards  Mrs.  Thrale,  but  it  is 
clear  that  it  had  existed  some  time  prior  to  this 
date,  though  it  certainly  had  not  been  so  early  as 
Mr.  Boswell  supposed. — Ed.] 

5 [See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  481,  and  p.  190  of  this 
vol. — Ed.] 


1783. — iETAT.  74. 


361 


tention  of  one  of  his  friends  has  been  dis- 
covered by  the  publication  of  Mrs.  Thrale’s 
Collection  of  Letters.  In  a letter  to  one  of 
the  Miss  Thrales,  he  writes,  “A 
p.  328.  florid,  whose  name  I will  tell  when 
your  mamma  has  tried  to  guess  it,  sent  to 
my  physician  to  inquire  whether  this  long 
train  of  illness  had  brought  me  into  diffi- 
culties for  want  of  money,  with  an  invita- 
tion to  send  to  him  for  what  occasion  re- 
quired. I shall  write  this  night  to  thank 
liim,  having  no  need  to  borrow.”  And  after- 
o wards,  in  a letter  to  Mrs.  Thrale, 
p “ Since  you  cannot  guess,  I will  tell 
you,  that  the  generous  man  was  Gerard 
Hamilton.  I returned  him  a very  thankful 
and  respectful  letter.” 

1 applied  to  Mr.  Hamilton,  by  a common 
friend,  and  he  has  been  so  obliging  as  to 
let  me  have  Johnson’s  letter  to  him  upon 
this  occasion,  to  adorn  my  collection. 

*‘TO  THE  RIGHT  HON.  WILLIAM  GERARD 
HAMILTON. 

“ 19th  November,  1783. 

“ Dear  sir, — Your  kind  inquiries  after 
my  affairs,  and  your  generous  offer^,  have 
been  communicated  to  me  by  Dr.  Brock- 
lesby.  I return  thanks  with  great  sincerity, 
having  lived  long  enough  to  know  what 
gratitude  is  due  to  such  friendship ; and  en- 
treat that  my  refusal  may  not  be  imputed 
to  sullenness  or  pride.  I am,  indeed,  in  no 
want.  Sickness  is,  by  the  generosity  of  my 
physicians,  of  little  expense  to  me.  But  if 
any  unexpected  exigence  should  press  me, 
you  shall  see,  dear  sir,  how  cheerfully  I can 
be  obliged  to  so  much  liberality.  I am,  sir, 
your  most  obedient  and  most  humble  ser- 
vant, “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

I find  in  this,  as  in  former  years,  notices 
of  his  kind  attention  to  Mrs.  Gardiner,  who, 
though  in  the  humble  station  of  a tallow- 
chandler  upon  Snow-hill,  was  a woman  of 
excellent  good  sense,  pious,  and  charitable  i. 
She  told  me  she  had  been  introduced  to 
him  by  Mrs.  Masters  2,  the  poetess,  whose 
volumes  he  revised,  and,  it  is  said,  illumina- 
ted here  and  there  with  a ray  of  his  own 
genius.  Mrs.  Gardiner  was  very  zealous 
for  the  support  of  the  ladies’  charity-school, 
in  the  parish  of  St.  Sepulchre.  It  is  con- 
fined to  females  ; and,  I am  told,  it  afford- 
ed a hint  for  the  story  of  “ Betty  Broom  ” 
in  “ The  Idler.”  Johnson  this  year,  I find, 
obtained  for  it  a sermon  from  the  late  Bish- 
op of  St.  Asaph,  Dr.  Shipley,  whom  he,  in 
one  of  his  letters  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  character- 
ises as  “ knowing  and  conversable and 

1 In  his  will  Dr.  Johnson  left  her  a book  “ at 
her  election,  to  keep  as  a token  of  remembrance.” 
— Malone.  [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  102.  She 
died  in  1789,  aet.  74. — Ed.] 

3  [Jlnte,  vol.  i.  p.  102. — Ed.] 
vot..  ii.  46 


whom  all  who  knew  his  lordship  even 
those  who  differed  from  him  in  por  ticks, 
remember  with  much  respect. 

[“  DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“27th  November,  1783. 

“ Dear  madam, — I beg  that  you 
will  let  me  know  by  this  messenger 
whether  you  will  do  me  the  honour 
of  dining  with  me,  and,  if  you  will,  whether 
we  shall  eat  our  dinner  by  our  own  selves,  or 
call  Mrs.  Desmoulins.  1 am,  dearest  dear 
your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

The  Earl  of  Carlisle  having  written  a 
tragedy,  entitled  “ The  Father’s  Re- 
venge,” some  of  his  lordship’s  friends  ap- 
plied to  Mrs.  Chapone  3,  to  prevail  on  Dr. 
Johnson  to  read  and  give  his  opinion  of  it, 
which  he  accordingly  did,  in  a letter  to  that 
lady.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  having  inform- 
ed me  that  this  letter  was  in  Lord  Carlisle’s 
possession,  though  I was  not  fortunate 
enough  to  have  the  honour  of  being  known 
to  his  lordship,  trusting  to  the  general  cour- 
tesy of  literature,  I wrote  to  him,  request- 
ing the  favour  of  a copy  of  it  1,  and  to  be 
permitted  to  insert  it  in  my  Life  of  Dr. 
Johnson.  His  lordship  was  so  good  as  to 
comply  with  my  request,  and  has  thus  en- 
abled me  to  enrich  my  work  with  a very 
fine  piece  of  writing,  which*  displays  both 
the  critical  skill  and  politeness  of  my  illus- 
trious friend ; and  perhaps  the  curiosity 
which  it  will  excite  may  induce  the  noble 
and  elegant  authour  to  gratify  the  world  by 
the  publication  of  a performance  of  which 
Dr.  Johnson  has  spoken  in  such  terms 

“TO  MRS.  CHAPONE. 

“ 28th  November,  1783. 

“Madam, — By  sending  the  tragedy  to 
me  a second  time  5, 1 think  that  a very  hon- 
ourable distinction  has  been  shown  me; 
and  I did  not  delay  the  perusal,  of  which  I 
am  now  to  tell  the  effect. 

“The  construction  of  the  play  is  not 
completely  regular:  the  stage  is  too  often 
vacant,  and  the  scenes  are  not  sufficiently 
connected.  This,  however,  would  be  call- 
ed by  Dryden  only  a mechanical  defect ; 
which  takes  away  little  from  the  power  or 
the  poem,  and  which  is  seen  rather  than 
felt. 

“ A rigid  examiner  of  the  diction  might, 
perhaps,  wish  some  words  changed,  and 
some  lines  more  vigorously  terminated. 


3 [Miss  Mulso.  See  ante,  p.  239. — Ed.] 

4 A few  copies  only  of  this  tragedy  have  been 
printed,  and  given  to  the  authour’s  friends. — Bos 

WELL. 

5 Dr.  Johnson  having  been  very  ill  when  the 
tragedy  was  first  sent  to  him,  had  declined  the 
Consideration  of  it. — Boswell. 


362 


1783.— jETAT.  7* 


Bat  from  such  petty  imperfections  what 
writer  was  ever  free  1 

“ The  general  form  and  force  of  the  dia- 
logue is  of  more  importance.  It  seems  to 
want  that  quickness  of  reciprocation  which 
characterises  the  English  drama,  and  is  not 
always  sufficiently  fervid  or  animated. 

“ Of  the  sentiments,  I remember  not  one 
that  I wished  omitted.  In  the  imagery  I 
cannot  forbear  to  distinguish  the  compari- 
son of  joy  succeeding  grief  to  fight  rushing 
on  the  eye  accustomed  to  darkness L It 
seems  to  have  all  that  can  be  desired  to 
make  it  please.  It  is  new,  just,  and  de- 
lightful. 

“ With  the  characters,  either  as  conceiv- 
ed or  preserved,  I have  no  fault  to  find  ; but 
was  much  inclined  to  congratulate  a writer 
who,  in  defiance  of  prejudice  and  fashion, 
made  the  archbishop  a good  man,  and 
scorned  all  thoughtless  applause,  which  a 
vicious  churchman  would  have  brought 
him. 

“ The  catastrophe  is  affecting.  The 
father  and  daughter  both  culpable,  both 
wretched,  and  both  penitent,  divide  be- 
tween them  our  pity  and  our  sorrow. 

“Thus,  madam,  I have  performed  what 
I did  not  willingly  undertake,  and  could  not 
decently  refuse.  The  noble  writer  will  be 
pleased  to  remember  that  sincere  criticism 
ought  to  raise  no  resentment,  because  judg- 
ment is  not  uftder  the  control  of  will ; but 
involuntary  criticism,  as  it  has  still  less  of 
choice,  ought  to  be  more  remote  from  pos- 
sibility of  offence.  I am,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER,  IN  LICHFIELD. 

“ London,  29th  Nov.  1783. 

“ Dear  madam, — You  may  perhaps  think 
me  negligent  that  I have  not  written  to  you 
again  upon  the  loss  of  your  brother;  but 
condolences  and  consolations  are  such  com- 
mon and  such  useless  things,  that  the  omis- 
sion of  them  is  no  great  crime  ; and  my  own 
diseases  occupy  my  mind  and  engage  my 
care.  My  nights  are  miserably  restless, 
and  my  days,  therefore,  are  heavy.  I try, 
however,  to  hold  up  my  head  as  high  as  I 
can. 

“ I am  sorry  that  you  health  is  impaired  : 
perhaps  the  spring  and  the  summer  may,  in 
some  degree,  restore  it ; but  if  not,  we  must 
submit  to  the  inconveniences  of  time,  as  to 
the  other  dispensations  of  Eternal  Good- 
ness. Pray  for  me,  and  write  to  me,  or  let 
Mr.  Pearson  write  for  you.  I am,  &c. 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 


1 “1  could  have  borne  my  woes;  that  stranger  Joy 
Wounds  while  it  smiles : — the  long-imprison’d  wretch, 
Emerging  from  the  night  of  his  damp  cell, 

Shrinks  from  the  sun’s  bright  beams;  and  that  whic  ll 
flings 

Gladness  o'er  all  to  him  is  agony.” — Boswell. 


[“HR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“ 23d  December,  1783 

“ Dearest  madam, — You  shall 
doubtless  be  very  welcome  to  me  on  ^gyu 
Christmas  day.  I shall  not  dine 
alone,  but  the  company  will  all  be  people 
whom  we  can  stay  with  or  leave.  I will 
expect  you  at  three,  if  I hear  no  more.  1 
am  this  day  a little  better.  I am,  dear 
madam,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson. 

“ I mean,  do  not  be  later  than  three ; for 
as  I am  afraid  I shall  not  be  at  church,  you 
cannot  come  too  soon.” 

I consulted  him  on  two  questions  of  a 
very  different  nature:  one,  Whether  the 
unconstitutional  influence  exercised  by  the 
peers  of  Scotland  in  the  election  of  the  rep- 
resentatives of  the  commons,  by  means  of 
fictitious  qualifications,  ought  not  to  be  re- 
sisted ; the  other,  What  in  propriety  and 
humanity  should  be  done  with  old  horses 
unable  to  labour.  I gave  him  some  ac- 
count of  my  life  at  Auchinleck ; and  ex- 
pressed my  satisfaction  that  the  gentlemen 
of  the  county  had,  at  two  publick  meetings, 
elected  me  their  prases  or  chairman. 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ London,  24th  Dec.  1783. 

“ Dear  sir, — Like  all  other  men  who 
have  great  friends,  you  begin  to  feel  the 
pangs  of  neglected  merit;  and  all  the  com- 
fort that  I can  give  you  is,  by  telling  you 
that  you  have  probably  more  pangs  to  feel, 
and  more  neglect  to  suffer.  You  have,  in- 
deed, begun  to  complain  too  soon , and  1 
hope  I am  the  only  confidant  of  your  dis- 
content. Your  friends  have  not  yet  had 
leisure  to  gratify  personal  kindness  ; they 
have  hitherto  been  busy  in  strengthening 
their  ministerial  interest.  If  a vacancy 
happens  in  Scotland,  give  them  early  intel- 
ligence : and  as  you  can  serve  government 
as  powerfully  as  any  of  your  probable  com- 
petitors, you  may  make  in  some  sort  a war- 
rantable claim. 

“ Of  the  exaltations  and  depressions  of 
your  mind  you  delight  to  talk,  and  I hate 
to  hear.  Drive  all  such  fancies  from  you. 

“ On  the  day  when  I received  your  let- 
ter, I think,  the  foregoing  page  was  writ- 
ten ; to  which  one  disease  or  another  has 
hindered  me  from  making  any  additions.  1 
am  now  a little  better.  But  sickness  and 
solitude  press  me  very  heavily.  I could 
bear  sickness  better,  if  I were  relieved  from 
solitude. 

“The  present  dreadful  confusion  of  the 
publick  ought  to  make  you  wrap  yourself 
up  in  your  hereditary  possessions,  which, 
though  less  than  you  may  wish,  are  more 
than  you  can  want;  and  in  an  hour  of  re- 
ligious retirement  return  thanks  to  God, 


1733.— iETAT.  74 


363 


who  has  exempted  you  from  any  strong 
temptation  to  faction,  treachery,  plunder, 
and  disloyalty. 

“As  your  neighbours  distinguish  you  by 
such  honours  as  they  can  bestow,  content 
yourself  with  your  station,  without  neglecting 
your  profession.  Your  estate  and  the  courts 
will  find  you  full  employment,  and  your  mind 
well  occupied  will  be  quiet. 

“ The  usurpation  of  the  nobility,  for  they 
apparently  usurp  all  the  influence  they  gain 
by  fraud  and  misrepresentation,  I think  it 
certainly  lawful,  perhaps  your  duty,  to  resist. 
What  is  not  their  own,  they  have  only  by 
robbery. 

“Your  question  about  the  horses  gives  me 
more  perplexity.  I know  not  well  what  ad- 
vice to  give  you.  I can  only  recommend  a 
rule  which  you  do  not  want : give  as  little 
pain  as  you  can.  I suppose  that  we  have  a 
right  to  their  service  while  their  strength 
lasts ; what  we  can  do  with  them  afterwards, 
I cannot  so  easily  determine.  But  let  us 
consider.  Nobody  denies  that  man  has  a 
right  first  to  milk  the  cow,  and  to  shear  the 
sheep,  and  then  to  kill  them  for  his  table. 
May  lie  not,  by  parity  of  reason,  first  work  a 
horse,  and  then  kill  him  the  easiest  way,  that 
he  may  have  the  means  of  another  horse,  or 
food  for  cows  and  sheep  1 Man  is  influenced 
in  both  cases  by  different  motives  of  self- 
interest.  He  that  rejects  the  one  must  re- 
ject the  other.  I am,  &c. 

“Sam.  Johnson. 

« A happy  and  pious  Christmas  ; and  ma- 
ny happy  years  to  you,  your  lady,  and  chil- 
dren.” 

The  late  ingenious  Mr.  Mickle,  some  time 
before  his  death,  wrote  me  a letter  concern- 
ing Dr.  Johnson,  in  which  he  mentions,  “I 
was  upwards  of  twelve  years  acquainted 
with  him,  was  frequently  in  his  company,  al- 
ways talked  with  ease  to  him,  and  can  truly 
say,  that  I never  received  from  him  one 
rough  word.” 

In  this  letter  he  relates  his  having,  while 
engaged  in  translating  the  Lusiad,  had  a 
dispute  of  considerable  length  with  John- 
son, who,  as  usual,  declaimed  upon  the  mise- 
ry and  corruption  of  a sea  life,  and  used 
this  expression  : — “ It  had  been  happy  for 
the  world,  sir,  if  your  hero  Gama,  Prince 
Henry  of  Portugal,  and  Columbus,  had  never 
been  born,  or  that  their  schemes  had  never 
gone  farther  than  their  own  imaginations.” 
“This  sentiment,”  says  Mr.  Mickle,  “which 
is  to  be  found  in  his  ‘ Introduction  to  the 
World  Displayed,’  I,  in  my  Dissertation 
prefixed  to  the  Lusiad,  have  controverted  ; 
and  though  authours  are  said  to  be  bad 
judges  of  their  own  works,  I am  not  ashamed 
to  own  to  a friend,  that  that  dissertation  is 
my  favourite  above  all  that  I ever  attempt- 
ed in  prose.  Next  year,  when  the  Lusiad 
was  oublished,  I waited  on  Dr.  Johnson, 


who  addressed  me  with  one  of  nis  good- 
humoured  smiles : — “ Well,  you  have  re- 
membered our  dispute  about  Prince  Henry, 
and  have  cited  me  too.  You  have  done  your 
part  very  well  indeed : you  have  made  the 
best  of  your  argument ; but  I am  not  con- 
vinced yet.’ 

“ Before  publishing  the  Lusiad,  I sent  Mr. 
Hoole  a proof  of  that  part  of  the  introduction 
in  which  1 make  mention  of  Dr.  Tohnson, 
yourself,  and  other  well-wishers  to  the  work, 
begging  it  might  be  shown  to  Dr.  Johnson. 
This  was  accordingly  done ; and  in  place  of 
the  simple  mention  of  him  which  I had  made, 
he  dictated  to  Mr.  Hoole  the  sentence  as  it 
now  stands. 

“Dr.  Johnson  told  mein  1772, that,  about 
twenty  years  before  that  time,  he  himself 
had  a design  to  translate  the  Lusiad,  of  the 
merit  of  which  he  spoke  highly,  but  had  been 
prevented  by  a number  of  other  engage- 
ments.” 

Mr.  Mickle  reminds  me  in  this  letter  of  a 
conversation  at  dinner  one  day  at  Mr.  Hoole’s 
with  Dr.  Johnson,  when  Mr.  Nicol,  the  king’s 
bookseller,  and  I,  attempted  to  controvert  the 
maxim, « Better  that  ten  guilty  should  escape, 
than  one  innocent  person  suffer,”  and  were 
answered  by  Dr.  Johnson  with  great  power 
of  reasoning  and  eloquence.  I am  very  sor- 
ry that  I have  no  record  of  that  day  : but  I 
well  recollect  my  illustrious  friend’s  having 
ably  shown,  that  unless  civil  institutions  en- 
sure protection  to  the  innocent,  all  the  con- 
fidence which  mankind  should  have  in  them 
would  be  lost. 

I shall  here  mention  what,  in  strict  chro- 
nological arrangement,  should  have  appeared 
in  my  account  of  last  year ; but  may  more 
properly  be  introduced  here,  the  controversy 
having  not  been  closed  till  this.  The  Reve- 
rend Mr.  Shaw  >,  a native  of  one  of  the  He- 
brides, having  entertained  doubts  of  the  au- 
thenticity of  the  poems  ascribed  to  Ossian, 
divested  himself  of  national  bigotry ; and  hav- 
ing travelled  in  the  Highlands  and  Islands  of 
Scotland,  and  also  in  Ireland,  in  order  to  fur- 
nish himself  with  materials  for  a Gaelick  Dic- 
tionary, which  he  afterwards  compiled,  was 
so  fully  satisfied  that  Dr.  Johnson  was  in  the 
right  upon  the  question,  that  he  candidly 
published  a pamphlet,  stating  his  conviction, 
and  the  proofs  and  reasons  on  which  it  was 
founded.  A person  at  Edinburgh,  of  the 
name  of  Clark,  answered  this  pamphlet 
with  much  zeal,  and  much  abuse  of  its  au- 
thour.  Johnson  took  Mr.  Shaw  under  his 
protection,  and  gave  him  his  assistance  in  wri- 
ting a reply,  which  has  been  admired  by  the 
best  judges,  and  by  many  been  considered  as 
conclusive.  A few  paragraphs,  which  suf- 
ficiently mark  their  great  authour,  shall  be  se- 
lected. 

“My  assertions  are,  for  the  most  part, 


[See  ante,  p.  315. — Ed.1 


364 


1783.— JET AT.  74. 


purely  negative : I deny  the  existence  of 
Fingal,  because  in  a long  and  curious  pere- 
grination through  the  Gaelick  regions  I have 
never  been  able  to  find  it.  What  I could 
not  see  myself,  I suspect  to  be  equally  invisi- 
ble to  others  ; and  I suspect  with  the  more 
reason,  as  among  all  those  who  have  seen  it 
no  man  can  show  it. 

“Mr.  Clark  compares  the  obstinacy  of 
those  who  disbelieve  the  genuineness  of 
Ossian  to  a blind  man,  who  should  dispute 
the  reality  of  colours,  and  deny  that  the 
British  troops  are  clothed  in  red.  The 
blind  man’s  doubt  would  be  rational,  if  he 
did  not  know  by  experience  that  others 
have  a power  which  he  himself  wants  : but 
what  perspicacity  has  Mr.  Clark  which 
Nature  has  withheld  from  me  or  the  rest  of 
mankind  J 

“ The  true  state  of  the  parallel  must  be 
this: — Suppose  a* man,  with  eyes  like  his 
neighbours,  was  told  by  a boasting  corporal, 
that  the  troops,  indeed,  wore  red  clothes  for 
their  ordinary  dress,  but  that  every  soldier 
had  likewise  a suit  of  black  velvet,  which 
he  puts  on  when  the  king  reviews  them. 
This  he  thinks  strange,  and  desires  to  see  the 
fine  clothes,  but  finds  nobody  in  forty  thou- 
sand men  that  can  produce  either  coat  or 
waistcoat.  One,  indeed,  has  left  them  in  his 
chest  at  Port  Mahon ; another  has  always 
heard  that  he  ought  to  have  velvet  clothes 
somewhere;  and  a third  has  heard  some- 
body say  that  soldiers  ought  to  wear  velvet. 
Can  the  inquirer  be  blamed  if  he  goes  away 
believing  that  a soldier’s  red  coat  is  all  that 
he  has! 

“ But  the  most  obdurate  incredulity  may 
be  shamed  or  silenced  by  facts.  To  over- 
power contradictions,  let  the  soldier  show  his 
velvet  coat,  and  the  Fingalist  the  original  of 
Ossian. 

“ The  difference  between  us  and  the  blind 
man  is  this  : the  blind  man  is  unconvinced, 
because  he  cannot  see ; and  we  because, 
though  we  can  see,  we  find  nothing  that  can 
be  shown.” 

Notwithstanding  the  complication  of  dis- 
orders under  which  Johnson  now  laboured, 
he  did  not  resign  himself  to  despondency  and 
discontent,  but  with  wisdom  and  spirit  en- 
deavoured to  console  and  amuse  his  mind 
with  as  many  innocent  enjoyments  as  he  could 
procure.  Sir  John  Hawkins  has  mentioned 
the  cordiality  with  which  he  insisted  that  such 
of  the  members  of  the  old  club  in  Ivy-lane  as 
survived  should  meet  again  and  dine  together, 
which  they  did  twice  at  a tavern,  and  once 
at  his  house. 

[“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  SIR  JOHN  HAWKINS. 

“ Bolt-court,  22d  Nov.  1783. 

Hawk  “Dear  sir, — As  Mr.  Ryland 
0*561’  was  talkingwith  me  of  old  friends 
and  past  times,  we  warmed  our- 
selves into  a wish,  that  all  who  remained  of 


I the  Club  should  meet  and  dine  at  the  house 
which  once  was  Horseman’s,  in  Ivy-lane. 
I have  undertaken  to  solicit  you,  and  there- 
fore desire  you  to  tell  me  on  what  day  next 
week  you  can  conveniently  meet  your  old 
friends.  I am,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 
“Sam.  Johnson.” 

The  intended  meeting  was  prevented  by  a 
circumstance,  which  the  following  note  will 
explain : 

“3d  Dec.  1783. 

“ Dear  sir, — In  perambulating  Ivy-lane, 
Mr.  Ryland  found  neither  our  landlord 
Horseman  nor  his  successor.  The  old  house 
is  shut  up,  and  he  liked  not  the  appearance 
of  any  near  it:  he  therefore  bespoke  our 
dinner  at  the  Queen’s  Arms,  in  St.  Paul’s 
Churchyard,  where,  at  half  an  hour  after 
three,  your  company  will  be  desired  to-day 
by  those  who  remain  of  our  former  society. 
Your  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ With  this  invitation,”  says  Sir  John 
Hawkins,  “ I cheerfully  complied,  and  met,  at 
the  time  and  place  appointed,  all  who  could 
be  mustered  of  our  society,  namely,  Johnson, 
Mr.  Ryland,  and  Mr.  Payne  of  the  bank. 
When  we  were  collected,  the  thought  that 
we  were  so  few  occasioned  some  melancholy 
reflections,  and  I could  not  but  compare  our 
meeting,  at  such  an  advanced  period  of  life  as 
it  was  to  us  all,  to  that  of  the  four  old  men  in 
the  ‘ Senile  Colloquium  ’ of  Erasmus.  We 
dined,  and  in  the  evening  regaled  with  coffee. 
At  ten  we  broke  up,  much  to  the 
regret  of  Johnson,  who  proposed  Ha'^- 
staying ; but  finding  us  inclined  to  p‘ 
separate,  he  left  us,  with  a sigh  that  seemed 
to  come  from  his  heart,  lamenting  that  he 
was  retiring  to  solitude  and  cheerless  medi- 
tation. 

“Johnson  had  proposed  a meeting  like  this 
once  a month,  and  wTe  had  one  more ; but  the 
time  approaching  for  a third,  he  began  to  feel 
a return  of  some  of  his  complaints,  and  signi- 
fied a wish  that  we  would  dine  with  him  at 
his  owTn  house ; and  accordingly  we  met 
there,  and  were  very  cheerfully  entertained 
by  him.”] 

[Of  this  meeting  he  gave  the  following  ac- 
count to  Mrs.  Thrale : 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  13th  December,  1783. 

“ I dined  about  a fortnight  ago  Letters, 
wdth  three  old  friends.  We  had  voLtt. 
not  met  together  for  thirty  years,  p‘  3 9‘ 
and  one  of  us  thought  the  other  grown  very 
old.  In  the  thirty  years  two  of  our  set  have 
died.  Our  meeting  may  be  supposed  to  be 
somewhat  tender.”] 

In  order  to  ensure  himself  society  in  the 
evening  for  three  days  in  the  week,  he  in- 


1783.— jETAT.  74.  365 


stituted  a club  at  the  Essex  Head,  in  Essex- 
etreet,  then  kept  by  Samuel  Greaves,  an  old 
servant  of  Mr.  Thrale’s. 

“TO  SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS. 

“ 4th  December,  1783. 

« Hear  sir, — It  is  inconvenient  to  me  to 
come  out ; I should  else  have  waited  on  you 
with  an  account  of  a little  evening  club  which 
we  are  establishing  in  Essex-street  in  the 
Strand,  and  of  which  you  are  desired  to  be 
one.  It  will  be  held  at  the  Essex  Head,  now 
kept  by  an  old  servant  of  Thrale’s.  The 
company  is  numerous,  and,  as  you  will  see  by 
the  list,  miscellaneous.  The  terms  are  lax, 
and  the  expenses  light.  Mr.  Barry  was 
adopted  by  Hr.  BrocWesby,  who  joined  with 
me  in  forming  the  plan.  We  meet  thrice  a 
week,  and  he  who  misses  forfeits  two-pence. 

“ If  you  are  willing  to  become  a member, 
draw  a line  under  your  name.  Return  the 
list.  We  meet  for  the  first  time  on  Monday 
at  eight.  I am,  &c. 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

It  did  not  suit  i Sir  Joshua  to  be  one  of  this 
club.  But  when  I mention  only  Mr.  Haines 
Barrington,  Hr.  Brocklesby,  Mr.  Murphy,  Mr. 
John  Nichols,  Mr.  Cooke  2,  Mr.  Joddrel,  Mr. 
Paradise,  Dr.  Horseley,  Mr.  Windham  3,  I 
shall  sufficiently  obviate  the  misrepresenta- 
tion of  it  by  Sir  John  Hawkins,  as  if  it  had 
been  a low  alehouse  association  4,  by  which 
Johnson  was  degraded.  Johnson  himselfj 

1 [Johnson  himself,  by  the  mention  of  Barry 
the  painter,  seems  to  have  anticipated  some  re- 
luctance on  the  part  of  Sir  Joshua.  Indeed,  the 
violence  of  Barry’s  temper,  and  the  absurdity  of 
his  conduct,  rendered  him  no  very  agreeable 
companion  ; but  towards  Sir  Joshua  his  be- 
haviour had  been  particularly  offensive. — Ed.] 

2 [A  biographical  notice  of  Mr.  Cooke,  who 
died  April  3,  1824,  will  be  found  in  the  Gentle- 
man’s Magazine  for  that  month  ; and  some  ac- 
count of  Mr.  Joddrel  is  given  in  Nichols’s  Lit. 
Ante.  vol.  viii. — Ed.] 

3 I was  in  Scotland  when  this  club  was  found- 
ed, and  during  all  the  winter.  Johnson,  how- 
ever, declared  I should  be  a member,  and  invent- 
ed a word  upon  the  occasion  : “ Boswell,”  said 
he,  “ is  a very  clubable  man.”  When  I came  to 
town  I was  proposed  by  Mr.  Barrington,  and 
chosen.  I believe  there  are  few  societies  where 
there  is  better  conversation  or  more  decorum. 
Several  of  us  resolved  to  continue  it  after  our 
great  founder  was  removed  by  death.  Other 
members  were  added ; and  now,  about  eight 
years  since  that  loss,  we  go  on  happily.  John- 
son’s definition  of  a club,  in  this  sense,  in  his 
Dictionary,  is  “An  assembly  of  good  fellows, 
meeting  under  certain  conditions.” — Boswell. 

4 [Miss  Hawkins  candidly  says,  “Boswell 
was  well  justified  in  his  resentment  of  my  fa- 
ther’s designation  of  this  as  a sixpenny  club  at  an 
alehouse.  I am  sorry  my  father  permitted  him- 
self to  be  so  pettish  on  the  subject.  Honestly 
speaking,  I dare  say  he  did  not  like  being  passed 
over.” — Mem.  vol.  ii.  p.  104. — Ed.] 


like  his  namesake  Old  Ben,  composed  the 
rules  of  his  Club. 

“ RULES. 

“ To  day  deep  thoughts  with  me  resolve  to  drench 

In  mirth,  which  after  no  repenting  draws. 

Milton. 

“ The  club  shall  consist  of  four  and  twen- 
ty. 

“ The  meetings  shall  be  on  the  Monday, 
Thursday,  and  Saturday  of  every  week ; but 
in  the  week  before  Easter  there  shall  be  no 
meeting. 

“ Every  member  is  at  liberty  to  introduce 
a friend  once  a week,  but  not  oftener. 

“Two  members  shall  oblige  themselves 
to  attend  in  their  turn  every  night  from  eight 
to  ten,  or  to  procure  two  to  attend  in  their 
room. 

“ Every  member  present  at  the  club  shall 
spend  at  least  sixpence ; and  every  member 
who  stays  away  shall  forfeit  threepence. 

“The  master  of  the  house  shall  keep  an 
account  of  the  absent  members ; and  deliver 
to  the  president  of  the  night  a list  of  the  for- 
feits incurred. 

« When  any  member  returns  after  absence, 
he  shall  immediately  lay  down  his  forfeits ; 
which  if  he  omits  to  do,  the  president  shall 
require. 

“ There  shall  be  no  general  reckoning,  but 
every  man  shall  adjust  his  own  expenses. 

“ The  night  of  indispensable  attendance 
will  come  to  every  member  once  a month. 
Whoever  shall  for  three  months  together 
omit  to  attend  himself,  or  by  substitution,  nor 
shall  make  any  apology  in  the  fourth  month, 
shall  be  considered  as  having  abdicated  the  . 
club. 

“ When  a vacancy  is  to  be  filled,  the  name 
of  the  candidate,  and  of  the  member  recom- 
mending him,  shall  stand  in  the  club  room 
three  nights.  On  the  fourth  he  may  be  cho- 
sen by  ballot ; six  members  at  least  being 
present,  and  two-thirds  of  the  ballot  being  in 
his  favour ; or  the  majority,  should  the  num- 
bers not  be  divisible  by  three. 

“ The  master  of  the  house  shall  give  no- 
tice, six  days  before,  to  each  of  those  mem 
bers  whose  turn  of  necessary  attendance  is 
come. 

“ The  notice  may  be  in  these  words ■ - 

« Sir,  On the of , will 

be  your  turn  of  presiding  at  the  Essex  Head. 
Your  company  is  therefore  earnestly  re- 
quested. 

“ One  penny  shall  be  left  by  each  member 
for  the  waiter.” 

In  the  end  of  this  year  he  was  seized  with 
a spasmodic  asthma  of  such  violence,  that 
he  was  confined  to  the  house  in  great  pain, 
being  sometimes  obliged  to  sit  all  night  in  his 
chair,  a recumbent  posture  being  so  hurtful 
to  his  respiration,  that  he  could  not  endure 
lying  in  bed  ; and  there  came  upon  him  at 


3G6 


1784.- -JETAT.  75. 


the  same  time  that  oppressive  and  fatal  dis- 
ease, a dropsy.  It  was  a very  severe  winter, 
which  probably  aggravated  his  complaints  ; 
and  the  solitude  in  which  Mr.  Levett  and 
Mrs.  Williams  had  left  him  rendered  his  life 
very  gloomy.  Mrs.  Desmoulins,  who  still 
lived,  was  herself  so  very  ill,  that  she  could 
contribute  very  little  to  his  relief.  He,  how- 
ever, had  none  of  that  unsocial  shyness  which 
we  commonly  see  in  people  afflicted  with 
sickness.  He  did  not  hide  his  head  from  the 
world,  in  solitary  abstraction  ; he  did  not  de- 
ny himself  to  the  visits  of  his  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances ; but  at  all  times,  when  he  was 
not  overcome  by  sleep,  was  as  ready  for  con- 
versation as  in  his  best  days. 

And  now  I am  arrived  at  the  last  year  of 
the  life  of  Samuel  Johnson  ; a year  in 
which,  although  passed  in  severe  indisposi- 
tion, he  nevertheless  gave  many  evidences  of 
the  continuance  of  those  wondrous  powers  of 
mind  which  raised  him  so  high  in  the  intel- 
lectual world.  His  conversation  and  his  let- 
ters of  this  year  were  in  no  respect  inferiour 
to  those  of  former  years. 

The  following  is  a remarkable  proof  of  his 
being  alive  to  the  most  minute  curiosities  of 
literature. 


“TO  MR.  DILLY,  BOOKSELLER,  IN  THE 
POULTRY. 

“ 6th  January,  1784. 

“ Sir, — There  is  in  the  world  a set  of 
books  which  used  to  be  sold  by  the  booksellers 
on  the  bridge,  and  which  I must  entreat  you 
to  procure  me.  They  are  called  Burton's 
Books  i : the  title  of  one  is  * Admirable  Curi- 
osities, Rarities,  and  Wonders  in  England.’ 

i These  books  are  much  more  numerous  than 
Johnson  supposed.  The  following  list  compri- 
ses several  of  them  ; but  probably  is  incomplete : 

1.  Historical  Rarities  in  London  and 

Westminster  .... 

2.  Wars  in  England,  Scotland,  and  Ire- 

land   

3.  Wonderful  Prodigies  of  Judgment 

and  Mercy  .... 

4.  Strange  and  prodigious  religious  Cus- 

toms and  Manners  of  sundry  Na- 
tions   

5.  English  Empire  in  America 

6.  Surprising  Miracles  of  Nature  and 

Art  [Admirable  Curiosities  ofNa- 
ture,  &c.  1681. — Probably  the 
same  book  with  a different  title.] 

7.  History  of  Scotland 

8.  History  of  Ireland 

9.  Two  Journies  to  Jerusalem 

10.  Nine  Worthies  of  the  World 

1 1 . Winter’s  Evenings’  Entertainments 

12.  The  English  Hero,  or  the  life  of  Sir 

Francis  Drake 

13.  Memorable  Accidents  and  unheard- 

ofTransactions 

14.  History  of  the  House  of  Orange  . 

15.  Burton’s  Acts  of  the  Martyrs  (or,  of 

Mar*yr»  iu  Flames) 


1681 

1681 

1681 


1683 

1685 


1685 

1685 

1685 

1685 

1687 

1687 

1687 

1693 

1693 

1695 


I believe  there  are  about  five  or  six  of  them , 
they  seem  very  proper  to  allure  backward 
readers ; be  so  kind  as  to  get  them  for  me, 
and  send  me  them  with  the  best  printed  edi- 
tion of  ‘ Baxter’s  Call  to  the  Unconverted.* 
T am,  &c.  « Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  MR.  PERKINS. 

“ 21st  January,  1784. 

“ Dear  sir, — I was  very  sorry  not  to  see 
you,  when  you  were  so  kind  as  to  call  on  me , 
but  to  disappoint  friends,  and  if  they  are  not 
very  good-natured,  to  disoblige  them,  is  one  of 
the  evils  of  sickness.  If  you  will  please  to  let 
me  know  which  of  the  afternoons  in  this  week 
I shall  be  favoured  with  another  visit  by  you 
and  Mrs.  Perkins,  and  the  young  people,  I will 
take  all  the  measures  that  I can  to  be  pretty 
well  at  that  time.  I am,  dear  sir,  your  most 
humble  servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

His  attention  to  the  Essex-Head  Club  ap 
pears  from  the  following  letter  to  Mr.  Alder- 
man  Clark,  a gentleman  for  whom  he  deser- 
vedly entertained  a great  regards. 

“ TO  RICHARD  CLARK,  ESQ. 

“ 27th  January,  1784 

“ Dear  sir, — You  will  receive  a requisi- 
tion, according  to  the  rules  of  the  club,  to  be 
at  the  house  as  president  of  the  night.  This 
turn  comes  once  a month,  and  the  member  is 
obliged  to  attend,  or  send  another  in  his 
place.  You  were  inrolled  in  the  club  by  my 
invitation,  and  I ought  to  introduce  you ; but 
as  I am  hindered  by  sickness,  Mr.  Hoole 
will  very  properly  supply  my  place  as  in- 


16.  Curiosities  of  England  . . 1697 

17.  History  of  Oliver  Cromwell  . 1698 

18.  Unparalleled  Varieties  . . 1699 

19.  Unfortunate  Court  Favourites  of  Eng- 

land   1706 

20.  History  of  the  Lives  of  English  Di- 

vines   1709 

21.  Ingenious  Riddles 

22.  Unhappy  Princesses,  or  the  History 

of  Anne  Boleyn  and  Lady  Jane 
Gray  . . . . . 1710 

23.  TEsop’s  Fables,  in  prose  and  verse  1712 

24.  History  of  Virginia  . . . 1722 

25.  English  Acquisitions  in  Guinea  and 

the  East  Indies  . . . 1726 

26.  Female  Excellency,  or  the  Ladies’ 

Glory 1728 

27.  General  History  of  Earthquakes  . 1736 

28.  The  English  Heroine,  or  the  Life  and 

Adventures  of  Mrs.  Christian  Da- 
vies, commonly  called  Mothei 
Ross  ..... 

29.  Youth’s  Divine  Pastime 

Malone. 

2 [As  this  sheet  is  passing  through  the  press, 
the  Editor  learns  the  death  of  his  venerable 
friend,  Mr.  Clark,  who  had  kindly  contributed 
some  information  to  the  foregoing  volumes.  He 
died  at  Chertsey  on  the  16th  January,  1831,  set. 
93.— Ed.] 


1784.— AST  AT.  75. 


867 


troductor,  or  yours  as  president.  I hope 
in  milder  weather  to  be  a very  constant  at- 
tendant. I am,  sir,  &c. 

“Sam.  Johnson. 

« You  ought  to  be  informed  that  the  for- 
feits began  with  the  year,  and  that  every 
night  of  non-attendance  incurs  the  mulct  of 
threepence,  that  is,  ninepence  a-week.” 

On  the  8th  of  January  I wrote  to  him, 
anxiously  inquiring  as  to  his  health,  and  en- 
closing my  “ Letter  to  the  People  of  Scot- 
land on  the  Present  State  of  the  Nation.”  “ I 
trust,”  said  I,  “ that  you  will  be  liberal  enough 
to  make  allowance  for  my  differing  from  you 
on  two  points,  [the  Middlesex  election  and 
the  American  war,]  when  my  general  princi- 
ples of  government  are  according  to  your  own 
heart,  and  when,  at  a crisis  of  doubtful  event, 
I stand  forth  with  honest  zeal  as  an  ancient 
and  faithful  Briton.  My  reason  for  intro- 
ducing those  two  points  was,  that  as  my 
opinions  with  regard  to  them  had  been  de- 
clared at  the  periods  when  they  were  least 
favourable,  I might  have  the  credit  of  a 
man  who  is  not  a worshipper  of  ministerial 
power.” 

[“MR.  BOSWELL  TO  SIR  JOSHUA  REY- 
NOLDS. 

“ Edinburgh,  6th  February,  1784. 

“ My  dear  sir, — I long  exceed- 
JdSS.  ingly  to  hear  from  you.  Sir  Wil- 
liam Forbes  brought  me  good  ac- 
counts of  you,  and  Mr.  Temple  sent  me  very 
pleasing  intelligence  concerning  the  fair  Pal- 
meria  K But  a line  or  two  from  yourself  is 
the  next  thing  to  seeing  you. 

“ My  anxiety  about  Dr.  Johnson  is  truly 
great.  I had  a letter  from  him  within  these 
six  weeks,  written  with  his  usual  acuteness 
and  vigour  of  mind.  But  he  complained  sad- 
ly of  the  state  of  his  health  ; and  I have  been 
informed  since  that  he  is  worse.  I intend 
to  be  in  London  next  month,  chiefly  to  attend 
upon  him  with  respectful  affection.  But,  in 
the  mean  time,  it  will  be  a great  favour  done 
me,  if  you,  who  know  him  so  well,  will  be 
kind  enough  to  let  me  know  particularly  how 
he  is. 

“ I hope  Mr.  Dilly  conveyed  to  you  my 
Letter  on  the  State  of  the  Nation,  from  the 
Authour.  I know  your  political  princi- 
ples, and  indeed  your  settled  system  of 
thinking  upon  civil  society  and  subordina- 
tion, to  be  according  to  my  own  heart,  and 
therefore  I doubt  not  you  will  approve 
of  my  honest  zeal.  But  what  monstrous 
effects  of  party  do  we  now  see ! I am  real- 
ly vexed  at  the  conduct  of  some  of  our 
friends  2. 

“Amidst  the  conflict  our  friend  of  Port 

1 [No  doubt  Miss  Palmer,  afterwards  Lady 
Thomond,  Sir  Joshua’s  niece. — Ed.] 

f [Mesirs.  Fox  and  Burke. — Ed.J 


Elliot  is  with  much  propriety  created  a peer 
But  why,  O why  did  he  not  obtain  the  title  ol 
Baron  Mahogany  3 ? Genealogists  and  he- 
ralds would  have  had  curious  work  ti  it  to 
explain  and  illustrate  that  title.  I ever  am. 
with  sincere  regard,  my  dear  sir,  your  affec- 
tionate humble  servant, 

“James  Boswell.”] 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ 11th  February,  1784. 

“ Dear  sir, — I hear  of  many  inquiries 
which  your  kindness  has  disposed  you  to 
make  after  me.  I have  long  intended  you  a 
long  letter,  which  perhaps  the  imagination 
of  its  length  hindered  me  from  beginning. 
I will,  therefore,  content  myself  with  a 
shorter. 

“Having  promoted  the  institution  of  a 
new  club  in  the  neighbourhood,  at  the 
house  of  an  old  servant  of  Thrale’s,  I went 
thither  to  meet  the  company,  and  was 
seized  with  a spasmodick  asthma,  so  violent, 
that  with  difficulty  I got  to  my  own  house, 
in  which  I have  been  confined  eight  or  nine 
weeks,  and  from  which  I know  not  when  I 
shall  be  able  to  go  even  to  church.  The 
asthma,  however,  is  not  the  worst.  A drop- 
sy gains  ground  upon  me ; my  legs  and 
thighs  are  very  much  swollen  with  water, 
which  I should  be  content  if  I could  keep 
there  ; but  I am  afraid  it  will  soon  be  high- 
er. My  nights  are  very  sleepless  and  very 
tedious.  And  yet  I am  extremely  afraid  or 
dying. 

“ My  physicians  try  to  make  me  hope  that 
much  of  my  malady  is  the  effect  of  cold,  and 
that  some  degree  at  least  of  recovery  is  to  be 
expected  from  vernal  breezes  and  summer 
suns.  If  my  life  is  prolonged  to  autumn, 
I should  be  glad  to  try  a warmer  climate ; 
though  how  to  travel  with  a diseased  body, 
without  a companion  to  conduct  me,  and 
with  very  little  money,  I do  not  well  see. 
Ramsay  has  recovered  his  limbs  in  Italy ; 
and  Fielding  was  sent  to  Lisbon,  where,  in- 
deed, he  died ; but  he  was,  I believe,  past 
hope  when  he  went.  Think  for  me  what  1 
can  do. 

“ I received  your  pamphlet,  and  when  I 
write  again  may  perhaps  tell  you  some  opinion 
about  it ; but  you  will  forgive  a man  strug- 
gling with  disease  his  neglect  of  disputes,  po- 
liticks, and  pamphlets.  Let  me  have  your 
prayers.  My  compliments  to  your  lady,  and 
young  ones.  Ask  your  physicians  about  my 
case : and  desire  Sir  Alexander  Dick  to  write 
me  his  opinion.  I am,  dear  sir,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

[“  A few  days  after  the  remnant 
of  the  Ivy-lane  Club  hid  dined  with  Hawk 
him,”  says  Sir  John  Hawkins,  “he  5:W5‘ 
sent  for  me,  and  informed  me,  that  lie  ha< 

3 [See  ante , p.  285. — Ed.] 


1784,  <ETAT.  75. 


discovered  in  himself  the  symptoms  of  a 
dropsy,  which,  indeed,  his  very  much  in- 
creased bulk,  and  the  swollen  appearance  of 
his  legs,  seemed  to  indicate.  He  told  me, 
that  he  was  desirous  of  making  a will,  and 
requested  me  to  be  one  of  his  executors : 
upon  my  consenting,  he  gave  me  to  under- 
stand, that  he  meant  to  make  a provision  for 
his  servant,  Frank,  of  about  70 1.  a year  for 
life,  and  concerted  with  me  a plan  for  in- 
vesting a sum  sufficient  for  the  purpose  : at 
the  same  time  he  stated  his  circumstan- 
ces, and  the  amount  of  what  he  had  to  dis- 
pose of.” 

“ In  a visit  which  I made  him  in  a few 
days,  in  consequence  of  a very  pressing  re- 
quest to  see  me,  I found  him  labouring  un- 
der great  dejection  of  mind.  He  bade  me 
draw  near  him,  and  said,  he  wanted  to  enter 
into  a serious  conversation  with  me ; and, 
upon  my  expressing  a willingness  to  join  in 
it,  he,  with  a look  that  cut  me  to  the  heart, 
told  me,  that  he  had  the  prospect  of  death 
before  him,  and  that  he  dreaded  to  meet  his 
Saviour.  I could  not  but  be  astonished  at 
such  a declaration,  and  advised  him,  as  I had 
done  once  before,  to  reflect  on  the  course  of 
his  life,  and  the  services  he  had  rendered  to 
the  cause  of  religion  and  virtue,  as  well  by 
Ills  example  as  his  writings ; to  which  he  an- 
swered, that  he  had  written  as  a philoso- 
pher, but  had  not  lived  like  one.  In  the  es- 
timation of  his  offences,  he  reasoned  thus  : 

‘ Every  man  knows  his  own  sins,  and  also 
what  grace  he  has  resisted.  But,  to  those 
of  others,  and  the  circumstances  under 
which  they  were  committed,  he  is  a stran- 
ger : he  is,  therefore,  to  look  on  himself  as 
the  greatest  sinner  that  he  knows  of.’  At 
the  conclusion  of  this  argument,  which  he 
strongly  enforced,  he  uttered  this  passionate 
exclamation, — “ Shall  I,  who  have  been 
? teacher  of  others,  myself  be  a cast- 
away ?” 

“ Much  to  the  same  purpose  passed  be- 
tween us  in  this  and  other  conversations 
that  I had  with  him,  in  all  which  I could 
not  but  wonder,  as  much  at  the  freedom 
with  which  he  opened  his  mind,  and  the 
compunction  he  seemed  to  feel  for  the  er- 
rors of  his  past  life,  as  I did  at  his  making 
choice  of  me  for  his  confessor,  knowing  full 
well  how  meanly  qualified  I was  for  such  an 
office.” 

“ It  was  on  a Thursday 1 that  I had  this 
conversation  with  him ; and  here  let  not  the 
supercilious  lip  of  scorn  protrude  itself, 
while  I relate  that  he  declared  his  intention 
to  devote  the  whole  of  the  next  day  to  fast- 
ing, humiliation,  and  such  other  devotional 
exercises  as  became  a man  in  his  situation. 


i 1 1 1 appears  from  Johnson’s  own  letters  that 
the  event  itself  took  place  on  Thursday,  19th 
February  — Ed.1 


On  the  Saturday  following,  I made  mm 
visit,  and,  upon  entering  nis  room,  observe 
in  his  countenance  such  a serenity,  as  indica- 
ted that  some  remarkable  crisis  of  his  disorder 
had  produced  a change  in  his  feelings.  He 
told  me,  that,  pursuant  to  his  resolution,  he 
had  spent  the  preceding  day  in  an  abstrac- 
tion from  all  worldly  concerns ; that,  to  pre- 
vent interruption,  he  had,  in  the  morning,  or- 
dered Frank  not  to  admit  any  one  to  him,  and, 
the  better  to  enforce  the  charge,  had  added 
these  awful  words,  * For  your  master  is  pre- 
paring himself  to  die.’  He  then  mentioned 
to  me,  that,  in  the  course  of  this  exercise,  he 
found  himself  relieved  from  that  disorder 
which  had  been  growing  on  him,  and  was  be- 
come very  oppressing,  the  dropsy,  by  a 
gradual  evacuation  of  water  to  the  amount 
of  twenty  pints,  a like  instance  whereof  he 
had  never  before  experienced ; and  asked  me 
what  I thought  of  it.” 

“ I was  well  aware  of  the  lengths  that  su- 
perstition and  enthusiasm  will  lead  men,  and 
how  ready  some  are  to  attribute  favourable 
events  to  supernatural  causes,  and  said,  that 
it  might  savour  of  presumption  to  say  that, 
in  this  instance,  God  had  wrought  a miracle ; 
yet,  as  divines  recognise  certain  dispensa- 
tions of  his  providence,  recorded  in  the  Scrip- 
ture by  the  denomination  of  returns  of  pray- 
er, and  his  omnipotence  is  now  the  same  as 
ever,  I thought  it  would  be  little  less  than 
criminal  to  ascribe  his  late  relief  to  causes 
merely  natural,  ,and  that  the  safer  opinion 
was,  that  he  had  not  in  vain  humbled  him- 
self before  his  Maker.  He  seemed  to  ac- 
quiesce in  all  that  I said  on  this  important  sub- 
ject, and,  several  times,  while  I was  discours- 
ing with  him,  cried  out,  ‘It  is  wonderful,  very 
wonderful  2 !’ 

“ His  zeal  for  religion,  as  manifested  in  his 
writings  and  conversation,  and  the  accounts 
extant  that  attest  his  piety,  have  induced  the 
enemies  to  his  memory  to  tax  him  with  su- 
perstition. To  that  charge  I oppose  his  be- 
haviour on  this  occasion,  and  leave  it  to  the 
judgment  of  sober  and  rational  persons, 
whether  such  an  unexpected  event  as  that 
above  mentioned  would  not  have  prompted  a 
really  superstitious  man  to  some  more  pas- 
sionate exclamation  than  that  it  was  ‘ won- 
derful.’ ”] 

“TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER,  IN  LICHFIELD. 

“ 23d  February,  1784. 

“My  dearest  love, — I have  been  ex- 
tremely ill  of  an  asthma  and  dropsy,  but  re- 
ceived by  the  mercy  of  God  sudden  and 


2 [I  have  given  Sir  John  Hawkins’s  account 
of  this  extraordinary  circumstance,  although  Mr. 
Boswell  relates  it  also  (post,  sub  5th  May),  both 
because  Hawkins  tells  it  rather  more  distinctly, 
and  that  it  is  desirable  to  produce  all  possible 
confirmation  of  such  a fact. — Ed.] 


1784. — JET  AT.  75. 


Unexpected  relief  last  Thursday,  by  the  dis- 
charge of  twenty  pints  of  water.  Whether 
J shall  continue  free,  or  shall  fill  again,  cannot 
be  tcld.  Pray  for  me. 

“ Death,  my  dear,  is  very  dreadful ; let  us 
think  nothing  worth  our  care  but  how  to  pre- 
pare for  it:  what  we  know  amiss  in  our- 
selves let  us  make  haste  to  amend,  and  put 
our  trust  in  the  mercy  of  God  and  the  inter- 
cession of  our  Saviour.  I am,  dear  madam, 
your  most  humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ London,  27th  Feb.  1784. 

“Dea.r  sir, — I have  just  advanced  so  far 
towards  recovery  as  to  read  a pamphlet ; and 
you  may  reasonably  suppose  that  the  first 
pamphlet  which  I read  was  yours.  I am 
very  much  of  your  opinion,  and,  like  you, 
feel  great  indignation  at  the  indecency  with 
which  the  king  is  every  day  treated.  Your 
paper  contains  very  considerable  knowledge 
of  history  and  of  the  constitution,  very  pro- 
perly produced  and  applied.  It  will  certainly 
raise  your  character  3,  though  perhaps  it 
may  not  make  you  a minister  of  state. 
****** 

“ I desire  you  to  see  Mrs.  Stewart  once 
again,  and  tell  her,  that  in  the  letter-case  was  a 
letter  relating  to  me,  for  which  I will  give  her, 
if  she  is  willing  to  give  it  me,  another  gui- 
nea. The  letter  is  of  consequence  only  to 
me  2.  I am,  dear  sir,  &c. 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 


- [“Letter  to  the  People  of  Scotland  on  the 
present  State  of  the  Nation.”]  I sent  it  to  Mr. 
Pitt,  with  a letter,  in  which  I thus  expressed  my- 
self : “ My  principles  may  appear  to  you  too 
monarchical ; but  I know  and  am  persuaded  they 
are  not  inconsistent  with  the  true  principles  of 
liberty.  Be  this  as  it  may,  you,  sir,  are  now  the 
prime  minister,  called  by  the  sovereign  to  main- 
tain the  rights  of  the  crown,  as  well  as  those  of 
the  people,  against  a violent  faction.  As  such, 
you  are  entitled  to  the  warmest  support  of  every 
good  subject  in  evei  i department.”  He  an- 
swered, “ I am  extremely  obliged  to  you  for  the 
sentiments  you  do  me  the  honour  to  express, 
and  have  observed  with  great  pleasure  the  zea- 
lous and  able  support  given  to  the  cause  of  the 
publick  in  the  work  you  were  so  good  to  trans- 
mit to  me.” — Boswell.  [One  cannot  but 
smile  at  Mr.  Boswell’s  apology  to  Mr.  Pitt  for 
appearing  too  monarchical.  Mr.  Pitt,  it  will  be 
recollected,  had  (after  a short  parliamentary 
life,  in  which  he  had  shown  a disposition  to 
whig  principles)  lately  become  prime  minister, 
on  the  dismissal  of  the  celebrated  Coalition  ad- 
ministration.— Ed.] 

2 [The  letter  was  probably  lost.  Mr.  Bos- 
well could  else  have  hardly  failed  to  inform  us 
what  it  related  to.  It  is  clear  that  Johnson  set 
a good  deal  of  value  upon  it,  for  he  mentions  it 
again  yet  more  earnestly  in  another  letter,  18th 
March,  1784.— Ed.] 

VOL.  II. 


In  consequence  of  Johnson’s  request  that 
I should  ask  our  physicians  about  his  case, 
and  desire  Sir  Alexander  Dick  to  send  his 
opinion,  I transmitted  him  a letter  from  that 
very  amiable  baronet,  then  in  his  eighty-first 
year,  with  his  faculties  as  entire  as  ever,  and 
mentioned  his  expressions  to  me  in  the  note 
accompanying  it, — “With  my  most  affec- 
tionate wishes  for  Dr.  Johnson’s  recovery, 
in  which  his  friends,  his  country,  and  all 
mankind  have  so  deep  a stake  and  at  the 
same  time  a full  opinion  upon  his  case  by 
Dr.  Gillespie,  who,  like  Dr.  Cullen,  had  the 
advantage  of  having  passed  through  the  gra- 
dations of  surgery  and  pharmacy,  and  by 
study  and  practice  had  attained  to  such  skill, 
that  my  father  settled  on  him  two  hundred 
pounds  a year  for  five  years,  and  fifty  pounds 
a year  during  his  life,  as  an  honorarium  to 
secure  his  particular  attendance.  The  opin- 
ion was  conveyed  in  a letter  to  me,  begin- 
ning, “ I am  sincerely  sorry  for  the  bad  state 
of  health  your  very  learned  and  illustrious 
friend,  Dr.  Johnson,  labours  under  at  pre- 
sent.” 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ London,  2d  March,  1784. 

“ Dear  sir, — Presently  after  I had  sent 
away  my  last  letter,  I received  your  kind  medi- 
cal packet.  I am  very  much  obliged  both  to 
you  and  to  your  physicians  for  your  kind  at- 
tention to  my  disease.  Dr.  Gillespie  has 
sent  me  an  excellent  consilium  medicum , all 
solid  practical  experimental  knowledge.  I 
am  at  present,  in  the  opinion  of  my  physi- 
cians (Dr.  Heberden  and  Dr.  Brocklesby), 
as  well  as  my  own,  going  on  very  hopefully. 
I have  just  begun  to  take  vinegar  of  squills. 
The  powder  hurt  my  stomach  so  much  that 
4t  could  not  be  continued. 

“ Return  Sir  Alexander  Dick  my  sincere 
thanks  for  his  kind  letter ; and  bring  with 
you  the  rhubarb  3 which  he  so  tenderly  offers 
me. 

“ I hope  dear  Mrs.  Boswell  is  now  quite 
well,  and  that  no  evil,  either  real  or  imagin- 
ary, now  disturbs  you.  I am,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

I also  applied  to  three  of  the  eminent  phy- 
sicians who  had  chairs  in  our  celebrated  school 
of  medicine  at  Edinburgh,  Doctors  Cullen, 
Hope,  and  Monro,  to  each  of  whom  I sent  the 
following  letter : 

“7th  March,  1784. 

“Dear  sir, — Dr.  Johnson  has  been  very 
ill  for  some  time  ; and  in  a letter  of  anxious 


3 From  his  garden  at  Prestonfield,  where  he 
cultivated  that  plant  with  such  success  that  he 
was  presented  with  a gold  medal  by  the  Society 
of  London  for  the  encouragement  of  Arts,  Ma 
nufactures,  and  Commerce.— Boswell. 


47 


370 


1784. — iETAT.  75. 


apprehension  he  writes  to  me, 1 * Ask  your 
physicians  about  my  case.’ 

“ This,  you  see,  is  not  authority  for  a re- 
gular consultation : but  I have  no  doubt  of 
your  readiness  to  give  your  advice  to  a man 
so  eminent,  and  who,  in  his  Life  of  Garth, 
has  paid  your  profession  a just  and  elegant 
compliment : ‘ I believe  every  man  has  found 
in  physicians  great  liberality  and  dignity  of 
sentiment,  very  prompt  effusions  of  benefi- 
cence, and  willingness  to  exert  a lucrative  art 
where  there  is  no  hope  of  lucre.’ 

“ Dr.  Johnson  is  aged  seventy-four.  Last 
summer  he  had  a stroke  of  the  palsy,  from 
which  he  recovered  almost  entirely.  He 
had,  before  that,  been  troubled  with  a ca- 
tarrhous  cough.  This  winter  he  was  seized 
with  a spasmodick  asthma,  by  which  he  has 
been  confined  to  his  house  about  three 
months.  Dr.  Brocklesby  writes  to  me,  that 
upon  the  least  admission  of  cold,  there  is 
such  a constriction  upon  his  breast,  that  he 
cannot  lie  down  in  his  bed,  but  is  obliged  to 
sit  up  all  night,  and  gets  rest,  and  some- 
times sleep,  only  by  means  of  laudanum  and 
syrup  of  poppies  ; and  that  there  are  cedema- 
tous  tumours  in  his  legs  and  thighs.  Dr. 
Brocklesby  trusts  a good  deal  to  the  return 
of  mild  weather.  Dr.  Johnson  says  that  a 
dropsy  gains  ground  upon  him ; and  he  seems 
to  think  that  a warmer  climate  wTould  do  him 
good.  I understand  he  is  now  rather  bet- 
ter, and  is  using  vinegar  of  squills.  I am, 
with  great  esteem,  dear  sir,  your  most  obe- 
dient humble  servant, 

“James  Boswell.” 

All  of  them  paid  the  most  polite  attention 
to  my  letter  and  its  venerable  object.  Dr. 
Cullen’s  words  concerning  him  were,  “It 
would  give  me  the  greatest  pleasure  to  be# 
of  any  service  to  a man  whom  the  publick 
properly  esteem,  and  whom  I esteem  and 
respect  as  much  as  I do  Dr.  Johnson.”  Dr. 
Hope’s,  “ Few  people  have  a better  claim  on 
me  than  your  friend,  as  hardly  a day  passes 
that  I do  not  ask  his  opinion  about  this  or  that 
word.”  Dr.  Monro’s,  « I most  sincerely  join 
you  in  sympathizing  with  that  very  worthy 
and  ingenious  character,  from  whom  his 
country  has  derived  much  instruction  and  en- 
tertainment.” 

Dr.  Hope  corresponded  with  his  friend  Dr. 
Brocklesby.  Doctors  Cullen  and  Monro 
wrote  their  opinions  and  prescriptions  to  me, 
which  I afterwards  carried’  with  me  to  Lon- 
don, and,  so  far  as  they  were  encouraging, 
communicated  to  Johnson.  The  liberality  on 
one  hand,  and  grateful  sense  of  it  on  the 
other.  I have  great  satisfaction  in  recording. 

[“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER. 

“ Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  10th  March,  1784. 

MSSS°n  “ dearest  love, — I will  not 
suppose  that  it  is  for  want  of  kind- 


ness that  you  did  not  answer  my  last  letter 
and  I therefore  write  agair.  to  tell  you  that  1 
have,  by  God’s  great  mercy,  still  continued 
to  grow  better.  My  asthma  is  seldom  trou- 
blesome, and  my  dropsy  has  ran  itself  almost 
away,  in.  a manner  which  my  physician  says 
is  very  uncommon. 

“ I have  been  confined  from  the  14th  of 
December,  and  shall  not  soon  venture  abroad ; 
but  I have  this  day  dressed  myself  as  I was 
before  my  sickness. 

“ If  it  be  inconvenient  to  you  to  write,  de- 
sire Mr.  Pearson  to  let  me  know  how  you  do, 
and  how  you  have  passed  this  long  winter. 
I am  now  not  without  hopes  that  we  shall 
once  more  see  one  another. 

“Make  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Cobb 
and  Miss  Adey,  and  to  all  my  friends,  parti- 
cularly to  Mr.  Pearson.  I am,  my  dear, 
your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  GASTRELL  AND 
MISS  ASTON. 

“ Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  London,  11th  March,  1784. 

“Dear  ladies, — The  kind  and 
speedy  answer  with  which  you  fa- 
voured  me  to  my  last  letter  encour- 
ages me  to  hope  that  you  will  be  glad  to 
hear  again  that  my  recovery  advances.  My 
disorders  are  an  asthma  and  dropsy.  The 
asthma  gives  me  no  great  trouble  when  1 
am  not  in  motion,  and  the  water  of  the 
dropsy  has  passed  away  in  so  happy  a man- 
ner, by  the  goodness  of  God,  as  Dr.  Heber- 
den  declares  himself  not  to  have  known  more 
than  four  times  in  all  his  practice.  I have 
been  confined  to  the  house  from  December 
the  14th,  and  shall  not  venture  out  till  the 
weather  is  settled ; but  I have  this  day  dress- 
ed myself  as  before  I became  ill.  Join  with 
me  in  returning  thanks,  and  pray  for  me  that 
the  time  now  granted  me  may  not  be  ill 
spent. 

“ Let  me  now,  dear  ladies,  have  some  ac- 
count of  you.  Tell  me  how  you  have  en- 
dured this'  long  and  sharp  winter,  and  give 
me  hopes  that  we  may  all  meet  again  with 
kindness  and  cheerfulness.  I am,  dear  ladies, 
your  most  humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.”] 

“TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ London,  18th  March,  1784. 

“Dear  sir, — I am  too  much  pleased 
with  the  attention  which  you  and  your  dear 
lady  i show  to  my  welfare,  not  to  be  diligent 
in  letting  you  know  the  progress  which  1 
make  towards  health.  The  dropsy,  by 
God’s  blessing,  has  now  run  almost  total- 
ly away  by  natural  evacuation:  and  the 
asthma,  if  not  irritated  by  cold,  gives  me 

l Who  had  written  him  a very  kind  letter. 

Boswell. 


1784.— vETAT.  75. 


3 II 


little  I-  opjIp.  While  I am  writing  this  I 
have  art  any  sensation  of  debility  or  disease. 
But  I do  not  yet  venture  out,  having  been 
confined  to  the  house  from  the  13th  of  De- 
iember,  now  a quarter  of  a year 

“ When  it  will  be  fit  for  me  to  travel  as  far 
Auchinleck  I am  not  able  to  guess  ; but 
such  a letter  as  Mrs.  Boswell’s  might  draw 
any  man  not  wholly  motionless  a great  way. 
Pray  tell  the  dear  lady  how  much  her  ci- 
vility and  kindness  have  touched  and  gratified 
me. 

“ Our  parliamentary  tumults  have  now  be- 
gun to  subside,  and  the  king’s  authority  is  in 
some  measure  re-established.  Mr.  Pitt  will 
have  great  power 1 2 ; but  you  must  remember 
that  what  he  has  to  give  must,  at  least  for 
some  time,  be  given  to  those  who  gave,  and 
those  who  preserve,  his  power.  A new  mi- 
nister can  sacrifice  little  to  esteem  or  friend- 
ship : he  must,  till  he  is  settled,  think  only 
of  extending  his  interest. 

****** 

‘‘If  you  come  hither  through  Edinburgh, 
send  for  Mrs.  Stewart,  and  give  from  me 
another  guinea  for  the  letter  in  the  old  case, 
to  which  I shall  not  be  satisfied  with  my 
claim  till  she  gives  it  me. 

“ Please  to  bring  with  you  Baxter’s  Ana- 
creon ; and  if  you  procure  heads  of  Hec- 
tor Boece,  the  historian,  and  Arthur  John- 
ston 2,  the  poet,  I will  put  them  in  my  room ; 
or  any  other  of  the  fathers  of  Scottish  lite- 
rature. 

“ I wish  you  an  easy  and  happy  journey, 
and  hope  I need  not  tell  you  that  you  will 
be  welcome  to,  dear  sir,  your  most  affec- 
tionate humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

[“  TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  20th  March,  1784. 
Letters,  “ Madam, — Your  last  letter  had 

voi.  ii.  something  of  tenderness.  The  ac- 
p<  354'  counts  which  you  have  had  of  my 
danger  and  distress  were  I suppose  not  ag- 
gravated. I have  been  confined  ten  weeks 
with  an  asthma  and  dropsy.  But  I am  now 
better.  God  has  in  his  mercy  granted  me  a 
reprieve  ; for  how  much  time  his  mercy  must 
determine. 

« On  the  19th  of  last  month  I evacuated 
twenty  pints  of  water,  and  I think  I reckon 
exactly.  From  that  time  the  tumour  has 
subsided,  and  I now  begin  to  move  with  some 
freedom.  You  will  easily  believe  that  I am 
etill  at  a great  distance  from  health ; but  I 


1 [Mr.  Boswell  does  not  give  us  his  letter,  to 
which  this  is  an  answer  ; but  it  is  clear  that  he 
expressed  some  too  sanguine  hopes  of  prefer- 
ment from  Mr.  Pitt,  whose  favour,  as  we  have 
»ust  seen,  he  had  endeavoured  to  propitiate.  See 
rmte,  p.  253,  n. — Ed.] 

2 [See  ante,  vol.i.  p.  353. — Ed.] 


am,  as  my  chirurgeon  expressed  it,  amazing- 
ly better.  Heberden  seems  to  have  great 
hopes. 

“ Write  to  me  no  more  about  dying  with 
a grace.  When  you  feel  what  I have  felt 
in  approaching  eternity — in  fear  of  soon  hear, 
ing  the  sentence  of  which  there  is  no  revo- 
cation— you  will  know  the  folly  : my  wish 
is  that  you  may  know  it  sooner.  The  dis- 
tance between  the  grave  and  the  remotest 
part  of  human  longevity  is  but  a very  little  ; 
and  of  that  little  no  path  is  certain.  You 
know  all  this,  and  I thought  that  I knew 
it  too  ; but  I know  it  now  with  a new  con- 
viction. May  that  new  conviction  not  be 
vain ! 

“I  am  now  cheerful.  I hope  this  ap- 
proach to  recovery  is  a token  of  the  Di- 
vine mercy.  My  friends  continue  their 
kindness.  I give  a dinner  to-morrow.  I 
am,  madam,  your,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

I wrote  to  him,  March  28,  from  York,  in- 
forming him  that  I had  a high  gratification  in 
the  triumph  of  monarchical  principles  over 
aristocratical  influence,  in  that  great  county, 
in  an  address  to  the  king ; that  I was  thus  far 
on  my  way  to  him,  but  that  news  of  the  dis- 
solution of  parliament  having  arrived,  I was 
to  hasten  back  to  my  own  county,  where  I 
had  carried  an  address  to  his  majesty  by  a 
great  majority,  and  had  some  intention  of  be- 
ing a candidate  to  represent  the  county  in 
parliament. 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ. 

“ London,  30th  March,  1784 

“Dear  sir, — You  could  do  nothing  so 
proper  as  to  hasten  back  when  you  found  the 
parliament  dissolved.  With  the  influence 
which  your  address  must  have  gained  you,  it 
may  reasonably  be  expected  that  your  pre- 
sence will  be  of  importance,  and  your  ac- 
tivity of  effect. 

“Your  solicitude  for  me  gives  me  that 
pleasure  which  every  man  feels  from  the  kind- 
ness of  such  a friend ; and  it  is  with  delight  I 
relieve  it  by  telling  that  Dr.  Brocklesby’s  ac- 
count is  true,  and  that  I am,  by  the  blessing 
of  God,  wonderfully  relieved. 

“ You  are  entering  upon  a transaction 
which  requires  much  prudence.  You  must 
endeavour  to  oppose  without  exasperating ; 
to  practise  temporary  hostility,  without  pro- 
ducing enemies  for  life.  This  is,  perhaps, 
hard  to  be  done ; yet  it  Jbas  been  done  by  ma- 
ny, and  seems  most  likely  to  be  effected  by 
opposing  merely  upon  general  principles, 
without  descending  to  personal  or  particular 
censures  or  objections.  One  thing  I must  en- 
join you,  which  is  seldom  observed  in  the 
conduct  of  elections ; I must  entreat  you  to 
be  scrupulous  in  the  use  of  strong  liquors. 
One  night’s  drunkenness  may  defeat  the  la 


1784.— ;ETAT.  75 


375* 

bours  of  forty  days  well  employed.  Be  firm, 
but  not  clamorous ; be  active,  but  not  mali- 
cious ; and  you  may  form  such  an  interest, 
as  may  not  only  exalt  yourself,  but  dignify 
your  family. 

« We  are,  as  you  may  suppose,  all  busy 
here.  Mr.  Fox  resolutely  stands  for  W est- 
minster,  and  his  friends  say  will  carry  the 
election1.  However  that  be,  he  will  cer- 
tainly have  a seat.  Mr.  Hoole  has  just 
told  me,  that  the  city  leans  towards  the 
king. 

“ Let  me  hear,  from  time  to  time,  how 
you  are  employed,  and  what  progress  you 
make. 

“Make  dear  Mrs.  Boswell,  and  all  the 
young  Boswells,  the  sincere  compliments  of, 
sir,  your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

To  Mr.  Langton  he  wrote  with  that  cordi- 
ality which  was  suitable  to  the  long  friend- 
ship which  had  subsisted  between  him  and 
that  gentleman. 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  BENNET  LANGTON,  ESQ. 

“27th  March,  1784. 

“ Since  you  left  me  I have  continued,  in 
my  own  opinion,  and  in  Dr.  Brocklesby’s,  to 
grow  better,  with  respect  to  all  my  formidable 
and  dangerous  distempers  ; though,  to  a body 
battered  and  shaken  as  mine  has  lately  been, 
it  is  to  be  feared  that  weak  attacks  may  be 
sometimes  mischievous.  I have,  indeed,  by 
standing  carelessly  at  an  open  window,  got 
a very  troublesome  cough,  which  it  has  been 
necessary  to  appease  by  opium,  in  larger 
quantities  than  I like  to  take,  and  I have  not 
found  it  give  way  so  readily  as  I expected  : 
its  obstinacy,  however,  seems  at  last  dispos- 
ed to  submit  to  the  remedy,  and  I know  not 
whether  I should  then  have  a right  to  com- 
plain of  any  morbid  sensation.  My  asthma 
is,  I am  afraid,  constitutional  and  incura- 
ble ; but  it  is  only  occasional,  and,  unless  it 
be  excited  by  labour  or  by  cold,  gives  me  no 
molestation,  nor  does  it  lay  very  close  siege 
to  life ; for  Sir  John  Floyer,  whom  the  phy- 
sickal  race  consider  as  authour  of  one  of  the 
best  books  upon  it,  panted  on  to  ninety,  as 
was  supposed.  And  why  were  we  con- 
tent with  supposing  a fact  so  interesting  of 
a man  so  conspicuous  1 Because  he  cor- 
rupted, at  perhaps  seventy  or  eighty,  the 
register,  that  he  might  pass  for  younger 
than  he  was.  He  was  not  much  less  than 
eighty,  when  to  a man  of  rank,  who  modest- 
ly asked  his  age,  he  answered,  ‘ Go  look 
though  he  was  in  general  a man  of  civility  and 
elegance. 

“ The  ladies,  I find,  are  at  your  house  all 


l [Mr.  Fox  was  returned  for  Westminster,  af- 
er  a sharp  electionand  a tedious  scrutiny. — E* .} 


well,  except  Miss  Langton,  who  will  proba- 
bly soon  recover  her  health  by  light  suppers. 
Let  her  eat  at  dinner  as  she  will,  but  not  take 
a full  stomach  to  bed.  Pay  my  sincere  re- 
spects to  dear  Miss  Langton  in  Lincolnshire ; 
let  her  know  that  I mean  not  to  break  our 
league  of  friendship,  and  that  I have  a set  of 
Lives  for  her,  when  1 have  the  means  of  send- 
ing it.” 

“ 8th  April. 

“ I am  still  disturbed  by  my  cough ; but 
what  thanks  have  I not  to  pay,  when  my 
cough  is  the  most  painful  sensation  that  I 
feel?  and  from  that  I expect  hardly  to  be 
released,  while  winter  continues  to  gripe  us 
with  so  much  pertinacity.  The  year  has 
now  advanced  eighteen  days  beyond  the 
equinox,  and  still  there  is  very  little  remis- 
sion of  the  cold.  When  warm  weather 
comes,  which  surely  must  come  at  last,  I 
hope  it  will  help  both  me  and  your  young 
lady. 

“ The  man  so  busy  about  addresses  is 
neither  more  nor  less  than  our  own  Bos- 
well, who  had  come  as  far  as  York  towards 
London,  but  turned  back  on  the  dissolution, 
and  is  said  now  to  stand  for  some  place. 
Whether  to  wish  him  success  his  best  friends 
hesitate. 

“ Let  me  have  your  prayers  for  the  com- 
pletion of  my  recovery.  I am  now  better 
than  I ever  expected  to  have  been.  May 
God  add  to  his  mercies  the  grace  that  may 
enable  me  to  use  them  according  to  his  will. 
My  compliments  to  all.” 

“ 13th  April. 

“ I had  this  evening  a note  from  Lord 
Portmore,  desiring  that  I would  give  you 
an  account  of  my  health.  You  might  have 
had  it  with  less  circumduction.  I am,  by 
God’s  blessing,  I believe,  free  from  all  mor- 
bid sensations,  except  a cough,  which  is 
only  troublesome.  But  I am  still  weak, 
and  can  have  no  great  hope  of  strength  till 
the  weather  shall  be  softer.  The  summer, 
if  it  be  kindly,  will,  I hope,  enable  me  to 
support  the  winter.  God,  who  has  so  won- 
derfully restored  me,  can  preserve  me  in  all 
seasons. 

“ Let  me  inquire  in  my  turn  after  the  state 
of  your  family,  great  and  little.  I hope  Lady 
Rothes  and  Miss  Langton  are  both  well. 
That  is  a good  basis  of  content.  Then  how 
goes  George  on  with  his  studies  ? How  does 
Miss  Mary  1 And  how  does  my  own  Jenny? 
I think  I owe  Jenny  a letter,  which  I will 
take  care  to  pay.  In  the  mean  time  tell  her 
that  I acknowledge  the  debt. 

“ Be  pleased  to  make  my  compliments  to 
the  ladies.  If  Mrs.  Langton  comes  to  Lon- 
don, she  will  favour  me  with  a visit,  for  I am 
not  well  enough  to  go  out.” 

To  Lord  Portmore’s  note,  mertioned  m 


1784. — iETAT.  75. 


the  foregoing  extract,  Johnson  returned  this 
answer : 

“ TO  THE  RIGHT  HON.  EARL  OF  PORT- 
MORE. 

“ Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  13th  April,  1784. 

“Dr.  Johnson  acknowledges  with  great 
respect  the  honour  of  Lord  Portmore’s  notice. 
He  is  better  than  he  was ; and  will,  as  his 
lordship  directs,  write  to  Mr.  Langton.” 

“TO  OZIAS  HUMPHRY,  ESQ  1. 

“ 5th  April,  1784. 

“ Sir, — Mr.  Hoole  has  told  me  with 
what  benevolence  you  listened  to  a request 
which  I was  almost  afraid  to  make,  of  leave 
to  a young  painter  2 to  attend  you  from 
time  to  time  in  your  painting-room,  to  see 
your  operations,  and  receive  your  instruc- 
tions. 

“ The  young  man  has  perhaps  good  parts, 
but  has  been  without  a regular  education. 
He  is  my  godson,  and  therefore  I interest  my- 
self in  his  progress  and  success,  and  shall  think 
myself  much  favoured  if  I receive  from  you  a 
permission  to  send  him. 

“ My  health  is,  by  God’s  blessing,  much  re- 
stored, but  I am  not  yet  allowed  by  my  phy- 
sicians to  go  abroad  ; nor,  indeed,  do  I think 
myself  yet  able  to  endure  the  weather.  I am, 
sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“TO  THE  SAME. 

“ 10th  April,  1784. 

« Sir, — The  bearer  is  my  godson,  whom 
I take  the  liberty  of  recommending  to  your 
kindness  ; which  I hope  he  will  deserve  by 
his  respect  to  your  excellence,  and  his  grat- 


1 The  eminent  painter,  representative  of  the 
ancient  family  of  Homfrey  (now  Humphry)  in 
the  west  of  England  ; who,  as  appears  from  their 
arms  which  they  have  invariably  used,  have  been 
(as  I have  seen  authenticated  by  the  best  au- 
thority) one  of  thdse  among  the  knights  and  es- 
quires of  honour,  who  are  represented  by  Holin- 
shed  as  having  issued  from  the  tower  of  London 
on  coursers  apparelled  for  the  justes,  accompa- 
nied by  ladies  of  honour,  leading  every  one  a 
knight,  with  a chain  of  gold,  passing  through  the 
streets  of  London  into  Smithfield,  on  Sunday,  at 
three  o’clock  in  the  afternoon,  being  the  first 
Sunday  after  Michaelmas,  in  the  fourteenth  year 
of  King  Richard  the  Second.  This  family  once 
enjoyed  large  possessions,  but,  like  others,  have 
lost  them  in  the  progress  of  p.ges.  Their  blood, 
however,  remains  to  them  well  ascertained ; and 
they  may  hope,  in  the  revolution  of  events,  to  re- 
cover that  rank  in  society  for  which,  in  modern 
times,  fortune  seems  to  be  an  indispensable  re- 
quisite.—Boswell.  [Mr.  Humphry  died  in 
1810,  set.  68.  His  “ eminence  ” as  a painter  was 
a good-natured  error  of  Mr.  Boswell’s. — Ed.J 

2 Son  of  Mr.  Samuel  Paterson,  eminent  for  his 
knowledge  of  books.— Boswell.  [See  ante , p. 
349. — Ed.] 


373 

itude  for  your  favours.  I am,  sir,  your 
most  humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

[“  DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“ 12th  April,  1784. 

“ Dear  madam, — I am  not  yet 
able  to  wait  on  you,  but  I can  do  • 
your  business  commodiously  enough. 

"You  must  send  me  the  copy  to  show  the 
printer.  If  you  will  come  to  tea  this  after- 
'noon,  we  will  talk  together  about  it.  Pray 
send  me  word  whether  you  will  come.  I 
am,  madam,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.”] 

“ TO  OZIAS  HUMPHRY,  ESQ. 

“ 31st  May,  1784. 

“ Sir, — I am  very  much  obliged  by  your  ci- 
vilities to  my  godson,  but  must  beg  of  you  to 
add  to  them  the  favour  of  permitting  him  to 
see  you  paint,  that  he  may  know  how  a pic- 
ture is  begun,  advanced,  and  completed. 

“ If  he  may  attend  you  in  a few  of  your 
operations,  I hope  he  will  show  that  the  bene- 
fit has  been  properly  conferred,  both  by  his 
proficiency  and  his  gratitude.  At  least  I 
shall  consider  you  as  enlarging  your  kind- 
ness to,  sir,  your  humble  servant, 

« “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  THE  REVEREND  DR.  TAYLOR,  ASH- 
BOURNE. 

“ London,  Easter-Monday,  12th  April,  1784. 

“Dear  sir, — What  can  be  the  reason 
that  I hear  nothing  from  you  1 1 hope  no- 

thing disables  you  from  writing.  What  1 
have  seen,  and  what  I have  felt,  gives  me  rea- 
son to  fear  every  thing.  Do  not  omit  giving 
me  the  comfort  of  knowing,  that  after  all  my 
losses,  I have  yet  a friend  left. 

“ I want  every  comfort.  My  life  is  very 
solitary  and  very  cheerless.  Though  it  has 
pleased  God  wonderfully  to  deliver  me  from 
the  dropsy,  I am  yet  very  weak,  and  have  not 
passed  the  door  since  the  13th  of  December. 
I hope  .for  some  help  from  warm  weather, 
which  will  surely  come  in  time. 

“ I could  not  have  the  consent  of  the  phy- 
sicians to  go  to  church  yesterday ; I there- 
fore received  the  holy  sacrament  at  home,  in 
the  room  where  I communicated  with  dear 
Mrs.  Williams,  a little  before  her  death. 

0 ! my  friend,  the  approach  of  death  is  very 
dreadful ! I am  afraid  to  think  on  that  which 

1 know  I cannot  avoid.  It  is  vain  to  look 
round  and  round  for  that  help  which  cannot 
be  had.  Yet  we  hope  and  hope,  and  fancy 
that  he  who  has  lived  to  day  may  live  to-mor- 
row. But  let  us  learn  to  derive  our  hope 
only  from  God. 

“ In  the  meantime,  let  us  be  kind  to  one 
another.  I have  no  friend  now  living  but 
you  3 and  Mr.  Hector,  that  was  the  friend  of 


8 This  friend  of  Johnson’s  youth  survived 


1784. — JET  AT.  7C. 


*74 


ray  youth.  Do  not  neglect,  dear  sir,  yours 
affectionately,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 


Letters, 
vol.  ii. 
p.  361-7. 


[“TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  15th  April,  1784. 

“ Yesterday  I had  the  pleasure  of 
giving  another  dinner  to  the  re- 
mainder of  the  old  club.  W e used 
to  meet  weekly  about  the  year  1750,  and  we 
were  as  cheerful  as  in  former  times  : only  1 
could  not  make  quite  so  much  noise  ; for 
since  the  paralytick  affliction,  my  voice  is 
sometimes  weak. 

“ Metcalf  and  Crutchley,  without  knowing 
each  other,  are  both  members  of  parliament 
for  Horsham  in  Sussex.  Mr.  Cator  is  chosen 
for  Ipswich. 

“ But  a sick  man’s  thoughts  soon  turn  back 
upon  himself.  I am  still  veiy  weak,  though 
my  appetite  is  keen,  and  my  digestion  po- 
tent ; and  I gratify  myself  more  at  tabic 
than  ever  I did  at  my  own  cost  before.  I 
have  now  an  inclination  to  luxury  which 
even  your  table  did  not  excite ; for  till  now 
my  talk  was  more  about  the  dishes  than  my 
thoughts.  I remember  you  commended  me 
for  seeming  pleased  with  my  dinners  when 
you  had  reduced  your  table.  1 am  able  to 
tell  you  with  great  veracity  that  I never 
knew  when  the  reduction  began,  nor  should 
have  known  that  it  was  made  had  not  you 
told  me.  I now  think  and  consult  to-day  what 
I shall  eat  to-morrow.  This  disease  will  like- 
wise, I hope,  be  cured.  For  there  are  oth- 
er things — how  different ! — which  ought  to 
predominate  in  the  mind  of  such  a man  as  I : 
but  in  this  world  the  body  will  have  its 
part ; and  my  hope  is,  that  it  shall  have  no 
more — my  hope,  but  not  my  confidence  ; I 
have  only  the  timidity  of  a Christian  to  de- 
termine, not  the  wisdom  of  a stoick  to  se- 


“ London,  19th  April,  1784. 

“ I received  this  morning  your  magnifi- 
cent fish,  and  in  the  afternoon  your  apolo- 
gy for  not  sending  it.  I have  invited  the 
Hooles  and  Miss  Burney  to  dine  upon  it  to- 
morrow. 

“ The  club  which  has  lately  been  insti- 
tuted is  at  Sam’s  ; and  there  was  I when  I 
was  last  out  of  the  house.  But  the  people 
whom  I mentioned  in  my  letter  are  the  rem- 
nant of  a little  club  i that  used  to  meet  in 
Ivy-lane  about  three  and  thirty  years  ago, 
out  of  which  we  have  lost  Hawkesworth 
and  Dyer — the  rest  are  yet  on  this  side  the 
grave.” 

“ London,  21ot  April,  1784. 

“ I make  haste  to  send  you  intelligence, 
which,  if  I do  not  flatter  myself,  you  will 


him  somewhat  more  than  three  years,  having 
died  February  ID,  1788. — Malone, 
i [See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  75. — Ed.] 


not  reocivc  without  some  degree  of  pleasure. 
After  a confinement  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty-nine  days,  more  than  the  third  part 
of  a year,  and  no  inconsiderable  part  of  hu- 
man life,  I this  day  returned  thanks  to  God 
in  St.  Clement’s  church  for  my  recovery ; a 
recovery,  in  my  seventy-fifth  year,  from  a dis- 
temper which  few  in  the  vigour  of  youth  are 
known  to  surmount ; a recovery,  of  which 
neither  myself,  my  friends,  nor  my  physi- 
cians, had  any  hope ; for  though  they  flat- 
tered me  with  some  continuance  of  life,  they 
never  supposed  that  1 could  cease  to  be 
dropsical.  The  dropsy,  however,  is  quite 
vanished  ; and  the  asthma  so  much  mitiga- 
ted, that  I walked  to-day  with  a more  easy  re- 
spiration than  I have  known,  1 think,  for  per- 
haps two  years  past.  1 hope  the  mercy  that 
lightens  my  davs  will  assist  me  to  use  them 
well. 

“ The  Hooles,  Miss  Burney,  and  Mrs.  Hall 
(Wesley’s  sister),  feasted  yesterday  with  me 
very  cheerfully  on  your  noble  salmon.  Mr. 
Allen  could  not  come,  and  I sent  him  a piece, 
and  a great  tail  is  still  left. 

“ Dr.  Brocklesby  forbids  the  club  at  present, 
not  caring  to  venture  the  dullness  of  the  even- 
ing ; but  I purpose  to  show  myself  on  Satur- 
day at  the  Academy’s  feast  2.  I pannot  pub- 
lish my  return  to  the  world  more  effectually ; 
for,  as  the  Frenchman  says,  tout  le  monde  s’y 
trouvera. 

“ For  this  occasion  I ordered  some  clothes , 
and  was  told  by  the  tailor,  that  when  he 
brought  me  a sick  dress,  he  never  expected  to 
make  me  any  thing  of  any  other  kind.  My 
recovery  is  indeed  wonderful.” 

“ London,  26th  April,  1784 

« On  Saturday  I showed  myself  again  to 
the  living  world  at  the  Exhibition:  much 
and  splendid  was  the  company,  but,  like  the 
Doge  of  Genoa  at  Paris,  I admired  nothing 
but  myself.  I went  up  all  the  stairs  to  the 
pictures  without  stopping  to  rest  or  to 
breathe,  ♦ 

« In  all  the  madness  of  superfluous  health.’ 

“ The  Prince  of  W ales  had  promised  to 
be  there  ; but  when  we  had  waited  an  hour 
and  a half,  sent  us  word  that  he  could  not 
come. 

“ Mrs.  Davenant  3 called  to  pay  meagm 
nea,  but  I gave  two  for  you.  Whatever  rea- 
sons you  have  for  frugality,  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  save  a guinea  a year  by  withdrawing 
it  from  a publick  charity. 

“ Mr.  Howard  called  on  me  a few  days 
ago,  and  gave  me  the  new  edition,  much 

2 [The  Exhibition  dinner  of  the  Royal  Acade- 

m 3'  [Probably  a cousin  of  Mrs.  Thrale’s,  Hes- 
ter Lynch  Salusbury  Cotton,  married  to  Mr. 
Davenant,  who  afterwards  assumed  the  name  oi 
Corbet,  and  was  created  a baronet.— Ed.] 


1784.— jETAT.  75. 


enlarged,  of  his  Account  of  Prisons.  He 
has  been  to  suri  ey  the  prisons  on  the  con- 
tinent ; and  in  Spain  he  tried  to  penetrate 
the  dungeons  of  the  Inquisition,  but  his  cu- 
riosity was  very  imperfectly  gratified.  At 
Madrid,  they  shut  him  quite  out;  at  Val- 
ladolid, they  showed  him  some  public  rooms.” 

“TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER,  IN  LICHFIELD. 

“ London,  26th  April,  1784. 

“ My  dear, — I write  to  you  now,  to  tell 
you  that  I am  so  far  recovered  that  on  the 
Slst  I went  to  church  to  return  thanks,  after 
a confinement  of  more  than  four  long  months. 

“ My  recovery  is  such  as  neither  myself 
nor  the  physicians  at  all  expected,  and  is 
such  as  that  very  few  examples  have  been 
known  of  the  like.  Join  with  me,  my  dear 
love,  in  returning  thanks  to  God. 

“Dr.  Vyse  has  been  with  (me)  this  even- 
ing ; he  tells  me  that  you  likewise  have 
been  much  disordered,  but  that  you  are  now 
better.  I hope  that  we  shall  some  time  have 
a cheerful  interview.  In  the  mean  time  let 
os  pray  for  one  another.  I am,  madam,  your 
humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson,” 

[“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“ Bolt-court,  30th  April,  1784. 

“Dear  madam, — Mr.  Allen  has 
mss  ' l°°ked  over  the  papers  i,  and  thinks 
that  one  hundred  copies  will  come  to 
five  pounds. 

“Fifty  will  cost  41.  10s.,  and  five  and 
twenty  will  cost  41.  5s.  It  seems  therefore 
scarcely  worth  while  to  print  fewer  than  a 
hundred. 

« Suppose  you  printed  two  hundred  and 
fifty  at  6Z.  10s.,  and,  without  any  name, 
tried  the  sale,  which  may  be  secretly  done. 
You  would  then  see  the  opinion  of  the  pub- 
lick  without  hazard,  if  nobody  knows  but  I. 
If  any  body  else  is  in  the  secret,  you  shall 
not  have  my  consent  to  venture.  I am, 
dear  madam,  your  most  affectionate  and 
most  humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.”] 

What  follows  is  a beautiful  specimen  of 
his  gentleness  and  complacency  to  a young 
lady,  his  god-child,  one  of  the  daughters  of 
his  friend  Mr.  Langton,  then,  I think,  in  her 
seventh  year.  He  took  the  trouble  to  write 
it  in  a large  round  hand,  nearly  resembling 
printed  characters,  that  she  might  have 
the  satisfaction  of  reading  it  herself.  The 
original  lies  before  me,  but  shall  be  faithfully 
restored  to  her  ; and  I dare  say  will  be  pre- 
served by  her  as  a jewel,  as  long  as  she 
lives. 


i  [Perhaps  Miss  Reynolds’s  Essay  on  Taste.” 
See  ante , p.  307.  M r.  Boswell  was  probably  mis- 
taken in  saying  that  it  had  been  printed. — Ed.] 


375 

“ TO  MISS  JANE  LANGTON;  IN  ROCHESTER, 
KENT. 

“ May  10,  1784. 

“ My  dearest  miss  jenny, — I am  sorry 
that  your  pretty  letter  has  been  so  long  with- 
out being  answered ; but,  when  I am  not 
pretty  well,  I do  not  always  write  plain 
enough  for  young  ladies.  I am  glad,  my 
dear,  to  see  that  you  write  so  well,  and  hope 
that  you  mind  your  pen,  your  book,  and  your 
needle,  for  they  are  all  necessary.  Your 
books  will  give  you  knowledge,  and  make 
you  respected;  and  your  needle  will  find 
you  useful  employment  when  you  do  not  care 
to  read.  When  you  are  a little  older,  I 
hope  you  will  be  very  diligent  in  learning 
arithmetick;  and,  above  all,  that  through 
your  whole  life  you  will  carefully  say  your 
prayers  and  read  your  Bible.  I am,  my 
dear,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

On  Wednesday,  May  5,  I arrived  in  Lon- 
don, and  next  morning  had  the  pleasure  to 
find  Dr.  Johnson  greatly  recovered.  I but 
just  saw  him ; for  a coach  was  waiting  to 
carry  him  to  Islington,  to  the  house  of  his 
friend  the  Reverend  Mr.  Strahan,  where  he 
went  sometimes  for  the  benefit  of  good  air, 
which,  notwithstanding  his  having  formerly 
laughed  at  the  general  opinion  upon  the  sub- 
ject, he  now  acknowledged  was  conducive  to 
health. 

One  morning  afterwards,  when  I found 
him  alone,  he  communicated  to  me,  with 
solemn  earnestness,  the  very  remarkable  cir- 
cumstance [alluded  to  so  often  in  the  pre- 
ceding letters]  which  had  happened  in  the 
course  of  his  illness,  when  he  was  much  dis- 
tressed by  the  dropsy.  He  had  shut  himself 
up,  and  employed  a day  in  particular  exer- 
cises of  religion,  fasting,  humiliation,  and 
prayer.  On  a sudden  he  obtained  extraordi- 
nary relief,  for  which  he  looked  up  to  Heaven 
with  grateful  devotion.  He  made  no  direct  r 
inference  from  this  fact ; but  from  his 
manner  of  telling  it,  I could  perceive  that 
it  appeared  to  him  as  something  more 
than  an  incident  in  the  common  course  ot 
events.  For  my  own  part,  I have  no  diffi- 
culty to  avow  that  cast  of  thinking,  which, 
by  many  modern  pretenders  to  wisdom, 
is  called  superstitious.  But  here  I think 
even  men  of  dry  rationality  may  believe, 
that  there  was  an  intermediates  interposi- 
tion of  Divine  Providence,  and  that  “ the 
fervent  prayer  of  this  righteous  man” 
availed  3. 

2 [So  in  all  the  editions,  though  the  meaning 
of  the  term  intermediate  does  not  seem  quite 
clear.  Perhaps  Mr.  Boswell  may  have  meant 
immediat  e. — Ed  . ] 

3 Upon  this  subject  there  is  a very  fair  and 
judicious  remark  in  the  Life  of  Dr.  Abernethy,  in 
the  first  edition  of  the  Biographia  Britannica% 


376 


1734. — iETAT.  75. 


On  Sunday,  May  9, 1 found  Colonel  Val- 
iancy i,  the  celebrated  antiquary  and  engineer 
of  Ireland,  with  him.  On  Monday,  the  10th, 
I dined  with  him  at  Mr.  Paradise’s,  where 
was  a large  company:  Mr.  Bryant,  Mr.  Jod- 
drel 2,  Mr.  Hawkins  Browne  3,  &c.  On  Thurs- 
day, the  13th,  I dined  with  him  at  Mr.  Jod- 
drel’s  with  another  large  company ; the 
Bishop  of  Exeter  *,  Lord  Monboddo,  Mr.  Mur- 


which  I should  have  been  glad  to  see  in  his  Life, 
which  has  been  written  for  the  second  edition  of 
that  valuable  work.  “ To  deny  the  exercise  of 
a particular  Providence  in  the  Deity’s  govern- 
ment of  the  world  is  certainly  impious,  yet  no- 
thing serves  the  cause  of  the  scorner  more  than 
an  incautious  forward  zeal  in  determining  the 
particular  instances  of  it.”  In  confirmation  of 
my  sentiments,  I am  also  happy  to  quote  that 
sensible  and  elegant  writer,  Mr.  Melmoth,  in 
Letter  viii.  of  his  collection,  published  under  the 
name  of  Fitzosborne.  “We  may  safely  assert, 
that  the  belief  of  a particular  Providence  is  found- 
ed upon  such  probable  reasons  as  may  well  jus- 
tify our  assent.  It  would  scarce,  therefore,  be 
wise  to  renounce  an  opinion  which  affords  so 
firm  a support  to  tk3  soul  in  those  seasons 
wherein  she  stands  in  most  need  of  assistance, 
merely  because  it  is  not  possible,  in  questions 
of  this  kind,  to  solve  every  difficulty  which  at- 
tends them.” — Boswell. 

1 [Afterwards  General  Valiancy  ; an  ingeni- 
ous man,  but  somewhat  of  a visionary  on  Irish 
antiquities.  He  died  in  1812,  net.  92. — Ed.] 

2 [As  this  sheet  was  passing  through  the 
press,  the  following  paragraph  appeared  in  the 
daily  papers  : “Died,  on  Wednesday,  26th  Ja- 
nuary, 1831,  at  his  house  in  Portland  place,  in 
the  eighty-sixth  year  of  his  age,  Richard  Paul 
Joddrel,  Esq.,  F.  R.  S.,  F.  A.  S.,  D.  C.  L.,  for- 
merly M.  P.  for  the  borough  of  Seaford,  deputy 
lieutenant,  and  one  of  his  majesty’s  justices  of 
the  peace  for  the  counties  of  Oxford,  Derby, 
Norfolk,  and  Middlesex.  It  may  be  recorded  as 
an  almost  unprecedented  instance,  that  Mr. 
Joddrel  bad  lived  to  be  in  possession  of  his  pa- 
ternal estates  eighty  years,  his  father  having  died 
at  an  early  age  in  1751.  He  was  educated  at 
Eton  and  Oxford,  and  distinguished  as  a scho- 
lar as  authour  of  the  ‘ Illustrations  of  Euripides’ 
and  other  literary  works,  and  was  the  last  sur- 
viving member  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  [Essex-street] 
club.  Having  outlived  all  his  contemporaries, 
he,  melancholy  to  relate,  of  late  years  had  out- 
lived his  own  mental  faculties,  and  it  had  be- 
come necessary,  from  insidious  attempts  made 
on  his  impaired  understanding,  to  throw  legal 
protection  around  his  person  and  property.  He 
is  succeeded  in  his  estates  by  his  eldest  son,  Sir 
Richard  Paul  Joddrel,  of  Sail-park,  in  the 
county  of  Norfolk,  bai  t.” — Ed.] 

3 [Bishop  Newton  (after  giving  some  amusing 
anecdotes  of  Isaac  Hawkins  Browne,  the  father,) 
says,  “ He  left  only  one  son  behind  him,  of  the 
same  name  with  himself,  a very  worthy  good 
young  man,  possessed  of  many  of  his  father’s 
excellencies  without  his  failings.” — Life , Svo. 
110. — J.  H.  Markland.] 

♦ Dr.  John  Ross. — Boswell. 


phy,  &c.  I was  sorry  to  observe  Lord  Mon 
boddo  avoid  any  communication  with  Dr. 
Johnson.  I flattered  myself  that  I had  made 
them  very  good  friends  ; but  unhappily  his 
lordship  had  resumed  and  cherished  a violent 
prejudice  against  my  illustrious  friend,  to 
whom  I must  do  the  justice  to  say,  there 
was  on  his  part  not  the  least  anger,  but  a 
good-humoured  sportiveness.  Nay,  though 
he  knew  of  his  lordship’s  indisposition  to- 
wards him,  he  was  even  kindly ; as  appeared 
from  his  inquiring  of  me,  after  him,  by  an 
abbreviation  of  his  name,  “ Well,  how  does 
Monny  ?” 

On  Saturday,  May  15,  1 dined  with  him 
at  Dr.  Brocklesby’s,  where  were  Colonel 
Valiancy,  Mr.  Murphy,  and  that  ever-cheer 
ful  companion,  Mr.  Devaynes,  apothecary  to 
his  majesty.  [Indeed  his  friends  seem 
to  have,  as  it  were,  celebrated  his  reco-  Ed‘ 
very  by  a round  of  dinners  ; for  he  wrote  on 
the  13th  to  Mrs.  Thrale. 

“ Now  I am  broken  loose,  my  Letters, 
friends  seem  willing  enough  to  see  voi.  ii. 
me.  On  Monday  I dined  with  Para-  p-  369, 
dise;  Tuesday,  Hoole ; Wednesday,  Dr. 
Taylor ; to-day  with  Joddrel ; Friday,  Mrs. 
Garrick ; Saturday,  Dr.  Brocklesby ; next 
Monday,  Dilly.”] 

Of  these  days,  and  others  on  which  I saw 
him,  I have  no  memorials,  except  the  general 
recollection  of  his  being  able  and  animated 
in  conversation,  and  appearing  to  relish  so- 
ciety as  much  as  the  youngest  man.  I find 
only  these  three  small  particulars : When  a 
person  was  mentioned,  who  said,  “I  have 
lived  fifty-one  years  in  this  world  without 
having  had  ten  minutes  of  uneasiness  he 
exclaimed,  “ The  man  who  says  so  lies  : he 
attempts  to  impose  on  human  credulity.” 
The  Bishop  of  Exeter  in  vain  observed,  that 
men  were  very  different.  His  lordship’s 
manner  was  not  impressive  ; and  I learnt 
afterwards,  that  Johnson  did  not  find  out 
that  the  person  who  talked  to  him  was  a 
prelate ; if  he  had,  I doubt  not  that  he  would 
have  treated  him  with  more  respect;  for 
once  talking  of  George  Psalmanazar,  whom 
he  reverenced  for  his  piety,  he  said,  “ I should 
as  soon  think  of  contradicting  a bishop.’ 
One  of  the  company  5 provoked  him  greatly  by 
doing  what  he  could  least  of  all  bear,  which 
was  quoting  something  of  his  own  writing, 
against  what  he  then  maintained.  “ What, 
sir,”  cried  the  gentleman,  “ do  you  say  to 

‘ The  busy  day,  the  peaceful  night, 

Unfclt,  uncounted,  glided  by  6 ?’  ” 


5 [Most  probably  Mr.  Boswell  himself,  who 
has  more  than  once  applied  the  same  quotation 
from  Cibber  to  Johnson’s  retorts  on  him.  Ante, 
vol.  i.  p.  265. — Ed.] 

6 Verses  on  the  death  of  Mr.  Levett. — Bos 

WELL. 


*784.  jETAT.  75. 


377 


Johnson  finding  himself  thus  presented  as 
giving  an  instance  ol  a man  who  had 
lived  without  uneasiness,  was  much  offend- 
ed, for  he  looked  upon  such  a quotation  as 
unfair,  his  anger  burst  out  in  an  unjustifia- 
ble retort,  insinuating  that  the  gentleman’s 
remark  was  a sally  of  ebriety  ; “ Sir,  there 
iS  one  passion  I would  advise  you  to  com- 
mand ; when  you  have  drunk  out  that  glass, 
don’t  drink  another.”  Here  was  exempli- 
fied what  Goldsmith  said  of  him,  with  the 
aid  of  a very  witty  image  from  one  of  Cib- 
ber’s comedies  : « There  is  no  arguing  with 
Johnson : for  if  his  pistol  misses  fire,  he 
knocks  you  down  with  the  butt  end  of 
it.” 

Another  was  this  : when  a gentleman  i 
of  eminence  in  the  literary  world  was  vio- 
lently censured  for  attacking  people  by 
anonymous  paragraphs  in  newspapers,  he, 
from  the  spirit,  of  contradiction,  as  I thought, 
took  up  his  defence  and  said,  “ Come,  come, 
this  is  not  so  terrible  a crime  ; he  means 
only  to  vex  them  a little.  I do  not  say 
that  I should  do  it ; but  there  is  a great  dif- 
ference between  him  and  me : what  is  fit 
for  Hephasstion  is  not  fit  for  Alexander.” 
Another,  when  I told  him  that  a young  and 
handsome  countess  had  said  to  me,  “ I 
should  think  that  to  be  praised  by  Dr.  John- 
son would  make  one  a fool  all  one’s  life 
and  that  I answered,  “ Madam,  I shall 
make  him  a fool  to-day,  by  repeating  this  to 
him  he  said,  “ I am  too  old  to  be  made  a 
fool ; but  if  you  say  I am  made  a fool,  I 
shall  not  deny  it.  I am  much  pleased  with 
a compliment,  especially  from  a pretty  wo- 
man.” 

On  the  evening  of  Saturday,  May  15, 
he  was  in  fine  spirits  at  our  Essex  Head 
Club.  He  told  us,  “ I dined  yesterday  at 
Mrs.  Garrick’s  with  Mrs.  Carter  2,  Miss 
Hannah  More,  and  Fanny  Burney.  Three 
such  women  are  not  to  be  found : .1  know 
not  where  I could  find  a fourth,  except 
Mrs.  Lennox,  who  is  superiour  to  them 
all.”  Boswell.  “ What ! had  you  them 
all  to  yourself,  sir!”  Johnson.  “I  had 
them  all,  as  much  as  they  were  had  ; but  it 
might  have  been  better  had  there  been 
more  company  there.”  Boswell.  “Might 
not  Mrs.  Montague  have  been  a fourth  1” 
Johnson.  “ Sir,  Mrs.  Montague  does  not 
make  a trade  of  her  wit ; but  Mrs.  Montague 
is  a very  extraordinary  woman : she  has  a 
constant  stream  of  conversation,  and  it  is 
always  impregnated ; it  has  always  mean- 
ing.” Boswell.  “ Mr.  Burke  has  a con- 


1  (Mr.  George  Steevens.  See  ante , vol.  i.  pp. 
268,  and  529. — Ed.] 

2 This  learned  and  excellent  lady,  who  has 
been  often  mentioned  in  these  volumes,  died  at 
her  house  in  Clarges-street,  Feb.  19,  1806,  in  her 
eighty-ninth  year.-  Malone. 

rot.  11  48 


stant  stream  of  conversation.”  Johnson. 
“ Yes,  sir ; if  a man  were  to  go  by  chance 
at  the  same  time  with  Burke  under  a shed, 
to  shun  a shower,  he  would  say,  ‘ this  is  an 
extraordinary  man.’  If  Burke  should  go 
into  a stable  to  see  his  horse  dressed,  the 
ostler  would  say  ‘ we  have  had  an  extraor- 
dinary man  here.’”  Boswell.  “Foote 
was  a man  who  never  failed  in  conversation. 
If  he  had  gone  into  a stable — ” Johnson. 
“Sir,  if  he  had  gone  into  the  stable,  the 
ostler  would  have  said,  here  has  been  a 
comical  fellow  ; but  he  would  not  have  re- 
spected him.”  Boswell.  “ And,  sir,  the 
ostler  would  have  answered  him;  would 
have  given  him  as  good  as  he  brought,  as 
the  common  saying  is.”  Johnson.  “ Yes, 
sir;  and  Foote  would  have  answered  the 
ostler.  When  Burke  does  not  descend  to 
be  merry,  his  conversation  is  very  superioui 
indeed.  There  is  no  proportion  between 
the  powers  which  he  shows  in  serious  talk 
and  in  jocularity.  When  he  lets  himsell 
down  to  that,  he  is  in  the  kennel.”  I have 
in  another  place  3 opposed,  and  I hope  with 
success,  Dr.  Johnson’s  very  singular  and 
erroneous  notion  as  to  Mr.  Burke’s  pleasan- 
try. Mr.  Windham  now  said  low  to  me, 
that  he  differed  from  our  great  friend  in  thia 
observation ; for  that  Mr.  Burke  was  often 
very  happy  in  his  merriment.  It  would  nol 
have  been  right  for  either  of  us  to  have  con- 
tradicted Johnson  at  this  time,  in  a society 
all  of  whom  did  not  know  and  value  Mr/ 
Burke  as  much  as  we  did.  It  might  have 
occasioned  something  more  rough,  and  at  any 
rate  would  probably  have  checked  the  flow 
of  Johnson’s  good  humour.  He  called  to  us 
with  a sudden  air  of  exultation,  as  the 
thought  started  into  his  mind,  “ O ! Gentle- 
men, I must  tell  you  a very  great  thing. 
The  Empress  of  Russia  has  ordered  the 
‘ Rambler  ’ to  be  translated  into  the  Russian 
language  4 ; so  I shall  be  read  on  the  banks 
of  the  Wolga.  Horace  boasts  that  his  fame 
would  extend  as  far  as  the  banks  of  the 
Rhone  ; now  the  Wolga  is  farther  from  me 
than  the  Rhone  was  from  Horace.”  Bos- 
well. “ Y ou  must  certainly  be  pleased  with 
this,  sir.”  Johnson.  “ I am  pleased,  sir, 
to  be  sure.  A man  is  pleased  to  find  he  has 
succeeded  in  that  which  he  has  endeavoured 
to  do.” 

One  of  the  company  mentioned  his  hav- 
ing seen  a noble  person  driving  in  his  car- 
riage, and  looking  exceedingly  well,  not- 
withstanding his  great  age.  Johnson. 
“Ah,  sir,  that  is  nothing.  Bacon  observes 


3 “ Journal  of  a Tour  to  the  Hebrides,”  vol.  i. 
p.  330. — Boswell. 

4 I have  since  heard  that  the  report  was  not 
well  founded  ; but  the  elation  discovered  by  John- 
son in  the  belief  that  it  was  true,  showed  a no- 
ble ardour  for  literary  fame. — Boswell 


378 


1784.— jETAT.  75. 


that  a stout  healthy  old  man  is  like  a tower 
undermined.” 

On  Sunday,  May  16, 1 found  him  alone  : 
he  talked  of  Mrs.  Thrale  with  much  con- 
cern, saying’,  “ Sir,  she  has  done  every  thing 
wrong,  since  Thrale ’s  bridle  was  off  her 
neck  and  was  proceeding  to  mention  some 
circumstances  which  have  since  been  the 
subject  of  public  discussion1,  when  he  was  in- 
terrupted by  the  arrival  of  Dr.  Douglas,  now 
Bishop  of  Salisbury. 

Dr.  Douglas,  upon  this  occasion,  refuted 
a mistaken  notion  which  is  very  common  in 
Scotland,  that  the  ecclesiastical  discipline  2 of 
the  church  of  England,  though  duly  enforced, 
is  insufficient  to  preserve  the  morals  of  the 
clergy,  inasmuch  as  all  delinquents  may  be 
screened  by  appealing  to  the  convocation, 
which  being  never  authorized  by  the  king  to 
sit  for  the  despatch  of  business,  the  appeal 
never  can  be  heard.  Dr.  Douglas  observed, 
that  this  was  founded  upon  ignorance ; for 
that  the  bishops  have  sufficient  power  to  main- 
tain discipline,  and  that  the  sitting  of  the  con- 
vocation was  wholly  immaterial  in  this  re- 
spect, it  being  not  a court  of  judicature,  but 
like  a parliament,  to  make  canons  and  regu- 
lations as  times  may  require. 

Johnson,  talking  of  the  fear  of  death,  said, 
“ Some  people  are  not  afraid,  because  they 
look  upon  salvation  as  the  effect  of  an  abso- 
lute decree,  and  think  they  feel  in  themselves 
the  marks  of  sanctification.  Others,  and 
•those  the  most  rational  in  my  opinion,  look 
upon  salvation  as  conditional ; and  as  they 
never  can  be  sure  that  they  have  complied 
with  the  conditions,  they  are  afraid.” 

In  one  of  his  little  manuscript  diaries  about 
this  time  I find  a short  notice,  which  marks 
his  amiable  disposition  more  certainly  than  a 
thousand  studied  declarations.  “ Afternoon 
spent  cheerfully  and  elegantly,  I hope  with- 
out offence  to  God  or  man  ; though  in  no  ho1/ 
duty,  yet  in  the  general  exercise  and  cultiva- 
tion of  benevolence.” 

On  Monday,  May  17,  I dined  with  him 
at  Mr.  Dilly’s,  where  were  Colonel  Valian- 
cy, the  Reverend  Dr.  Gibbons,  and  Mr. 
Capel  Lofft,  who,  though  a, most  zealous 
whig,  has  a mind  so  ful  of  learning  and 
knowledge,  and  so  much  exercised  in  vari- 
ous departments,  and  withal  so  much  liber- 
ality, that  the  stupendous  powers  of  the  li- 
terary Goliath,  though  they  did  not  frighten 


1 [No  doubt  in  Baretti’s  libellous  strictures 
upon  her.  See  ante,  p.  67. — Ed.] 

2 [Experience  has  proved  that  in  many  in- 
stances ecclesiastical  discipline  cannot  be  en- 
forced but  at  a great  pecuniary  sacrifice  to  the  in- 
dividual who  attempts  it,  and  without  tedious  and 
vexatious  delays.  To  provide  a remedy  for  these 
and  other  evils  by  “ inquiring  into  the  practice 
and  proceedings  of  the  Ecclesiastical  Courts,’’ 
a commission  issued  in  1829. — . H.  Mark- 
land.] 


this  little  David  of  populai  spirit,  could  no 
but  excite  his  admiration.  There  was  OjSO 
Mr.  Braithwaite  of  the  post-office,  that  amia- 
ble and  friendly  man,  who,  with  modest  and 
unassuming  manners,  has  associated  with 
many  of  the  wits  of  the  age.  Johnson  was 
very  quiescent  to-day  3.  Perhaps  too  I was 
indolent.  I find  nothing  more  of  him  in  my 
notes,  but  that  when  I mentioned  that  I 
had  seen  in  the  king’s  library  sixty-three 
editions  of  my  favourite  Thomas  a Kempis, 
— amongst  which  it  was  in  eight  languages, 
Latin,  German,  French,  Italian,  Spanish, 
English,  Arabick,  and  Armenian, — he  said 
he  thought  it  unnecessary  to  collect  many 
editions  of  a book,  which  were  all  the  same, 
except  as  to  the  paper  and  print ; he  would 
have  the  original,  and  all  the  translations,  and 
all  the  editions  which  had  any  variations  in 
the  text.  He  approved  of  the  famous  col- 
lection of  editions  of  Horace  by  Douglas  4, 
mentioned  by  Pope,  who  is  said  to  have  had 
a closet  filled  with  them  ; and  he  added, 
“ every  man  should  try  to  collect  one  book 
in  that  manner,  and  present  it  to  a public  li 
brary.” 

On  Tuesday,  May  18, 1 saw  him  for  a short 
time  in  the  morning.  I told  him  that  the  mob 
had  called  out,  as  the  king  passed  s,  “ No  Fox, 
no  Fox  ! ” which  I did  not  like.  He  said, 
“ They  were  right,  sir.”  I said,  I thought 
not ; for  it  seemed  to  be  making  Mr.  Fox  the 
king’s  competitor.  There  being  no  audience, 
so  that  there  could  be  no  triumph  in  a victo. 
ry,  he  fairly  agreed  with  me.  I said  it  might 
do  very  well,  if  explained  thus,  “.Let  us  have 
no  Fox,”  understanding  it  as  a prayer  to  his 
majesty  not  to  appoint  that  gentleman  mi- 
nister. 

On  Wednesday,  May  19,  I sat  a part  of 
the  evening  with  him,  by  ourselves.  I ob- 
served that  the  death  of  our  friends  might 
be  a consolation  against  the  fear  of  our  own 
dissolution,  because  we  might  have  more 


3 [He  probably  was  not  quite  at  his  ease  in 
the  company  of  Mr.  Capel  Lofft,  if  he  exhibited, 
as  Mr.  Boswell  seems  to  hint,  any  of  his  whig 
zeal. — Ed.] 

i [The  mention  by  Pope,  (no  very  delicate 
one,)  is  in  the  following  lines  of  the  Dunciad  and 
the  subjoined  note  : 

“ Bid  me  with  Pollio  sup,  as  well  as  dine, 

There  all  the  learned  shall  at  the  labour  stand, 
And  Douglas  lend  hi?  soft  ohstetrick  hand. 

“ Douglas , a physician  of  great  learning  and  no 
less  taste  ; above  all,  curious  in  what  related  to 
Horace;  of  whom  he  collected  every  edition, 
translation,  andcomment,  to  the  number  of  seve- 
ral hundred  volumes.” — Dunciad,  b.  iv.  1.  392. 
Dr  Douglas  was  born  in  Scotland  in  1675, 
and  died"  in  London  in  1742.  He  published 


le  medical  works.— Ed.] 

[To  open  Parliament.  The  Westminster 
tion  had  concluded  only  the  day  before  in 
jur  of  Mr.  Fox,  whose  return,  however,  was 
»ved  by  the  requisition  for  a scrutiny.  Ed.] 


1784.  jETAT.  75. 


379 


friends  in  the  other  world  than  Li  his.  He 
perhaps  felt  this  as  a reflection  upon  his  ap- 
prehension as  to  death,  and  said,  with  heat, 
« How  can  a man  know  where  his  departed 
friends  are,  or  whether  they  will  be  his  friends 
in  the  other  world?  How  many  friendships 
have  you  known  formed  upon  principles  of 
virtue  ? Most  friendships  are  formed  by  ca- 
price or  by  chance — mere  confederacies  in 
vice  or  leagues  in  folly.” 

We  talked  of  our  worthy  friend  Mr. 
Langton.  He  said,  “ I know  not  who 
will  go  to  heaven  if  Langton  does  not. 
Sir,  I could  almost  say  Sit  anima  mea  cum 
Langtono .”  I mentioned  a very  eminent 
friend  i as  a virtuous  man.  Johnson. 
“Yes,  sir;  but has  not  the  evan- 
gelical virtue  of  Langton. , I am 

afraid,  would  not  scruple  to  pick  up  a 
wench.” 

He  however  charged  Mr.  Langton  with 
what  he  thought  want  of  judgment  upon  an 
interesting  occasion.  “ When  I was  ill,” 
said  he,  “ I desired  he  would  tell  me  sincerely 
in  what  he  thought  my  life  was  faulty.  Sir, 
he  brought  me  a sheet  of  paper,  on  which  he 
had  written  down  several  texts  of  Scripture 
recommending  Christian  charity.  And  when 
I questioned  him  what  occasion  I had  given 
for  such  an  animadversion,  all  that  he  could 
say  amounted  to  this, — that  I sometimes 
contradicted  people  in  conversation.  Now 
what  harm  does  it  do  to  any  man  to  be  con- 
tradicted 1”  Boswell.  “ I suppose  he 
meant  the  manner  of  doing  it  ; roughly  and 
harshly.”  Johnson.  “ And  who  is  the  worse 
for  that  V*  Boswell.  “ It  hurts  people  of 
weaker  nerves.”  Johnson.  “ I know  no 
such  weak-nerved  people.”  Mr.  Burke, 
to  whom  I related  this  conference,  said, 
“ It  is  well  if,  when  a man  comes  to  die,  he 
has  nothing  heavier  upon  his  conscience 
than  having  been  a little  rough  in  conversa- 
tion.” 

Johnson,  at  the  time  when  the  paper  was 
presented  to  him,  though  at  first  pleased 
with  the  attention  of  his  friend,  whom  he 
thanked  in  an  earnest  manner,  soon  ex- 
claimed in  a loud  and  angry  tone,  “ What 
is  your  drift,  sir  1 ” Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
pleasantly  observed,  that  it  was  a scene  for 
a comedy,  to  see  a penitent  get  into  a vio- 


i  [As  Mr.  Boswell  has  seldom  applied  the 
term  “ eminent  friend  ” except  either  to  Mr. 
Burke  or  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  it  may  not  be 
unnecessary  to  remind  the  reader  that  at  this  time 
Mr.  Burke  was  fifty-four  and  Sir  Joshua  sixty- 
two  years  of  age,  and  that  the  good  taste,  morals, 
and  piety  of  both,  (and  more  particularly  of  M r. 
Burke,  a married  man  of  exemplary  conduct — 
see  fiute,  p.  206),  forbid  our  believing  that  either 
of  them  were  meant  in  this  passage.  It  is  to  be 
wished  that  Mr.  Boswell  had  not  mentioned  so 
offensive  an  allusion,  or  had  appropriated  it  to 
the  prooer  object. — Ed.] 


lent  passion  and  belabour  his  confessor. 
After  all,  I cannot  but  be  of  opinion,  that  as 
Mr.  Langton  was  seriously  requested  by 
Hr.  Johnson  to  mention  what  appeared  to 
him  erroneous  in  the  character  of  his  friend, 
lie  was  bound  as  an  honest  man  to  intimate 
what  he  really  thought,  which  he  certainly 
did  in  the  most  delicate  manner;  so  that 
Johnson  himself,  when  in  a quiet  frame  of 
mind,  was  pleased  with  it.  The  texts  sug- 
gested are  now  before  me,  and  I shall  quote 
a few  of  them.  “Blessed  are  the  meek, 
for  they  shall  inherit  the  earth.” — Matt. 
v.  5. 

“I  therefore,  the  prisoner  of  the  Lord, 
beseech  you  that  ye  walk  worthy  of  the  vo- 
cation wherewith  ye  are  called,  with  all 
lowliness  and  meekness,  with  long-suffering, 
forbearing  one  another  in  love.” — Ephes. 
v.  1,  2. 

“Ajid  above  all  these  things  put  on 
charity,  which  is  the  bond  of  perfectness.” 
— Col  iii.  14. 

“Charity  suftereth  long,  and  is  kind; 
charity  envieth  not;  charity  vaunteth  not 
itself,  is  not  puffed  up,  doth  not  behave  it- 
self unseemly,  is  not  easily  provoked.” — 1 
Cor.  xiii.  4,  5. 

I have  preserved  no  more  of  his  conver- 
sation at  the  times  when  I saw  him  during 
the  rest  of  this  month,  till  Sunday,  the  30th 
of  May,  when  I met  him  in  the  evening  at 
Mr.  Hoole’s,  where  there  was  a large  com- 
pany both  of  ladies  and  gentlemen.  Sir 
James  Johnston  happened  to  say  that  he 
paid  no  regard  to  the  arguments  of  counsel 
at  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Commons,  be- 
cause they  were  paid  for  speaking.  John- 
son. “Nay,  sir,  argument  is  argument. 
You  cannot  help  paying  regard  to  their  ar- 
guments if  they  are  good.  If  it  were  testi- 
mony, you  might  disregard  it,  if  you  knew 
that  it  were  purchased.  There  is  a beau- 
tiful image  in  Bacon  2 upon  this  subject : 
testimony  is  like  an  arrow  shot  from  a long 
bow ; the  force  of  it  depends  on  the 
strength  of  the  hand  that  draws  it.  Argu- 
ment is  like  an  arrow  from  a crossbow, 
which  has  equal  force  though  shot  by  a 
child  3.” 


2 Dr.  Johnson’s  memory  deceived  him.  The 
passage  referred  to  is  not  Bacon’s,  but  Boyle’s, 
and  may  be  found,  with  a slight  variation,  in 
Johnson’s  Dictionary,  under  the  word  Crossbow. 
— So  happily  selected  are  the  greater  part  of  the 
examples  in  that  incomparable  work,  that  if  the 
most  striking  passages  found  in  it  were  collect- 
ed by  one  of  our  modern  book-makers,  under  the 
title  of  The  Beauties  of  Johnson’s  Dictionary, 
they  would  form  a very  pleasing  and  popular 
volume. — Malone. 

3 [The  anecdote,  as  Mr.  Markland  observes, 
is  somewhat  differently  told  by  Dr.  Moore  in  his 
Life  of  Smollet. — “ In  Boswell’s  Life  of  John- 
son. mention  is  made  of  an  observation  of  his  ro 


380 


1784.— jETAT.  75. 


He  haC  dined  that  day  at  Mr.  Hoole’s, 
and  Miss  Helen  Maria  Williams  being  ex- 
pected in  the  evening,  Mr.  Hoole  put  into 
his  hands  her  beautiful  “ Ode  on  the 
Peace  i.”  Johnson  read  it  over,  and  when 
this  elegant  and  accomplished  young  lady  2 
was  presented  to  him,  he  took  her  by  the 


specting  the  manner  in  which  argument  ought 
to  be  rated.  As  Mr.  Boswell  has  not  recorded 
this  with  his  usual  precision,  and  as  I was  pre- 
sent at  Mr.  Hoole’s  at  the  time  mentioned  by 
Mr.  Boswell,  I shall  here  insert  what  passed,  of 
which  1 have  a perfect  recollection.  Mention 
having  been  made  that  counsel  were  to  be  heard 
at  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Commons,  one  of  the 
company  at  Mr.  Hoole’s  asked  Sir  James  John- 
ston if  he  intended  to  be  present.  He  answered, 
that  he  believed  he  should  not,  because  he  paid 
little  regard  to  the  arguments  of  counsel  at 
the  bar 'of  the  House  of  Commons.  4 Where- 
fore do  you  pay  little  regard  to  their  arguments, 
sir  ?’  said  Dr.  Johnson.  ‘ Because,’  replied  Sir 
James,  ‘ they  argue  for  their  fee.’  ‘ What  is  it 
to  you,  sir,’  rejoined  Dr.  Johnson,  ‘ what  they  ar- 
gue for  ? You  have  nothing  to  do  with  their  mo- 
tive, but  you  ought  to  weigh  their  argument.  Sir, 
you  seem  to  confound  argument  with  assertion  ; 
but  there  is  an  essential  distinction  between  them. 
Assertion  is  like  an  arrow  shot  from  a long  bow ; 
the  force  with  which  it  strikes  depends  on  the 
strength  of  the  arm  that  draws  it.  But  argument 
is  like  an  arrow  from  a crossbow,  which  has  equal 
force  whether  shot  by  a boy  or  a giant.’  The 
whole  company  was  struck  with  the  aptness  and 
beauty  of  this  illustration  ; and  one  of  them  said, 
4 That  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  most  just  and  admi- 
rable illustrations  that  I ever  heard  in  my  life.’ 
‘Sir,’  said  Dr.  Johnson,  ‘the  illustration  is  none 
of  mine — you  will  find  it  in  Bacon.’  ” 

It  is  satisfactory  to  find  Mr.  Boswell  thus  ra- 
ther corroborated  than  corrected  by  a person  who 
professes  superiour  precision.  T he  substance  is 
the  same  in  both  accounts,  and  it  seems  to  the 
Editor  that  Mr.  Boswell’s  narration  is  at  least  as 
terse  and  characteristic  as  Dr.  Moore’s. — Ed.] 

1 The  peace  made  by  that  very  able  states- 
man, the  Earl  of  Shelburne,  now  Marquis  of 
Lansdown,  which  may  fairly  be  considered  the 
foundation  of  all  the  prosperity  of  Great  Britain 
since  that  time. — Boswell. 

2 In  the  first  edition  of  my  work,  the  epithet 
amiable,  was  given.  I was  sorry  to  be  obliged  to 
strike  it  out ; but  I could  not  in  justice  suffer  it 
to  remain,  after  this  young  lady  had  not  only 
written  in  favour  of  the  savage  anarchy  with 
which  France  has  been  visited,  but  had,  (as  I 
have  been  informed  by  good  authority)  walked, 
without  horrour,  over  the  ground  at  the  Thuille- 
ries  when  it  was  strewed  with  the  naked  bodies 
of  the  faithful  Swiss  Guards,  who  were  barba- 
rously massacred  for  having  bravely  defended, 
against  a crew  of  ruffians,  the  monarch  whom 
they  had  tak^n  an  oath  to  defend.  From  Dr. 
Johnson  she  could  now  expect  not  endearment, 
but  repulsion. —Boswell.  [Miss  Williams,  like 
many  other  early  enthusiasts  of  the  French  revo- 
lution, had  latterly  altered  her  opinion  very  con- 
siderably. She  died  in  1828,  jet.  65. — Ed.] 


hand  in  the  most  courteous  manner,  and  re- 
peated the  finest  stanza  of  her  poem.  This 
was  the  most  delicate  and  pleasing  compli- 
ment he  could  pay.  Her  respectable  friend, 
Dr.  Kippis,  from  whom  I had  this  anecdote, 
was  standing  by,  and  was  not  a little  grati- 
fied. 

Miss  Williams  told  me,  that  the  only  other 
time  she  was  fortunate  enough  to  be  in  Dr. 
Johnson’s  company,  he  asked  her  to  sit  down 
by  him,  which  she  did ; and  upon  her  inquir- 
ing how  he  was,  he  answered,  “ I am  very  ill 
indeed,  madam.  I am  very  ill  even  when 
you  are  near  me ; what  should  I be  were  you 
at  a distance  1 ” 


[44DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“ May  28th,  1784. 

“ Madam, — You  do  me  wrong  by 
imputing  my  omission  to  any  captious  mss.' 
punctiliousness.  I have  not  yet  seen 
Sir  Joshua,  and,  when  I do  see  him,  I know 
not  how  to  serve  you.  When  I spoke  upon 
your  affairs  3 to  him  at  Christmas,  I received 
no  encouragement  to  speak  again. 

44  But  we  shall  never  do  business  by  letters. 
W e must  see  one  another. 

“ I have  returned  your  papers,  and  am  glad 
that  you  laid  aside  the  thought  of  printing 
them.  I am,  madam,  your  most  humble  ser- 
vant, “ Sam.  Johnson.”] 


He  had  now  a great  desire  to  go  to  Ox- 
ford, as  his  first  jaunt  after  his  illness.  We 
talked  of  it  for  some  days,  and  I had  prom- 
ised to  accompany  him.  He  was  impatient 
and  fretful  to-night,  because  I did  not  at 
once  agree  to  go  with  him  on  Thursday. 
When  I considered  how  ill  he  had  been, 
and  what  allowance  should  be  made  for  the 
influence  of  sickness  upon  his  temper,  I re- 
solved to  indulge  him,  though  with  some  in- 
convenience to  myself,  as  I wished  to  attend 
the  musical  meeting  in  honour  of  Handel, 
in  Westminster- Abbey  on  the  following  Sa- 
turday. 

[“TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  May  31st,  1784. 

“ I have  one  way  or  other  been  Letters, 
disappointed  hitherto  of  that  change  vol.  ii 
of  air  from  which  I think  some  re-  p‘  350‘ 
lief  may  possibly  be  obtained ; but  Boswel 
and  I have' settled  our  resolution  to  go  tc 
Oxford  on  Thursday.  But  since  I was  at 
Oxford,  my  convivial  friend  Dr.  Edwards 
and  my  learned  friend  Dr.  Wheeler  are 
both  dead,  and  my  probabilities  of  pleasure 
are  very  much  diminished.  Why,  when 
so  many  are  taken  away,  have  I been  yet 
spared  1 I hope  that  I may  be  fitter  to  die. 


3  [Probably  affairs  similar  to  that  mentioned 
ante,  p.  202.— Ed.] 


1784. — jETAT.  75. 


381 


“How long  we  shall  stay  at  Oxford,  or 
what  we  shall  do  when  we  leave  it,  neither 
Bozzy  nor  I have  settled : he  is  for  his  part 
resolved  to  remove  his  family  to  London, 
and  try  his  fortune  at  the  English  bar : let 
us  all  wish  him  success.”] 

In  the  midst  of  his  own  diseases  and  pains, 
he  was  ever  compassionate  to  the  distresses 
of  others,  and  actively  earnest  in  procuring 
them  aid,  as  appears  from  a note  to  Sir 
Toshua  Reynolds,  of  June,  in  these  words : 

“ I am  ashamed  to  ask  for  some  relief  for 
a poor  man,  to  whom  I hope  I have  given 
what  I can  be  expected  $o  spare.  The  man 
importunes  me,  and  the  blow  goes  round. 
I am  going  to  try  another  air  on  Thurs- 
day.” 

Ed  [The  following  letter  from  Miss 
Reynolds  shows  that  he  was  not  a 
solicitor  for  the  poor  of  his  own  acquaint- 
ance only.  It  seems  to  have  been  given  to 
some  poor  woman  as  an  introduction  to  Dr. 
Johnson :] 

“ Dover-street,  July  9th. 

Reyn.  [«  My  good  sir, — I could  not  for- 
bear to  communicate  to  the  poor  wo- 
man the  hope  you  had  given  me  of  using 
your  interest  with  your  friends  to  raise  her 
a little  sum  to  enable  her  to  see  her  native 
country  again ; nor  could  I refuse  to  write  a 
line  to  procure  her  the  pleasure  of  the  con- 
firmation of  that  hope. 

“ I am,  and  always  have  been,  very  trouble- 
some to  you  ; but  you  are,  and  always  have 
been , very  good  to  your  obliged  humble  ser- 
vant, 

“ Frances  Reynolds.”] 

On  Thursday,  June  3,  the  Oxford  post 
coach  took  us  up  in  the  morning  at  Bolt- 
court.  The  other  two  passengers  were 
Mrs.  Beresford  and  her  daughter,  two  very 
agreeable  ladies  from  America : they  were 
going  to  Worcestershire,  where  they  then 
resided.  Frank  had  been  sent  by  his  mas- 
ter the  day  before  to  take  places  for  us  ; and 
I found  from  the  way-bill  that  Dr.  Johnson 
had  made  our  names  be  put  down.  Mrs. 
Beresford,  who  had  read  it,  whispered  me, 
“Is  this  the  great  Dr.  Johnson ?”  I told 
her  it  was ; so  she  was  then  prepared  to 
listen.  . As  she  soon  happened  to  mention, 
in  a voice  so  low  that  Johnson  did  not  hear 
it,  that  her  husband  had  been  a member 
of  the  American  Congress,  I cautioned  her 
to  beware  of  introducing  that  subject,  as  she 
must  know  how  very  violent  Johnson  was 
against  the  people  of  that  country.  lie 
talked  a great  deal ; but  I am  sorry  I have 
preserved  little  of  the  conversation.  Miss 
Beresford  was  so  much  charmed,  that  she 
said  to  me  aside,  “ How  he  does  talk  ! Ev- 
ery sentence  is  an  essay.”  She  amused 


herself  in  the  coach  with  knotting.  He  would 
scarcely  allow  this  species  of  employment 
any  merit.  “ Next  to  mere  idleness  (said 
he),  I think  knotting  is  to  be  reckoned  in 
the  scale  of  insignificance ; though  I once 
attempted  to  learn  knotting  i : Dempster’s 
■sister  (looking  to  me)  endeavoured  to  teach 
me  it,  but  I made  no  progress.” 

I was  surprised  at  his  talking  without  re- 
serve in  the  publick  post-coach  of  the  state 
of  his  affairs : “ I have  (said  he)  about  the 
world  I think  above  a thousand  pounds,  which 
I intend  shall  afford  Frank  an  annuity  of 
seventy  pounds  a year.”  Indeed  his  open- 
ness with  people  at  a first  interview  was  re- 
markable. He  said  once  to  Mr.  Langton, 
“ I think  I am  like  Squire  Richard  2 in  ‘ The 
Journey  to  London,’  I’m  never  strange  in 
a strange  place.  ” He  was  truly  social.  He 
strongly  censured  what  is  much  too  common 
in  England  among  persons  of  condition, — • 
maintaining  an  absolute  silence  when  un- 
known to  each  other ; as,  for  instance,  when 
occasionally  brought  together  in  a room  be- 
fore the  master  or  mistress  of  the  house  has 
appeared.  “ Sir,  that  is  being  so  uncivilized 
as  not  to  understand  the  common  rights  of 
humanity.” 

At  the  inn  where  we  stopped  he  was  ex- 
ceedingly dissatisfied  with  some  roast  mut- 
ton which  we  had  for  dinner.  The  ladies,  I 
saw,  wondered  to  see  the  great  philosopher, 
whose  wisdom  and  wit  they  had  been  admir- 
ing all  the  way,  get  into  ill-humour  from  such 
a cause.  He  scolded  the  waiter,  saying,  “ It 
is  as  bad  as  bad  can  be  : it  is  ill-fed,  ill-killed, 
ill-kept,  and  ill-drest.” 

He  bore  the  journey  very  well,  and  seemed 
to  feel  himself  elevated  as  he  approached 
Oxford,  that  magnificent  and  venerable  seat 
of  learning,  orthodoxy,  and  toryism.  Frank 
came  in  the  heavy  coach,  in  readiness  to  at- 
tend him  ; and  we  were  received  with  the 
most  polite  hospitality  at  the  house  of  his  old 
friend  Dr.  Adams,  Master  of  Pembroke  Col- 
lege, who  had  given  us  a kind  invitation. 
Before  we  were  set  down,  I communicated 
to  Johnson  my  having  engaged  to  return  to 
London  directly  for  the  reason  I have  men- 
tioned, but  that  I would  hasten  back  to  him 
again.  He  was  pleased  that  I had  made  this 
journey  merely  to  keep  him  company.  He 
was  easy  and  placid,  with  Dr.  Adams.  Mrs. 
and  Miss  Adams,  and  Mrs.  Kennicot,  widow 


1 [See  ante,  p.  149,  n. ; but  this  repetition  of 
the  name  renders  the  Editor  doubtful  as  to  the 
suggestion  made  in  that  note,  though  he  cannot 
discover  where  or  when  Dr.  Johnson  could 
have  been  so  familiarized  with  Mr.  Dempster’s 
family. — Ed.] 

2 [The  remark  is  made  by  Miss  Jenny,  and 
not  by  her  brother.  It  would  have  been  ill  suited 
to  one  who  was  originally  described  in  the 
dramatis  personae  as  “a  mere  whelp.” — J.  H 
Markland.] 


382 


1784. — JETAT.  75. 


of  the  learned  Hebrsean i,  who  was  here  on 
a visit.  He  soon  despatched  the  inquiries 
that  were  made  about  his  illness  and  recove- 
ry by  a short  and  distinct  narrative,  and  then 
assuming  a gay  air,  repeated  from  Swift, 

“ Nor  think  on  our  approaching  ills, 

And  talk  of  spectacles  and  pills.” 

Dr.  Newton,  the  Bishop  of  Bristol,  having 
been  mentioned,  Johnson,  recollecting  the 
manner  in  which  he  had  been  censured  by 
that  prelate  2,  thus  retaliated  : — « Tom  knew 
he  should  be  dead  before  what  he  has  said  of 
me  would  appear.  He  durst  not  have  printed 
it  while  he  was  alive.’,  Dr.  Adams.  “I  be- 
lieve his  ‘ Dissertations  on  the  Prophecies  ’ is 
his  great  work.”  Johnson.  *Why,  sir,  it 
is  Tom’s  great  work ; but  how  far  it  is  great, 
or  how  much  of  it  is  Tom’s,  are  other  ques- 
tions. I fancy  a considerable  part  of  it  was 
borrowed.”  Dr.  Adams.  “ He  was  a very 
successful  man.”  Johnson.  “ I do  n’t  think 
so,  sir.  He  did  not  get  very  high.  He  was 
late  in  getting  what  he  did  get ; and  he  did 
not  get  it  by  the  best  means.  I believe  he 
was  a gross  flatterer.” 

I fulfilled  my  intention  by  going  to  London, 
and  returned  to  Oxford  on  Wednesday  the 


1 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  171. — Ed.] 

2 Dr.  Newton  in  his  Account  of  his  own  Life, 
after  animadverting  upon  Mr.  Gibbon’s  History, 
says,  “Dr.  Johnson’s  ‘Lives  of  the  Poets’  af- 
ford more  amusement ; but  candour  was  much 
hurt  and  offended  at  the  malevolence  that  pre- 
dominates in  every  part.  Some  passages,  it 
must  be  allowed,  are  judicious  and  well  written, 
but  make  not  sufficient  compensation  for  so 
much  spleen  and  ill-humour.  Never  was  any 
biographer  more  sparing  of  his  praise,  or  more 
abundant  in  his  censuresT  He  seemingly  delights 
more  in  exposing  blemishes,  than  in  recommend- 
ing beauties  ; slightly  passes  over  excellences,  en- 
larges upon  imperfections,  and,  not  content  with 
his  own  severe  reflections,  revives  old  scandal, 
and  produces  large  quotations  from  the  forgotten 
works  of  former  criticks.  His  reputation  was 
so  high  in  the  republick  of  letters,  that  it  wanted 
not  to  be  raised  upon  the  ruins  of  others.  But 
these  essays,  instead  of  raising  a higher  idea 
than  was  before  entertained  of  his  understand- 
ing, have  certainly  given  the  world  a worse  opin- 
ion of  his  temper.  The  bishop  was  therefore 
the  more  surprised  and  concerned  for  his  towns- 
man, for  he  respected  him  not  only  for  his  genius 
and  learning,  but  valued  him  much  for  the  more 
amiable  part  of  his  character — his  humanity  and 
charity,  his  morality  and  religion .”  The  last 
sentence  we  may  consuls  as  the  general  and 
permanent  opinion  of  Bishop  N ewton ; the  re- 
marks which  precede  it  must,  by  all  who  have 
read  Johnson’s  admirable  work,  be  imputed  to 
the  disgust  and  peevishness  of  old  age.  I wish 
they  had  not  appeared,  and  that  Dr.  Johnson 
had  not  been  provoked  by  them  to  express  him- 
self not  in  respectful  terms  of  a prelate  whose 
labours  were  certainly  of  considerable  advan- 
ce both  to  literature  and  religion. — Boswell. 


9th  of  June,  when  I -was  happy  to  find  myself 
again  in  the  same  agreeable  circle  at  Pem- 
broke College,  with  the  comfortable  prospect 
of  making  some  stay.  Johnson  welcomed 
my  return  with  more  than  ordinary  glee. 

He  talked  with  great  regard  of  the  Hon- 
ourable Archibald  Campbell,  whose  character 
he  had  given  at  the  Duke  of  Argyll’s  table 
when  we  were  at  Inverary  3,  and  at  this  time 
wrote  out  for  me,  in  his  own  hand,  a fuller 
account  of  that  learned  and  venerable  writer, 
which  I have  published  in  its  proper  place. 
Johnson  made  a remark  this  evening  which 
struck  me  a good  deal.  « I never  (said  lie) 
knew  a nonjuror  wH$>  could  reason  4.”  Surely 
he  did  not  mean  to  deny  that  faculty  to  many 
of  their  writers — to  Hickes,  Brett,  and  other 
eminent  divines  of  that  persuasion  ; and  did 
not  recollect  that  the  seven  bishops,  so  justly 
celebrated  for  their  magnanimous  resistance 
of  arbitrary  power,  were  yet  nonjurors  s to  the 
new  government.  The  nonjuring  clergy  of 
Scotland,  indeed,  who,  excepting  a few,  have 
lately,  by  a sudden  stroke,  cut  off  all  ties 
of  allegiance  to  the  house  of  Stuart,  and 
resolved  to  pray  for  our  present  lawful  sove- 
reign by  name,  may  be  thought  to  have 
confirmed  this  remark ; as  it  may  be  said, 


3 “ Journal  of  a Tour  to  the  Hebrides,”  ante, 
vol.  i.  p.  449. — Boswell. 

4 The  Rev.  Mr.  Agutter  has  favoured  me 
with  a note  of  a dialogue  between  Mr.  John 
Henderson  and  Dr.  Johnson  on  thistopick,  as 
related  by  Mr.  Henderson,  and  it  is  evidently  so 
authentick  that  I shall  here  insert  it : — Hender- 
son. “What  do  you  think,  sir,  of  William 
Law?”  Johnson.  “ William  Law,  sir,  wrote 
the  best  piece  of  parenetick  divinity  ; but  Wil- 
liam Law  was  no  reasoner.”  Henderson. 
“Jeremy  Collier,  sir?”  Johnson.  “Jeremy 
Collier  fought  without  a rival,  and  therefore 
could  not  claim  the  victory.”  Mr.  Hender- 
son mentioned  Ken  and  Kettlewell  ; but 
some  objections  were  made ; at  last  he  said, 
“ But,  sir,  what  do  you  think  of  Lesley  ?”  John- 
son. “ Charles  Lesley  I had  forgotten.  Lesley 
was  a reasoner,  and  a reasoner  who  was  not  to 
be  reasoned  against.” — Boswell.  [Charles  was 
the  son  of  Dr.  John  Lesley,  Bishop  of  Clogher 
in  Ireland.  He  was  educated  at  Trinity  College, 
Dublin.  Though  zealous  against  popery  and 
King  James’s  popish  measures,  he  could  not 
reconcile  his  conscience  to  the  oaths  to  William 
and  Mary,  and  so  became  a nonjuror,  of  which 
party  he  was  one  of  the  chief  literary  and  theolo- 
gical supports  and  ornaments.  After  many  years 
of  exile,  he  returned  to  his  native  country,  and 
died  in  1722,  at  his  own  house  at  Glaslough,  in 
the  county  of  Monaghan,  where  his  descendants 
have  continued  to  reside.  The  present  possess- 
or, Mr.  Charles  Powell  Leslie,  his  great  grand- 
son, has  represented  that  county  in  several 
parliaments. — Ed.] 

5 [Mr.  Boswell  is  mistaken  : two  of  the  seven 
bishops  (Lloyd,  of  St  Asaph’s,  <mu  Trelawney , 
were  not  nonjurors. — Ed.] 


1784.— iETAT.  75. 


that  the  divine  indefeasible  hereditary  right 
which  they  professed  to  believe,  if  ever  true, 
must  be  equally  true  still.  Many  of  my  read- 
ers will  be  surprised  when  I mention  that 
Johnson  assured  me  he  had  never  in  his  life 
been  in  a nonjuring  meeting-house. 

Next  naming  at  breakfast,  lie  pointed  out 
a passage  in  Savage’s  “ Wanderer,”  saying 
“ These  are  fine  verses.”  “ If,”  said  he,  “ I 
had  written  with  hostility  of  Warburton  in 
my  Shakspeare,  1 should  have  quoted  this 
couplet : 

‘ Here  Learning,  blinded  first,  and  then  beguiled, 
Looks  dark  as  Ignorance,  as  Frenzy  wild.’ 

You  see  they’d  have  fitted  him  to  a T,”  (smil- 
ing.^ Dr.  Adams.  “ But  you  did  not  write 
against  Warburton.”  Johnson.  “No,  sir, 
I treated  him  with  great  respect  both  in  my 
preface  and  in  my  notes  i.” 

Mrs.  Kennicot  spoke  of  her  brother,  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Chamberlayne,  who  had  given 
up  great  prospects  in  the  Church  of  England, 
on  his  conversion  to  the  Roman  Catholick 
faith.  Johnson,  who  warmly  admired  every 
man  who  acted  from  a conscientious  regard 
to  principle,  erroneous  or  not,  exclaimed  fer- 
vently, “ God  bless  him.” 

Mrs.  Kennicot,  in  confirmation  of  Dr. 
Johnson’s  opinion  that  the  present  was  not 
worse  than  former  ages,  mentioned  that 
her  brother  assured  her  there  was  now  less 
infidelity  on  the  continent  than  there  had 
been^;  Voltaire  and  Rousseau  were  less 
read.  I asserted,  from  good  authority,  that 
Hume’s  infidelity  was  certainly  less  read. 
Johnson.  “All  infidel  writers  drop  into 
oblivion  when  personal  connexions  and  the 
floridness  of  novelty  are  gone ; though  now 
and  then  a foolish  fellow,  who  thinks  he 
can  be  witty  upon  them,  may  bring  them 
again  into  notice.  There  will  sometimes 
start  up  a college  joker,  who  does  not  con- 
sider that  what  is  a joke  in  a college  will 
not  do  in  the  world.  To  such  defenders  of 
religion  I would  apply  a stanza  of  a poem 
which  I remember  to  have  seen  in  some  old 
collection : 

‘ Henceforth  be  quiet  and  agree, 

Each  kiss  his  empty  brother  : 

Religion  scorns  a foe  like  thee, 

But  dreads  a friend  like  t’  other.’ 

The  point  is  well,  though  the  expression  is 
not  correct : one,  and  not  thee , should  be  op- 
posed to  V other  3.” 

1 [See  ante,  p.  271. — Ed.] 

2 [A  few  years  afforded  lamentable  evidence 
how  utterly  mistaken  was  this  opinion. — Ed.] 

3 I have  inserted  the  stanza  as  Johnson  re- 
peated it  from  memory,  but  I have  since  found 
the  poem  itself,  in  “ The  Foundling  Hospital  for 
Wit,”  printed  at  London,  1749.  It  is  as  follows : 

Epigram,  occasioned  by  a religious  dispute  at  Bath. 

“ On  reason,  faith,  and  mystery  high, 

Tn  o wits  harangue  the  table  ; 


383 

On  the  Roman  Catholick  religion  he  said, 
“ If  you  join  the  papists  externally,  they  will 
not  interrogate  you  strictly  as  to  your  belief 
in  their  tenets.  No  reasoning  papist  believes 
every  article  of  their  faith.  There  is  one 
side  on  which  a good  man  might  be  persuad- 
ed to  embrace  it.  A good  man  of  a timo- 
rous disposition,  in  great  doubt  of  his  accept- 
ance with  God,  and  pretty  credulous,  may  be 
glad  to  be  of  a church  where  there  are  so 
many  helps  to  get  to  heaven  4.  I would  be 
a papist  if  I could.  I have  fear  enough  ; but 
an  obstinate  rationality  prevents  me.  I shall 
never  be  a papist  s,  unless  on  the  near  ap- 
proach of  death,  of  which  I have  a very  great 
terrour.  I wonder  that  women  are  not  all 
papists.”  Boswell.  « They  are  not  more 
afraid  of  death  than  men  are.”  John- 
son. “ Because  they  are  less  wicked.” 
Dr.  Adams.  “ They  are  more  pious.” 
Johnson.  “No,  hang  ’em,  they  are  not 
more  pious.  A wicked  fellow  is  the  most 
pious  when  he  takes  to  it.  He  ’ll  beat  you 
all  at  piety.” 

He  argued  in  defence  of  some  of  the  pe- 
culiar tenets  of  the  church  of  Rome.  As  to 
the  giving  the  bread  only  to  the  laity,  he 
said,  “ They  may  think,  that  in  what  is  mere- 
ly ritual  e,  deviations  from  the  primitive 
mode  may  be  admitted  on  the  ground  of  con- 
venience ; and  I think  they  are  as  well  war- 
ranted to  make  this  alteration,  as  we  are  to 
substitute  sprinkling  in  the  room  of  the  an- 
cient baptism  7.  As  to  the  invocation  of  saints, 

B y believes  he  knows  not  why, 

swears  ’tis  all  a fable. 

Peace,  coxcombs,  peace  ! and  both  agree  ; 

N , kiss  thy  empty  brother  ; 

Religion  laughs  at  foes  like  thee, 

And  dreads  a friend  like  t’  other.” — Boswell. 

[The  disputants  alluded  to  in  this  epigram  are 
supposed  to  have  been  Bentley  (the  son  of  the 
doctor  and  the  friend  of  Walpole)  and  Beau 
Nash. — Ed.] 

4 [This  facility,  however  it  may,  in  their  last 
moments,  delude  the  timorous  and  credulous,  is, 
as  Jeremy  Taylor  observes,  proportionably  in- 
jurious if  previously  calculated  upon.  When 
addressing  a convert  to  the  Romish  church,  he 
says,  “If  I had  a mind  to  live  an  evil  life,  and  yet 
hope  for  heaven  at  last,  I would  be  of  your  re- 
ligion above  any  in  the  world.” — Works , vol.  xi. 
p.  190.— Ed.] 

5 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  97,  where  the  reference 
to  the  3d  June,  1784,  should  have  been  to  this 
day,  the  10th. — Ed.] 

6 [The  Bishop  of  Ferns  very  justly  observes, 
that  the  sacrament  is  not  merely  ritual.  Had  it 
been  an  institution  of  the  church  of  Rome,  they 
might  have  modified  it  ; but  it  was  a solemn 
and  specific  ordinance  of  our  Saviour  himself, 
which  no  church  can  justifiably  alter. — Ed.] 

7 [The  Editor  does  not  recollect  any  scriptu- 
ral authority  that  primitive  baptism  should  ne- 
cessarily be  by  immersion.  From  the  Acts,  ii. 
41.,  it  may  be  inferred  that  3000  persons  were 
baptized  in  Jerusalem  in  one  day,  and  the  jailor 
of  Philippi  and  his  family  were  baptized  hastily 


584 


1784. — JET  AT.  ft. 


he  said,  « Though  I do  not  think  it  authorised, 
* , appears  to  me,  that,  ‘ the  communion  of 
saints  ’ in  the  Creed  means  the  communion 
with  the  saints  in  heaven,  as  connected  with 
‘ The  holy  Catholick  church  i.’  ” He  ad- 
mitted the  influence  of  evil  spirits  upon  our 
minds,  and  said,  “ Nobody  who  believes  the 
New  Testament  can  deny  it.” 

I brought  a volume  of  Dr.  Hurd,  the  Bishop 
of  Worcester’s  Sermons,  and  read  to  the 
company  some  passages  from  one  of  them, 
upon  this  text,  “ Resist  the  Devil , and  he  will 
fly  from  you”  James  iv.  7.  I was  happy  to 
produce  so  judicious  and  elegant  a supporters 


at  night,  and,  as  it  would  seem,  within  the  pur- 
lieus of  the  prison  (Acts  xvi.  33).  These  bap- 
tisms could  hardly  have  been  by  immersion. — 
En.) 

1 Waller,  in  his  “ Divine  Poesie,”  canto  first, 
has  the  same  thought  finely  expressed  : 

“ The  church  triumphant  and  the  church  below 

In  songs  of  praise  their  present  union  show  : 

Their  joys  are  full,  our  expectation  long ; 

In  life  we  differ,  but  we  join  in  song  : 

Angels  and  we,  assisted  by  this  art, 

May  sing  together,  though  we  dwell  apart.”  Boswell. 

2 The  sermon  thus  opens : — “ That  there  are 
angels  and  spirits  good *  1 2 bad  ; that  at  the 
head  of  these  last  there  i . e more  considera- 
ble and  malignant  than  the  rest,  who  in  the  form 
or  under  the  name  of  a serpent  was  deeply  con- 
cerned in  the  fall  of  man,  and  whose  head,  as 
the  prophetick  language  is,  the  Son  of  Man  was 
one  day  to  bruise  ; that  this  evil  spirit,  though 
that  prophecy  be  in  part  completed,  has  not  yet 
received  his  death’s  wound,  but  is  still  permit- 
ted, for  ends  unsearchable  to  us,  and  in  ways 
which  we  cannot  particularly  explain,  to  have  a 
certain  degree  of  power  in  this  world,  hostile  to 
its  virtue  and  happiness,  and  sometimes  exerted 
with  too  much  success : all  this  is  so  clear  from 
Scripture,  that  no  believer,  unless  he  be  first  of 
all  spoiled  by  philosophy  and  vain  deceit , can  pos- 
sibly entertain  a doubt  of  it.”  Having  treated 
of  possessions,  his  lordship  says,  “ As  I have  no 
authority  to  affirm  that  there  are  now  any  such, 
so  neither  may  I presume  to  say  with  confi- 
dence that  there  are  not  any.”  “ But  then,  with 
regard  to  the  influence  of  evil  spirits  at  this  day 
upon  the  souls  of  men,  I shall  take  leave  to  be  a 
great  deal  more  peremptory. — (Then,  having 
stated  the  various  proofs,  he  adds),  All  this,  I 
say,  is  so  manifest  to  every  one  who  reads  the 
scriptures,  that,  if  we  respect  their  authority, 
the  question  concerning  the  reality  of  the  demo- 
niack  influence  upon  the  minds  of  men  is  clear- 
ly determined.”  Let  it  be  remembered,  that 
these  are  not  the  words  of  an  antiquated  or  ob- 
scure enthusiast,  but  of  a learned  and  polite 
prelate  now  alive  ; and  were  spoken,  not  to  a 
vulgar  congregation,  but  to  the  Honourable 
Society  of  Lincoln’s  Inn.  His  lordship  in  this 
sermon  explains  the  words  “deliver  us  from 
evil,  in  the  Lord’s  Prayer,  as  signifying  a re- 
quest to  be  protected  from  “ the  evil  one,”  that 
is,  the  Devil.  This  is  well  illustrated  in  a short 
but  excellent  Commentary  by  my  late  worthy 
friend  the  Reverend  Dr.  Lort,  of  whom  it  may 
truly  be  said,  Multis  ille  bonis  Jlebilis  occidit. 


of  a doctrine  which,  I know  not  why,  should, 
in  this  world  of  imperfect  knowledge,  and 
therefore  of  wonder  and  mystery  in  a thou- 
sand instances,  be  contested  by  some  with  an 
unthinking  assurance  and  flippancy. 

After  dinner,  when  one  of  us  talked  of 
there  being  a great  enmity  between  Whig 
and  Tory  : — Johnson.  “ Why,  not  so  much, 
I think,  unless  when  they  come  into  compe- 
tition with  each  other.  There  is  none  vhen 
they  are  only  common  acquaintance,  none 
when  they  are  of  different  sexes.  A Tory 
will  marry  into  a Whig  family,  and  a Whig 
into  a Tory  family,  without  any  reluctance. 
But,  indeed,  in  a matter  of  much  more  con- 
cern than  political  tenets,  and  that  is  religion, 
men  and  women  do  not  concern  themselves 
much  about  difference  of  opinion  ; and  la- 
dies set  no  value  on  the  moral  character  of 
men  who  pay  their  addresses  to  them: 
the  greatest  profligate  will  be  as  well  re- 
ceived as  the  man  of  the  greatest  virtue,  and 
this  by  a very  good  woman,  by  a woman  who 
says  her  prayers  three  times  a day.”  Our 
ladies  endeavoured  to  defend  their  sex  from 
this  charge ; but  he  roared  them  down  ! 
“ No,  no,  a lady  will  take  Jonathan  Wild  as 
readily  as  St.  Austin,  if  he  has  threepence 
more  ; and,  what  is  worse,  her  parents  will 
give  her  to  him.  W omen  have  a perpetual 
envy  of  our  vices  : they  are  less  vicious  than 
we,  not  from  choice,  but  because  we  restrict 
them  ; they  are  the  slaves  of  order  and  fa- 
shion ; their  virtue  is  of  more  consequence 
to  us  than  our  own,  so  far  as  concerns  this 
world.” 

Miss  Adams  mentioned  a gentleman  of 
licentious  character,  and  said,  “ Suppose  1 
had  a mind  to  marry  that  gentleman,  would 
my  parents  consent!”  Johnson.  “Yes, 
they ’d  consent,  and  you ’d  go.  You ’d 
go,  though  they  did  not  consent.”  Miss 
Adams.  “ Perhaps  thejj  opposing  might 
make  me  go.”  Johnson.  “ O,  very  well ; 

It  is  remarkable  that  Waller,  in  his  “Reflec- 
tions on  the  several  Petitions  in  that  sacred 
Form  of  Devotion,”  has  understood  this  in  the 
same  sense  : 

“ Guard  us  from  all  temptations  of  the  Foe.”  Boswell. 

[Another  distinguished  prelate,  when  ad- 
dressing the  same  learned  society  a few  years 
ago  (1822)  on  this  important  subject,  thus  ex- 
pressed himself : “ The  text  (Ephesians,  vi. 
11,  12)  is  extremely  important  in  determining 
a question  which  has  of  late  years  arisen  among 
Christians  concerning  the  existence  of  that  per- 
son, or  those  persons,  to  whose  influence  is  as- 
cribed so  large  a portion  of  the  sin  and  misery 
which  in  our  present  state  surround  us.  I say, 
it  is  of  late  years  this  controversy  has  arisen,  be- 
cause it  is  certain  that  during  more  than  one 
thousand  seven  hundred  years  the  Christian 
world  (however  otherwise  divided)  had  on  this 
point  no  difference  of  opinion.” — Heber's  Ser- 
mons, preached  in  England.  Sermon  J V.-  J. 
H.  Markland.J 


1784. — AST  AT.  75. 


386 


you ’d  take  one  whom  you  think  a had  man, 
to  have  the  pleasure  of  vexing  your  parents. 
You  put  me  in  mind  of  Dr.  Barrcwby  l,  the 
physician,  who  was  very  fond  of  swine’s 
flesh.  One  day,  when  he  was  eating 
it,  he  said, £ I wish  I was  a Jew.’ — c Why 
so? 5 said  somebody;  ‘ the  Jews  are  not  al- 
lowed to  eat  your  favourite  meat.’ — 4 Be- 
cause,’ said  he,  £ I should  then  have  the 
gifet  of  eating  it,  with  the  pleasure  of  sin- 
ning.’ ” — Johnson  then  proceeded  in  his 
declamation. 

Miss  Adams  soon  afterwards  made  an  ob- 
servation that  I do  not  recollect,  which 
pleased  him  much : he  said  with  a good-hu- 
moured smile,  ££  That  there  should  be  so 
much  excellence  united  with  so  much  de- 
pravity is  strange.” 

Indeed  this  lady’s  good  qualities,  merit, 
and  accomplishments,  and  her  constant  at- 
tention to  Dr.  Johnson,  were  not  lost  upon 
him.  She  happened  to  tell  him  that  a little 
coffee-pot,  in  which  she  had  made  him  cof- 
fee, was  the  only  thing  she  could  call  her 
own.  He  turned  to  her  with  a complacent 
gallantry: — “Do  n’t  say  so,  my  dear:  I 
hope  you  don’t  reckon  my  heart  as  no- 
thing2.” 

I asked  him  if  it  was  true,  as  reported, 
that  he  had  said  lately,  “ I am  for  the  king 
against  Fox;  but  I am  for  Fox  against 
Pitt.”  Johnson.  “Yes,  sir:  the  king  is 
my  master;  but  Ido  not  know  Pitt;  and  Fox 
is  my  friend.” 

“ Fox,”  added  he,  “ is  a most  extraordi- 
nary man:  here  is  a man  (describing  him  in 
strong  terms  of  objection  in  some  respects 
according  as  he  apprehended,  but  which 
exalted  his  abilities  the  more)  who  has  di- 
vided the  kingdom  with  Caesar:  so  that  it 
was  a doubt  whether  the  nation  should  be 
ruled  by  the  sceptre^of  George  the  Third, 
or  the  tongue  of  Fox.” 

Dr.  Wall,  physician  at  Oxford,  drank  tea 
with  us.  Johnson  had  in  general  a peculiar 
pleasure  in  the  company  of  physicians, 
which  was  certainly  not  abated  by  the  con- 
versation of  this  learned,  ingenious,  and 
pleasing  gentleman.  Johnson  said,  “ It  is 
wonderful  how  little  good  Radcliffe’s  trav- 
elling fellowships  have  done.  I know  no- 
thing that  has  been  imported  by  them;  yet 
many  additions  to  our  medical  knowledge 
might  be  got  in  foreign  countries.  Inocula- 
tion, for  instance,  has  saved  more  lives  than 
war  destroys;  and  the  cures  performed  by 
the  Peruvian  bark  are  innumerable.  But  it 
is  in  vain  to  send  our  travelling  physicians 
to  France  and  Italy  and  Germany,  for  all 


1 [Dr.  Barrowby  died  in  1758,  the  senior 
member  of  the  college  of  physicians. — Ed.] 

2 [Miss  Adams  married,  in  July,  1788,  Benja- 
min Hyett,  Esq.  of  Painswiek,  Gloucestershire. — 

Hall.] 

VOL.  II. 


that  is  known  there  is  known  here.  I ’d  send 
them  out  of  Christendom;  I ’d  send  them 
among  barbarous  nations.” 

On  Friday,  June  11,  we  talked  at  break- 
fast of  forms  of  prayer.  Johnson.  “ I know 
of  no  good  prayers  but  those  in  the  { Book 
of  Common  Prayer.’  ” Dr.  Adams  (in  a 
very  earnest  manner).  u I wish,  sir,  you 
would  compose  some  family  prayers.” 
Johnson.  “ I will  not  compose  prayers  for 
you,  sir,  because  you  can  do  it  for  yourself. 
But  I have  thought  of  getting  together  all 
the  books  of  prayers  which  I could,  select- 
ing those  which  should  appear  to  me  the 
best,  putting  out  some,  inserting  others, 
adding  some  prayers  of  my  own,  and  pre- 
fixing a discourse  on  prayer.”  We  all  now 
gathered  about  him,  and  two  or  three  of  us 
at  a time  joined  in  pressing  him  to  execute 
this  plan.  He  seemed  to  be  a little  displeas- 
ed at  the  manner  of  our  importunity,  and  in 
great  agitation  called  out,  “ Do  not  talk 
thus  of  what  is  so  awful.  I know  not  what 
time  God  will  allow  me  in  this  world. 
There  are  many  things  which  I wish  to  do.” 
Some  of  us  persisted,  and  Dr.  Adams  said, 
“ I never  was  more  serious  about  any  thing 
in  my  life.”  Johnson.  ££  Let  me  alone, 
let  me  alone  ; I am  overpowered,”  And 
then  he  put  his  hands  before  his  face,  and 
reclined  for  some  time  upon  the  table  3. 

I mentioned  Jeremy  Taylor’s  using,  m 
his  forms  of  prayer,  “ I am  the  chief  of  sin- 
ners,” and  other  such  self-condemning  ex- 
pressions 4.  “ Now,  (said  I)  this  cannot  be 

said  with  truth  by  every  man,  and  therefore 
is  improper  for  a general  printed  form.  I 
myself  cannot  say  that  I am  the  worst  of 
men:  I will  not  say  so.”  Johnson.  “A 
man  may  know,  that  physically,  that  is,  in 
the  real  state  of  things,  he  is  not  the  worst 
man ; but  that  morally  he  may  be  so  5.  Law 
observes,  £ that  every  man  knows  something 
worse  of  himself,  than  he  is  sure  of  in  oth 
ers.’  You  may  not  have  committed  such 
crimes  as  some  men  have  done;  but  you  do 
not  know  against  what  degree  of  light  they 
have  sinned.  Besides,  sir,  £ the  chief  of 
sinners’  is  a mode  of  expression  for  ‘lama 
great  sinner.’  So  St.  Paul,  specking  of  our 
Saviour’s  having  died  to  save  sinners,  says, 
£ of  whom  I am  the  chief:  ’ yet  he  certainly 
did  not  think  himself  so  bad  as  Judas  Iscari- 
ot.” Boswell.  ££  But,  sir,  Taylor  means 
it  literally,  for  he  founds  a conceit  upon  it. 


3 [Yet  he  had  at  this  time  composed  aUi  the 
prayers  (except  one)  which  Dr,  Strahan  afterwards 
published,  as  he  stated,  by  Dr.  Johnson’s  express 
desire. — Ed.] 

4 [Such  expressions  are  by  no  means  common, 
nor,  as  Boswell  would  lead  us  to  suppose,  is 
their  spirit  a characteristic  of  Taylor’s  Prayers. 

J.  H.  Markland.] 

5 [See  ante , v,  i.  p,  170. — Ed.] 


49 


386 


1784. — ;£TAT.  75 


When  praying  for  the  conversion  of  sin- 
ners, and  of  himself  in  particular,  he  says, 
‘ Lord,  thou  wilt  not  leave  thy  chief  work 
undone.’5’  Johnson.  “ I do  not  approve 
of  figurative  expressions  in  addressing  the 
Supreme  Being;  and  I never  use  them. 
Taylor  gives  a very  good  advice:  ‘ Never 
lie  in  your  prayers;  never  confess  more  than 
you  really  believe;  never  promise  more  than 
you  mean  to  perform.”’  I recollected  this 
precept  in  his  “ Golden  Grove;  ” but  his 
example  for  prayer  contradicts  his  precept. 

Dr.  Johnson  and  I went  in  Dr.  Adams’s 
coach  to  dine  with  Dr.  Nowell,  Principal 
of  St.  Mary  Hall,  at  his  villa  at  Iffley,  on 
the  banks  of  the  Isis,  about  two  miles  from 
Oxford.  While  we  were  upon  the  road,  I 
had  the  resolution  to  ask  Johnson  whether 
he  thought  that  the  roughness  of  his  manner 
had  been  an  advantage  or  not,  and  if  he 
would  not  have  done  more  good  if  he  had 
been  more  gentle.  I proceeded  to  answer 
myself  thus:  “ Perhaps  it  has  been  of  ad- 
vantage, as  it  has  given  weight  to  what  you 
said;  you  could  not,  perhaps,  have  talked 
with  such  authority  without  it.”  John- 
son. “ No,  sir;  I have  done  more  good  as 
I am.  Obscenity  and  impiety  have  always 
been  repressed  in  my  company  b”  Bos- 
well. “ True,  sir;  and  that  is  more  than 
can  be  said  of  every  bishop.  Greater  liber- 
ties have  been  taken  in  the  presence  of  a 
bishop,  though  a very  good  man,  from  his 
being  milder,  and  therefore  not  commanding 
such  awe.  Yet,  sir,  many  people  who 
might  have  been  benefited  by  your  conver- 
sation have  been  frightened  away.  A wor- 
thy friend  of  ours  has  told  me,  that  he  has 
often  been  afraid  to  talk  to  you.”  Johnson. 
“ Sir,  he  need  not  have  been  afraid,  if  he 
had  any  thing  rational  to  say2.  If  he  had 
not,  it  was  better  he  did  not  talk.” 

Dr.  Nowell  is  celebrated  for  having 
preached  a sermon  before  the  House  of 
Commons,  on  the  30th  of  January,  1772, 
full  of  high  Tory  sentiments,  for  which  he 
was  thanked  as  usual,  and  printed  it  at  their 
request;  but,  in  the  midst  of  that  turbulence 
and  faction  which  disgraced  a part  of  the 
present  reign,  the  thanks  were  afterwards 
ordered  to  be  expunged 3.  This  strange 
conduct  sufficiently  exposes  itself;  and  Dr. 
Nowell  will  ever  have  the  honour  which  is 
due  to  a lofty  friend  of  our  monarchical  con- 
stitution. Dr.  Johnson  said  to  me,  “Sir, 
the  court  will  be  very  much  to  blame  if  he 


1 [See  ante , p.  64. — Ed.] 

2 The  words  of  Erasmus  (as  my  learned  friend 
Archdeacon  Kearney  observes  to  me)  may  be 
applied  to  Johnson:  “ Qui  ingenium,  sensum, 
dictionem  ho  minis  noverant,  multis  non  offendun- 
tur,  quibus  graviter  erant  offendendi,  qui  haec  igno- 
rarunt.”—  Malone. 

■’  [See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  282,  note. — Ed.] 


is  not  promoted.”  I told  this  to  Dr.  Now- 
ell; and  asserting  my  humbler,  though  not 
less  zealous,  exertions  in  the  same  cause  I 
suggested,  that  whatever  return  we  might, 
receive,  we  should  still  have  the  consolation 
of  being  like  Butler’s  steady  and  generous 
royalist, 

“ True  as  the  dial  to  the  sun, 

Although  it  be  not  shone  upon4.” 

We  were  well  entertained  and  very  hap- 
py at  Dr.  Nowell’s,  where  was  a very 
agreeable  company;  and  we  drank  “ Church 
and  King  ” after  dinner,  with  true  Tory 
cordiality. 

We  talked  of  a certain  clergyman  5 of 
extraordinary  character,  who,  by  exerting 
his  talents  in  writing  on  temporary  topicks, 
and  displaying  uncommon  intrepidity,  had 
raised  himself  to  affluence.  I maintained 
that  we  ought  not  to  be  indignant  at  his 
success;  for  merit  of  every  sort  was  entitled 
to  reward.  Johnson.  “ Sir,  I will  not  al 
low  this  man  to  have  merit.  No,  sir;  wha 
he  has  is  rather  the  contrary:  I will,  indeed, 
allow  him  courage,  and  on  this  account  we 
so  far  give  him  credit.  We  have  more  re- 
spect for  a man  who  robs  boldly  on  the 
highway,  than  for  a fellow  who  jumps  out 
of  a ditch,  and  knocks  you  down  behind 
your  back.  Courage  is  a quality  so  neces- 
sary for  maintaining  virtue,  that  it  is  al- 
ways respected,  even  when  it  is  associated 
with  vice.” 

I censured  the  coarse  invectives  which 
were  become  fashionable  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  said,  that  if  members  of 
parliament  must  attack  each  other  personal- 
ly in  the  heat  of  debate,  it  should  be  done 
more  genteelly.  Johnson.  “ No,  sir;  that 
would  be  much  worse.  Abuse  is  not  so 
dangerous  when  there  is  no  vehicle  of  wit 
and  delicacy,  no  subtle  conveyance.  The 
difference  between  coarse  and  refined  abuse 


4 [Hud.  c.  ii.  1.  175. — Ed.] 

5 [Rev.  Henry  Bate,  who,  in  1784,  took  the 
name  of  Dudley,  was  created  a baronet  in  1815, 
and  died  in  1824,  without  issue.  He  became  first 
known  to  the  world  for  rather  an  unclerical  ex- 
hibition of  personal  prowess  in  a Vauxhall  squab- 
ble (see  Lond.  Mag.  for  1773,  p.  461);  he  was 
afterwards  actively  connected  with  the  public 
press;  and  in  consequence  of  something  that  ap- 
peared in  the  Morning  Herald , (Post)  of  which# 
he  was  the  proprietor,  which  was  supposed  to  re- 
flect on  Lady  Strathmore,  he  was  involved  in  a 
duel  (or  pretended  duel,  Gent.  Mag.  1810,  p. 
183,  1828,  p.  496)  with  Mr.  George  Robinson 
Stoney,  who  soon  after  married  the  lady,  and  took 
the  name  of  Bowes.  It  is  singular  that  these  re- 
markable events  of  his  early  life  are  not  alluded 
to  in  the  ample  biography  of  the  Gent.  Mag. 
(vol.  xciv.  p.  273.  638).  He  was  afterwaids 
high  in  the  church,  and  an  active  and  respectable 
magistrate  — F.d.] 


17S4. — /ETAT.  75. 


387 


is  as  the  difference  Detween  being  bruised 
by  a club,  and  wounded  by  a poisoned  ar- 
row.”— I have  since  observed  his  position 
elegantly  expressed  by  Dr.  Young: 

;l  As  the  soft  plume  gives  swiftness  to  the  dart *, 

Good  breeding  sends  the  satire  to  the  heart.” 

On  Saturday,  June  12,  there  drank  tea 
with  us  at  Dr.  Adams’s,  Mr.  John  Hender- 
son, student  of  Pembroke  College,  celebra- 
ted for  his  wonderful  acquirements  in  alchy- 
my,  judicial  astrology,  and  other  abstruse 
and  curious  learning1 2;  and  the  Reverend 
Herbert  Croft,  who,  I am  afraid,  was  some- 
what mortified  by  Dr.  Johnson’s  not  being 
highly  pleased  with  some  “Family  Dis- 
courses” which  he  had  printed;  they  were 
in  too  familiar  a style  to  be  approved  of  by 
so  manly  a mind.  I have  no  note  of  this 
evening’s  conversation,  except  a single 
fragment.  When  I mentioned  Thomas 
Lord  Lyttelton’s  vision,  the  prediction  of 
tne  time  of  his  death,  and  its  exact  fulfil- 
ment:— Johnson.  “ It  is  the  most  extraor- 
dinary thing  that  has  happened  in  my  day. 
I heard  it  with  my  own  ears,  from  his  un- 
cle, Lord  Westcote  3.  I am  so  glad  to  have 
every  evidence  of  the  spiritual  world,  that 
I am  willing  to  believe  it.”  Dr.  Adams. 
“You  have  evidence  enough;  good  evi- 
dence, Which  needs  not  such  support.” 
Johnson.  “ I like  to  have  more.” 

Mr.  Henderson,  with  whom  I had  saun- 
tered in  the  venerable  walks  of  Merton  Col- 
lege, and  found  him  a very  learned  and  pi- 
ous man,  supped  with  us.  Dr.  Johnson 
surprised  him  not  a little,  by  acknowledging 
with  a look  of  horrour,  that  he  was  much 
oppressed  by  the  fear  of  death.  The  amia- 
ble Dr.  Adams  suggested  that  God  was  infi- 
nitely good.  Johnson.  “ That  he  is  infi- 
nitely good,  as  far  as  the  perfection  of  his 
nature  will  allow,  I certainly  believe;  but  it 
is  necessary  for  good  upon  the  whole,  that 

1 [The  feather  does  not  give  swiftness,  but 
only  serves  to  guide  the  arrow;  so  that  Young’s 
allusion  is  incorrect  as  well  as  Mr.  Boswell’s. — 
Ed.] 

2 See  an  account  of  him,  in  a sermon  by  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Agutter. — Boswell.  [He  was  a 
young  man  of  very  extraordinary  abilities,  but  of 
strange  habits  and  manners.  He  had  attracted 
the  notice  of  many  of  the  first  characters  in  Ox- 
ford, who  paid  him  much  attention.  He  was 
supposed  to  be  well  read  in  books  which  no  one 
else  reads.  He  took  his  bachelor’s  degree,  but 
never  got  out  into  the  world,  having  died  in  col- 
lege in  1778.  He  was,  I think,  sent  to  college 
by  Dean  Tucker,  and  his  funeral  sermon  was 
preached  by  Mr.  Agutter,  Fellow  of  Magdalen,  on 
the  text  “ Moses  was  learned  in  all  the  wisdom  of 
the  Egyptians.” — Hall.] 

3 A correct  account  of  Lord  Lyttelton’s  suppo- 
sed Vision  may  be  found  in  Nashe’s  “ History  of 
Worcestershire.  ” — Additions  and  Corrections , 

p.  36. — Mai  one. 


individuals  should  be  punished.  As  to  ar 
individual , therefore,  he  is  not  infin  tely 
good;  and  as  I cannot  be  sure  that  I have 
fulfilled  the  conditions  on  which  salvation  is 
granted,  I am  afraid  I may  be  one  of  those 
who  shall  be  damned.”  (Looking  dismally.) 
Dr.  Adams.  “What  do  you  mean  by 
damned?”  Johnson  (passionately  and 
loudly).  “ Sent  to  Hell,  sir,  and  punished 
everlastingly.”  Dr.  Adams.  “I  don’t 
believe  that  doctrine.”  Johnson.  “Hold, 
sir,  do  you  believe  that  some  will  he  pun- 
ished at  all?”  Dr.  Adams.  “Being  ex- 
cluded from  Heaven  will  be  a punishment; 
yet  there  may  be  no  great  positive  suffer- 
ing.” Johnson.  “Well,  sir;  but,  if  you 
admit  any  degree  of  punishment,  there  is 
an  end  of  your  argument  for  infinite  good 
ness  simply  considered;  for  infinite  good 
ness  would  inflict  no  punishment  whatever 
There  is  not  infinite  goodness  physically 
considered:  morally  there  is.”  Bosweli 
“ But  may  not  a man  attain  to  such  a de 
gree  of  hope  as  not  to  be  uneasy  from  the 
fear  of  death?”  Johnson.  “ A man  may 
have  such  a degree  of  hope  as  to  keep  him 
quiet.  You  see  I am  not  quiet,  from  the 
vehemence  with  which  I talk;  but  I do  not 
despair.”  Mrs.  Adams.  “ You  seem,  sir, 
to  forget  the  merits  of  our  Redeemer.” 
Johnson.  “Madam,  I do  not  forget  the 
merits  of  my  Redeemer,  but  my  Redeemer 
has  said  that  he  will  set  some  on  his  right 
hand  and  some  on  his  left.” — He  was  in 
gloomy  agitation,  and  said,  “ I ’ll  have  no 
more  on’t.” — If  what  has  now  been  stated 
should  be  urged  by  the  enemies  of  Chris- 
tianity, as  if  its  influence  on  the  mind  were 
not  benignant,  let  it  be  remembered,  that 
Johnson’s  temperament  was  melancholy,  of 
which  such  direful  apprehensions  of  futurity 
are  often  a common  effect.  We  shall  pre- 
sently see,  that  when  he  approached  nearer 
to  his  awful  change,  his  mind  became  tran 
quil,  and  he  exhibited  as  much  fortitude  as 
becomes  a thinking  man  in  that  situation 

From  the  subject  of  death  we  passed  to 
discourse  of  life,  whether  it  was  upon  the 
whole  more  happy  or  miserable.  Johnson 
was  decidedly  for  the  balance  of  misery  4 : 
in  confirmation  of  which  I maintained  that 
no  man  would  choose  to  lead  over  again  the 
life  which  he  had  experienced.  Johnson 
acceded  to  that  opinion  in  the  strongest 
terms.  This  is  an  inquiry  often  made;  and 
its  being  a subject  of  disquisition  is  a proof 
that  much  misery  presses  upon  human  feel- 
ings; for  those  who  are  conscious  of  a fe- 
licity of  existence  would  never  hesitate  to 
accept  of  a repetition  of  it.  I have  met 

4  [Here  followed  a very  long  note,  or  rather 
dissertation,  by  the  Reverend  Mr.  Churton,  on  the 
subject  of  Johnson’s  opinion  of  the  misery  of  hu- 
man life,  which  the  editor  has  thought  will  be  read 
most  conveniently  in  the  Appendix. — Ed.] 


333 


1784. — /ETAT.  75. 


with  'ery  few  who  would.  I have  heard 
Mr.  Burke  make  use  of  a very  ingenious 
and  plausible  argument  on  this  subject: 
lt  Every  man,”  said  he,  “ would  lead  his  life 
over  again;  for  every  man  is  willing  to  go 
on  and  take,  an  addition  to  his  life,  which, 
rs  he  grows  older,  he  has  no  reason  to 
think  will  be  better,  or  even  so  good  as 
what  has  preceded.”  I imagine,  however, 
the  truth  is  that  there  is  a deceitful  hope 
that  the  next  part  of  life  will  be  free  from 
the  pains,  and  anxieties,  and  sorrows,  which 
we  have  already  felt.  We  are  for  wise 
purposes  “ Condemned  to  Hope’s  delusive 
Mine,”  as  Johnson  finely  says  ; and  I may 
also  quote  the  celebrated  lines  of  Dryden, 
equally  philosophical  and  poetical: 

“ When  I consider  life,  ’t  is  all  a cheat; 

Yet,  fool'd  with  hope,  men  favour  the  deceit; 

Trust  on,  and  think  to-morrow  will  repay; 

To-morrow’s  falser  than  the  former  day; 

Lies  worse;  and  while  it  says  we  shall  be  blest 

With  some  new  joys,  cuts  off  what  we  possest. 

Strange  cozenage!  none  would  live  past  years 
again; 

Yet  all  hope  pleasure  in  what  yet  remain; 

And  from  the  dregs  of  life  think  to  receive 

What  the  first  sprightly  running  could  not  give1.” 

It  was  observed  to  Dr.  Johnson,  that  it 
seemed  strange  that  he,  who  has  so  often 
'delighted  his  company  by  his  lively  and 
brilliant  conversation,  should  say  he  was 
miserable.  Johnson.  “Alas!  it  is  all  out- 
side; I may  be  cracking  my  joke,  and  curs- 
ing the  sun.  Sun,  how  I hate  thy  beams!  ” 
I knew  not  well  what  to  think  of  this  decla- 
ration; whether  to  hold  it  as  a genuine  pic- 
ture of  his  mind  2,  or  as  the  effect  of  his  per- 
suading himself  contrary  to  fact,  that  the 
position  which  he  had  assumed  as  to  hu- 
man unhappiness  was  true.  We  may  ap- 
ply to  him  a sentence  in  Mr.  Greville’s 
“Maxims,  Characters,  and  Reflections3;” 
a book  which  is  entitled  to  much  more  praise 
than  it  has  received  : “ Aristarchus  is 
charming;  how  full  of  knowledge,  of  sense, 
of  sentiment.  You  get  him  with  difficulty 
to  your  supper;  and  after  having  delighted 
every  body  and  himself  for  a few  hours,  he 
is  obliged  to  return  home;  he  is  finishing 
his  treatise,  to  prove  that  unhappiness  is  the 
portion  of  man.” 

On  Sunday,  13th  June,  our  philosopher 
was  calm  at  breakfast.  There  was  some- 
thing exceedingly  pleasing  in  our  leading  a 
college  life,  without  restraint  and  with  su- 
periour  elegance,  in  consequence  of  our  liv- 


1  Jlurengzebe , Act  iv.  Scene  1. — Boswell. 

2 Yet  there  is  no  doubt  that  a man  may  appear 
very  gay  in  company,  who  is  sad  at  heart.  His 
merriment  is  like  the  sound  of  drums  and  trum- 
pets in  a battle,  to  drown  the  groans  of  the  wound- 
ed and  dying. — Boswell. 

3 I’age  139. — Boswell 


ing  in  the  master’s  house,  and  having  the 
company  ofladies.  Mrs.  Kennicott related, 
in  his  presence,  a lively  saying  of  Dr.  John- 
son to  Miss  Hannah  More,  who  had  ex- 
pressed a wonder  that  the  poet  who  had 
written  “ Paradise  Lost,”  should  write  such 
poor  sonnets  : “ Milton,  madam,  was  a 
genius  that  could  cut  a Colossus  from  a 
rock,  but  could  not  carve  heads  upon  cher 
ry-stones.” 

We  talked  of  the  casuistical  question, 
“ Whether  it  was  allowable  at  any  time  to 
depart  from  truth?”  Johnson.  “The 
general  rule  is,  that  truth  should  never  be 
violated,  because  it  is  of  the  utmost  impor- 
tance to  the  comfort  of  life  that  we  should 
have  a full  security  by  mutual  faith  ; and 
occasional  inconveniences  should  be  willing 
ly  suffered,  that  we  may  preserve  it.  There 
must,  however,  be  some  exceptions.  If,  for 
instance,  a murderer  should  ask  you  which 
way  a man  is  gone,  you  may  tell  him  what 
is  not  true,  because  you  are  under  a previous 
obligation  not  to  betray  a man  to  a murder- 
er.” Boswell.  “ Supposing  the  person 
who  wrote  Junius  were  asked  whether  he 
was  the  authour,  might  he  deny  it  ? ” 
Johnson.  “I  do  n’t  know  what  to  say  to 
this.  If  you  were  sure  that  he  wrote  Ju- 
nius, would  you,  if  he  denied  it,  think  as 
well  of  him  afterwards  ? Y’et  it  may  be 
urged  that  what  a mail  has  no  right  to  ask, 
you  may  refuse  to  communicate  ; and  there 
is  no  other  effectual  mode, of  preserving  a 
secret  and  an  important  secret,  the  discove- 
ry of  which  may  be  veiy  hurtful  to  you,  but 
a flat  denial ; for  if  you  are  silent,  or  hesi- 
tate, or  evade,  it  will  be  held  equivalent  to 
a confession.  But  stay,  sir,  here  is  another 
case.  Supposing  the  authour  had  told  me 
confidentially  that  he  had  written  Junius, 
and  I were  asked  if  he  had,  I should  hold 
myself  at  liberty  to  deny  it,  as  being  un- 
der a previous  promise,  express  or  implied, 
to  conceal  it 4.  Now  what  I ought  to  do 
for  the  authour,  may  I not  do  for  myself? 
But  I deny  the  lawfulness  of  telling  a lie  to 
a sick  man,  for  fear  of  alarming  him  5.  You 
have  no  business  with  consequences ; you 
are  to  tell  the  truth.  Besides,  you  are  not 
sure  what  effect  your  telling  him  that  he  is 
in  danger  may  have.  It  may  bring  his 
distemper  to  a crisis,  and  that  may  cure 

4 [See  ante,  p.  205. — Ed.] 

5 [A  very  eminent  physician  of  the  present  day 
(1831)  is  reported  to  have  publickly  stated,  that 
“ he  always  kept  in  view  his  duty  to  preserve  a 
patient’s  life  as  long  as  possible,  and  that  for  that 
reason  he  did  not  communicate  to  the  patient  him 
self  the  extent  of  danger  that  impended  over  him.” 
— J.  H.  Markland.  [Warburton  says  “ where 
the  terror  of  such  a sentence  may  impede  the  doc- 
tor’s endeavours  to  save,  the  pronouncing  it  would 
be  very  indiscreet.” — Lett,  to  Hurd,  p.  392  — 
Ed.] 


1784, — iETAT  75. 


aim.  Of  all  lying',  I have  the  greatest  ab- 
norrence  of  this,  because  I believe  it  has 
been  freqiu  ntly  practised  on  myself.” 

I cannot  nelp  thinking  that  there  is  much 
weight  in  the  opinion  of  those  who  have 
held  that  truth,  as  an  eternal  and  immuta- 
ble principle,  ought  upon  no  account  what- 
ever to  be  violated,  from  supposed  previous 
or  superiour  obligations,  of  which  every 
man  being  to  judge  for  himself,  there  is 
great  danger  that  we  too  often,  from  par- 
tial motives,  persuade  ourselves  that  they 
exist ; and  probably  whatever  extraordinary 
instances  may  sometimes  occur,  where  some 
evil  may  be  prevented  by  violating  this  noble 
rinciple,  it  would  be  found  that  human 
appiness  would,  upon  the  whole,  be  more 
perfect  were  truth  universally  preserved. 

In  the  notes  to  the  “ Dunciad,”  we  find 
the  following  verses  addressed  to  Pope 1 : 

“ While  malice,  Pope,  denies  thy  page 
Its  own  celestial  fire; 

While  criticks,  and  while  bards  in  rage, 
Admiring,  won’t  admire: 

“ While  wayward  pens  thy  worth  assail, 

And  envious  longues  decry; 

These  times,  though  many  a friend  bewail, 
These  times  bewail  not  I. 

“ I?ut  when  the  world’s  loud  praise  is  thine, 

And  spleen  no  more  shall  blame; 

When  with  thy  Homer  thou  shalt  shine 
In  one  establish’d  fame! 

r<  When  none  shall  rail,  and  every  lay 
Devote  a wreath  to  thee; 

That  day  (for  come  it  will)  that  day 
Shall  I lament  to  see.” 

It  is  surely  not  a little  remarkable  that 
they  should  appear  without  a name.  Miss 
Reward,  knowing  Dr.  Johnson’s  almost 
universal  and  minute  literary  information, 
iignified  a desire  that  I should  ask  him  who 
was  the  authour.  He  was  prompt  with  his 
answer  : — “ Why,  sir,  they  were  written 
by  one  Lewis,  who  was  either  under-mas- 
ter or  an  usher  of  Westminster-school,  and 
published  a Miscellany,  in  which  ‘ Gron- 
gar  Hill  ’ first  came  out 2.”  Johnson  praised 

1 The  annotator  calls  them  “ amiable  verses.” 
— Boswell.  [The  annotator  was  Pope  himself. 
—Ed.] 

2 Lewis’s  verses  addressed  to  Pope  (as  Mr. 
Bindley  suggests  to  me)  were  first  published  in  a 
collection  of  Pieces  in  verse  and  prose  on  occa- 
sion of  “ The  Dunciad,”  8vo.  1732.  They  are 
there  called  an  Epigram.  “ Grongar  Hill,”  the 
same  gentleman  observes,  was  first  printed  in  Sav- 
age’s Miscellanies,  as  an  Ode  (it  is  singular  that 
Johnson  should  not  have  recollected  this),  and  was 
reprinted  in  the  same  year  (1726) , in  Lewis’s  Mis- 
cellany, in  the  form  it  now  bears.  In  that  Mis- 
cellany (as  the  Reverend  Mr.  Blakeway  observes 
to  me),  “ the  beautiful  poem,  ‘ Away,  let  nought 
to  love  displeasing,’  &c.  (reprinted  in  Percy’s 
Reliques,  vol.  i.  b.  iii.  No.  14),  first  appeared.” 


3b  y 

them  highly,  and  repeated  them  wkh  a no- 
ble animation.  In  the  twelfth  line,  instead 
of  “ one  establish’d  fame,”  he  repeated  “ one 
unclouded  flame,”  which  he  thought  was 
the  reading  in  former  editions  ; but  I be- 
lieve was  a flash  of  his  own  genius.  It  is 
much  more  poetical  than  the  other. 

On  Monday,  14th  June,  and  Tuesday, 
15th,  Dr.  Johnson  and  I dined,  on  one  of 
them,  I forget  which,  with  Mr.  Mickle, 
translator  of  the  “ Lusiad,”  at  Wheatley,  a 
very  pretty  country  place  a few  miles  from 
Oxford;  and  on  the  other  with  Dr.Wether- 
ell,  Master  of  University  College.  From 
Dr.  Wetherell’s  he  went  to  visit  Mr.  Sack- 
ville  Parker,  the  bookseller ; and  when  he 
returned  to  us  gave  the  following  account 
of  his  visit,  saying,  “ I have  been  to  see  my 
old  friend,  Sack.  Parker ; I find  he  has 
married  his  maid  ; he  has  done  right.  She 
had  lived  with  him  many  years  in  great 
confidence,  and  they  had  mingled  minds;  I 
do  not'  think  he  could  have  found  any  wife 
that  would  have  made  him  so  happy.  The 
woman  was  very  attentive  and  civil  to  me  ; 
she  pressed  me  to  fix  a day  for  dining  with 
them,  and  to  say  what  I liked,  and  she 
would  be  sure  to  get  it  for  me.  Poor  Sack 1 
he  is  very  ill  indeed3.  We  parted  as  never  to 


It  is  there  said  to  be  a translation  from  the  ancient 
British.  Lewis  was  authour  of  “ Philip  of  Mace- 
don,”  a tragedy,  published  in  1727,  and  dedicated 
to  Pope:  and  in  1730  he  published  a second  vol- 
ume of  miscellaneous  poems.  As  Dr.  JohnsoE 
settled  in  London  not  long  after  the  verses  address 
ed  to  Pope  first  appeared,  he  probably  then  ob 
tained  some  information  concerning  their  authour 
David  Lewis,  whom  he  has  described  as  an  ushet 
of  Westminster-school : yet  the  Dean  of  Westmin- 
ster, who  has  been  pleased,  at  my  request,  tc 
make  some  inquiry  on  this  subject,  has  not  found 
any  vestige  of  his  having  ever  been  employed  in 
this  situation.  A late  writer  (“  Environs  of  Lon- 
don,” iv.  171,)  supposed  that  the  following  in- 
scription in  the  churchyard  of  the  church  of  Low 
Leyton,  in  Essex,  was  intended  to  commemorate 
this  poet:  “ Sacred  to  the  memory  of  David  Lew- 
is, Esq.  who  died  the  8th  day  of  April,  1760,  aged 
77  years;  a great  favourite  of  the  Muses,  as  his 
many  excellent  pieces  in  poetry  sufficiently  testify. 

‘ Inspired  verse  may  on  this  marble  live, 

But  can  no  honour  to  thy  ashes  give.’ 

“ . . . Also  Mary,  the  wife  of  the  above-named 
David  Lewis,  fourth  daughter  of  Newdigate  Ows- 
ley, Esq.  who  departed  this  life  the  lOtii  of  Octo- 
ber, 1774,  aged  90  years.”  But  it  appears  to  me 
improbable  tliat  this  monument  was  erected  for  the 
authour  of  the  Verses  to  Pope,  and  of  the  tragedy 
already  mentioned:  the  language  both  of  the  dedi-  ’ 
cation  prefixed  to  that  piece,  and  of  the  dedication 
addressed  to  the  Earl  of  Shaftsbury,  and  prefixed  to 
the  Miscellanies,  1730,  denoting  a person  who 
moved  in  a lower  sphere  than  this  Essex  squire 
seems  to  have  done. — Malone. 

3 He  died  at  Oxford  in  his  eighth-ninth  year, 
Dec.  10,  1796.— Malone. 


390 


1784.— vETAT.  75. 


meet  again.  It  has  quite  broken  me  down.” 
This  pathetick  narrative  was  strangely  di- 
versified with  the  grave  and  earnest  defence 
of  a man’s  having  married  his  maid.  I could 
not  but  feel  it  as  in  some  degree  ludicrous. 

In  the  morning  of  Tuesday,  15th  June, 
while  we  sat  at  Dr.  Adams’s,  we  talked  of 
a printed  letter  from  the  reverend  Herbert 
Croft,  to  a young  gentleman  who  had  been 
his  pupil,  in  which  he  advised  him  to  read 
to  the  end  of  whatever  books  he  should  be- 
gin to  read.  Johnson.  “ This  is  surely  a 
strange  advice  ; you  may  as  well  resolve 
that  whatever  men  you  happen  to  get  ac- 
quainted with,  you  are  to  keep  to  them  for 
life.  A book  may  be  good  for  nothing ; or 
there  may  be  only  one  thing  in  it  worth 
knowing  ; are  we  to  read  it  all  through  ? 
These  Voyages,  (pointing  to  the  three 
large  volumes  of  £ Voyages  to  the  South 
Sea  5 1 which  were  just  come  out)  who  will 
read  them  through  ? A man  had  better 
work  his  way  before  the  mast  than  read 
them  through  ; they  will  be  eaten  by  rats 
and  mice,  before  they  are  read  through  ; 
There  can  be  little  entertainment  in  such 
books  ; one  set  of  savages  is  like  another.” 
Boswell.  ££  I do  not  think  the  people 
of  Otaheite  can  be  reckoned  savages.” 
.Johnson  c£  Do  n’t  cant  in  defence  of 
savages.”  Boswell.  “ They  have  the 
art  of  navigation.”  Johnson.  “ A dog  or 
cat  can  swim.”  Boswell.  ££  They  carve 
very  ingeniously.”  Johnson.  “ A cat 
can  scratch,  and  a child  with  a nail  can 
scratch.”  I perceived  this  was  none  of  the 
mollia  temp  or  a fandi ; so  desisted. 

Upon  his  mentioning  that  when  he  came 
to  college  he  wrote  his  first  exercise  twice 
over,  but  never  did  so  afterwards  : Miss 
Adams.  “ I suppose,  sir,  you  could  not 
make  them  better?”  Johnson.  ££  Yes,  mad- 
am, to  be  sure,  I could  make  them  better. 
Thought  is  better  than  no  thought.”  Miss 
Adams.  £(  Do  you  think,  sir,  you  could  make 
your  Rambler  better  ? ” Johnson.  ££  Cer- 
tainly I could.”  Boswell.  ££  I ’ll  lay  a bet, 
sir,  you  cannot.”  Johnson.  c£ButI  will,  sir,  if 
I choose.  I shall  make  the  best  of  them  you 
shall  pick  out,  better.”  Boswell.  ££  But 
you  may  add  to  them.  I will  not  allow  of 
that.”  Johnson.  ££  Nay,  sir,  there  are 
three  ways  of  making  them  better  ; putting 
out,  adding,  or  correcting.” 

During  our  visit  at  Oxford,  the  following 
conversation  passed  between  him  and  me  on 
the  subject  of  my  trying  my  fortune  at  the 
English  bar.  Having  asked  whether  a 
very  extensive  acquaintance  in  Loudon, 
which  was  very  valuable,  and  of  great  ad- 
vantage to  a man  at  large,  might  not  be 
prejudicial  to  a lawyer,  by  preventing  him 
from  giving  sufficient  attention  to  his  busi- 
ness ? Johnson.  “Sir,  you  will  attend  to 

1  [Cook’s  voyages. — En.] 


business  as  business  lays  hold  ol  yon. 
When  not  actually  employed,  you  may  see 
your  friends  as  much  as  you  do  now.  You 
may  dine  at  a club  every  day,  and  sup  with 
one  of  the  members  every  night ; and  you 
may  be  as  much  at  publick  places  as  one 
who  has  seen  them  all  would  wish  to  be. 
But  you  must  take  care  to  attend  constantly 
in  Westminster  Hall ; both  to  mind  your 
business,  as  it  is  almost  all  learnt  there,  (for 
nobody2  reads  now),  and  to  show  that  you 
want  to  have  business.  And  you  must  not 
be  too  often  seen  at  publick  places,  that 
competitors  may  not  have  it  to  say,  £ He 
is  always  at  the  play-house  or  at  Rane- 
lagh,  and  never  to  be  found  at  his  cham- 
bers.’ And,  sir,  there  must  be  a kind  of 
solemnity  in  the  manner  of  a professiona. 
man.  I have  nothing  particular  to  say  to 
you  on  the  subject.  All  this  I should  say 
to  any  one  ; I should  have  said  it  to  Lord 
Thurlow  twenty  years  ago.” 

The  profession  may  probably  think  this 
representation  of  what  is  required  in  a bar- 
rister who  would  hope  for  success,  to  be 
much  too  indulgent;  but  certain  it  is,  that  as 

“ The  wits  of  Charles  found  easier  ways  to  fame,’ 

some  of  the  lawyers  of  this  ago  who  have 
risen  high  have  by  no  means  thought  it  ab- 
solutely necessary  to  submit  to  that  long 
and  painful  course  of  study  which  a Plow- 
den,  a Coke,  and  a Hale,  considered  as  re- 
quisite. My  respected  friend,  Mr.  Lang- 
ton,  has  shown  me,  in  the  hand-writing  of 
his  grandfather,  a curious  account  of  a con- 
versation which  he  had  with  Lord  Chief 
Justice  Hale  3,  in  which  that  great  man  tells 
him,  ££  That  for  two  years  after  he  came  to 
the  inn  of  court,  he  studied  sixteen  hours  a 
day;  however,  his  lordship  added,  that  by 
this  intense  application  he  almost  brought 
himself  to  his  grave,  though  he  were  of  a 
very  strong  constitution,  and  after  reduced 
himself  to  eight  hours;  but  that  he  would 
not  advise  any  body  to  so  much;  that  he 
thought  six  hours  a day,  with  attention  and 
constancy,  was  sufficient;  that  a man  must 
use  his  body  as  he  would  his  horse,  and 
his  stomach;  not  tire  him  at  once,  but  rise 
with  an  appetite.” 

On  Wednesday,  16th  June,  Dr.  Johnson 
and  I returned  to  London;  he  was  not  wel 
to-day,  and  said  very  little,  employing  liim- 


2 [This  is  very  loose  talk.  Johnson  himself, 
probably  from  constitutional  nervous  irritation, 
was  impatient  of  reading  steadily,  and  his  extraor- 
dinary quickness  at  catching  up,  and  his  tenacity 
in  retaining  what  he  hastily  read,  led  him  to  doubt 
that  other  men  could  be  more  studious. — Er.] 

3 [This  interesting  conversation  will  be  found 
at  length  in  Seward's  “ Anecdotes  of  distinguished 
Persons,”  iv.  489.  It  was  contributed  by  Mr 
I.angton  to  the  editor  of  that  work. — J.  II.  Mark 

LAND.] 


1783.— ^TAT.  74. 


[The  following  letters  (which 
Ed‘  reached  the  editor  too  late  for  their 
chronological  place)  will  show  how  violent- 
ly, and  on  what  slight  grounds,  the  friends 
of  Lord  Lyttelton  resented  Johnson’s  treat- 
ment of  him.  Now,  that  personal  feelings 
have  subsided,  the  readers  of  the  Life  will 
wonder  at.  Mr.  Pepys’s  extravagant  indigna- 
tion; and  we  have  already  seen  that  John- 
son cared  so  little  about  the  matter  that  he 
was  willing  that  the  Life  should  have  been 
written  for  him  by  one  of  Lord  Lyttelton’s 
friends  L 

“ MR.  PEPYS  TO  MRS.  MONTAGUE. 

“Kensington  Gravel  Pits,  4th  August,  1781, 
but  direct  to  Wimpole-street. 

“ Dear  madam, 

*##### 

“ I have  within  these  few  days 
mss1  received  the  following  paragraph  in 
a letter  from  a friend  of  mine  in  Ire- 
land:— ‘Johnson’s  Characters  of  some 
Poets  breathe  such  inconsistency,  such  ab- 
surdity, and  such  want  of  taste  and  feeling, 
that  it  is  the  opinion  of  the  Count  of  Nar- 
bonne  2,  Sir  N.  Barry,  and  myself,  that  Mrs. 
Montague  should  expose  him  in  a short 
publication.  He  deserves  it  almost  as  much 
as  Voltaire — if  not,  Lytteltoni  gratia , do  it 
yourself.’ 

ec  1 met  him  some  time  ago  at  Streatham  3, 
and  such  a day  did  we  pass  in  disputation 
upon  the  life  of  our  dear  friend  Lord  Lyt- 
telton as  I trust  it  will  never  be  my  fate  to 
pass  again!  The  moment  the  cloth  was 
removed  he  challenged  me  to  come  out  (as 
he  called  it),  and  say  what  I had  to  object 
to  his  Life  of  Lord  Lyttelton.  This  (you 
see)  was  a call  which,  however  disagreeable 
to  myself  and  the  rest  of  the  company,  I 
could  not  but  obey,  and  so  to  it  we  went  for 
three  or  four  hours  without  ceasing.  He 
once  observed  that  it  was  the  duty  of  a bi- 
ographer to  state  all  the  failings  of  a respec- 
table character.  I never  longed  to  do  any 
thing  so  much  as  to  assume  his  own  princi- 
ple, and  to  go  into  a detail  which  I could 
suppose  his  biographer  might  in  some  fu- 
ture time  think  necessary;  but  I contented 
myself  with  generals.  He  took  great  credit 
for  not  having  mentioned  the  coarseness  of 
Lord  Lyttelton’s  manners.  I told  him  that 
if  he  would  insert  that 4 in  the  next  edition, 

1 [Ante,  pp.  236  and  276,  n. — Ed.] 

• [Robert  Jephson,  Esq.,  author  of  Braganza 
and  the  Count  de  JVarbonne — see  ante , v.  i.  p. 
260,  where  there  seems  reason  to  believe  that 
Johnson  and  Mr.  Jephson  were  no  great  friends. 
Hs  died  in  1803. — Ed.] 

3 [See  ante,  p.  287. — Ed.] 

4 [On  the  principle — 

“Quis  tulerit  Gracchos  de  seditione  querentes” — 
P;pys  thought,  justly  enough,  that  a charge  of 
uarseness  of  manner  made  by  Johnson  against 


39 

I would  excuse  him  all  the  rest.  W e shoo* 
hands,  however,  at  parting,  which  put  me 
much  in  mind  of  the  parting  between  Jaques 
and  Orlando — ‘ God  be  with  you;  let  us 
meet  as  seldom  as  we  can!  Fare  you  well; 

I hope  we  shall  be  better  strangers ! ’ We 
have  not  met  again  till  last  Tuesday,  and 
then  I must  do  him  the  justice  to  say  that 
he  did  all  in  his  power  to  show  me  that  he 
was  sorry  for  the  former  attack.” 

“ MR.  PEPYS  TO  MRS.  MONTAGUE 

“Tunbridge  Wells,  5th  Oct.  1781. 

cc  When  I read  your  application  of  the 
words  c Be  angry  and  sin  not,’  I could  not 
help  exclaiming,  c How  admirable  is  it  to 
see  the  person  who  perhaps  is  most  angry, 
and  who  has  certainly  the  most  reason  to  be 
so,  the  foremost  to  restrain,  not  only  her 
own  emotions,  but  those  of  others,  within 
the  hounds  of  justice  and  humanity!’ 

“ But,  my  dear  madam,  what  hurts  me 
all  this  while  is,  not  that  Johnson  should  go 
unpunished,  but  that  our  dear  and  respecta- 
ble friend  should  go  down  to  posterity  wit! 
that  artful  and  studied  contempt  thrown  up 
on  his  character  which  he  so  little  deserved 
and  that  a man  who  (notwithstanding  th; 
little  foibles  he  might  have)  was  in  my  opin 
ion  one  of  the  most  exalted  patterns  of  ’dr 
tue,  liberality,  and  benevolence,  not  to  firm 
tion  the  high  rank  which  he  held  in  litera- 
ture, should  he  handed  down  to  succeeding 
generations  under  the  appellation  of  pooi 
Lyttelton ! This,  I must  own,  'fxes  and 
disquiets  me  whenever  I think  « f it;  anc. 
had  I the  command  of  half  yo dr  powers, 
tempered  as  they  are  with  that  true  modera 
tion  and  justice,  he  should  not  sleep  within 
his  silent  grave,  I do  not  say  up  revenged 
(because  that  is  not  what  I wrsh)  but  un- 
vindicated, and  unrescued  from  that  con- 
tempt which  has  been  so  induririously  and 
so  injuriously  thrown  upon  him.  But 
enough  of  this  subject,  which  must  be  dis 
agreeable  to  us  both.” 

Johnson’s  account  of  Lord  Lyt-  Hawk, 
telton’s  envy  to  Shenstone  for  his  Apoph. 
improvements  in  his  grounds,  &c.  p' 198, 
was  confirmed  by  an  ingenious  writer. 
Spence  was  in  the  house  for  a fortnight  with 
the  Lytteltons  before  they  offered  to  shop; 
him  Shenstone’s  place. 

To  some  lady  who  was  praising  Shen 
stone’s  poems  very  much,  and  who  had  an 
Italian  greyhound  lying  by  the  fire,  he  said, 
“ Shenstone  holds  amongst  poets  the  same 
rank  your  dog  holds  amongst  dogs:  he  has 
not  the  sagacity  of  the  hound,  the  docility 
of  the  spaniel,  nor  the  courage  of  the  bull- 
dog, yet  he  is  still  a pretty  fellow.” 

Johnson  spoke  Latin  with  great  fluency 


Lord  Lyttelton  would  be  so  ridiculous  as  to  defe^J 
all  the  rest  of  his  censure. — Ed. 


1784.— riETAT.  7b. 


im 

Horace,  now  Earl  of  Orford,  was  often 
called),  Johnson  allowed  that  he  got  togeth- 
er a great  many  curious  little  things,  and 
told  them  in  an  elegant  manner.  Mr. 
Walpole  thought  Johnson  a more  amiable 
character  after  reading  his  Letters  to  Mrs. 
Thrale:  but  never  was  one  of  the  true  ad- 
mirers of  that  great  man1.  We  may  sup- 
pose a prejudice  conceived,  if  he  ever  heard 
Johnson’s  account  to  Sir  George  Staunton, 
that  when  he  made  speeches  in  parliament 
for  the  Gentleman’s  Magazine,  “ he  always 
took  care  to  put  Sir  Robert  W alpole  in  the 
wrong,  and  to  say  every  thing  he  could 
against  the  electorate  of  Hanover.”  The 
celebrated  Heroick  Epistle,  in  which  John- 
son is  satirically  introduced,  has  been  as- 
cribed both  to  Mr.  Walpole  and  Mr.  Mason. 
One  day  at  Mr.  Courtenay’s,  when  a gen- 
tleman expressed  his  opinion  that  there  was 
more  energy  in  that  poem  than  could  be 
expected  from  Mr.  Walpole  ; Mr.  Warton, 
the  late  laureate,  observed,  “ It  may  have 


! In  his  Posthumous  Works  he  has  spoken  of 
Johnson  in  the  most  contemptuous  manner! — 
Malone.  [Malone  doubtless  alludes  to  the 
edition  of  Walpole’s  Works,  in  5 vols.  4to., 
published  in  1798;  but,  with  the  exception  of  the 
Letters,  almost  the  whole  of' Walpole’s  writings 
had  been  previously  given  to  the  world.  The 
following  passage  occurs  in  one  of  the  letters  to 
General  Conway,  “ Have  you  got  Boswell’s  most 
absurd,  enormous  book  ? The  best  thing  in  it  is 
a bon  mot  of  Lord  Pembroke.  The  more  one 
learns  of  Johnson,  the  more  preposterous  assem- 
blage he  appears  of  strong  sense,  of  the  lowest 
bigotry  and  prejudices,  of  pride,  brutality,  fretful- 
ness and  vanity — and  Boswell  is  the  ape  of  most 
of  his  faults,  without  a grain  of  his  sense.  It  is 
the  story  of  a mountebank  and  his  zany.” — 
5th  Oct.  1785.  In  a letter  to  Mr.  Cole,  published 
since  Mr.  Malone’s  death,  Walpole  says,  “ I have 
no  thirst  to  know  the  rest  of  my  cotemporaries, 
from  the  absurd  bombast  of  Dr.  Johnson  down  to 
the  silly  Dr.  Goldsmith.  Though  the  latter 
changeling  has  had  bright  gleams  of  parts,  and 
the  former  had  sense  till  he  changed  it  for  words 
and  sold  it  for  a pension.” — 27  April,  1773. 
The  expression  is  smart  and  epigrammatic,  but 
has,  as  relates  to  Johnson,  little  meaning.  John- 
son’s sense  and  verbosity  were  cotemporaneous. 
Indeed  his  later  works  have  fewer  hard  words 
than  his  first  publications;  so  that  at  least  he  did 
not  “ change  sense  for  words.”  As  to  the 
pension,  it  has  been  shown  that  Johnson  did  not 
sell  his  principles  for  it:  but,  at  all  events,  he  did 
not  “ sell  his  sense  ” in  the  meaning  of  parting 
with  it.  And  the  Quarterly  Review  on  Wal- 
pole's Memoirs  (March,  1822),  proves  that 
though  he  talked  and  wrote  in  strains  of  high  dis- 
interestedness, he  was  the  last  man  who  ought  to 
have  charged  another  with  any  venal  change 
either  of  principles  or  language.  As  to  Goldsmith, 
Walpole  had  before  happily  characterised  him  as 
an  “ inspired  idiot  ” — Ed.] 


been  written  by  W alpole,  and  tmckramJd 
by  Mason2.” 

He  disapproved  of  Lord  Hailes,  for  hav- 
ing modernised  the  language  of  the  ever 
memorable  John  Hales  of  Eton,  in  an  edi- 
tion which  his  lordship  published  of  that 
writer’s  works.  “ An  authour’s  language, 
sir,”  said  he,  “ is  a characteristic  al  part  of 
his  composition,  and  is  also  characteristical 
of  the  age  in  which  he  writes.  Besides,  sir, 
when  the  language  is  changed,  we  are  not 
sure  that  the  sense  is  the  same.  No,  sir:  I 
am  sorry  Lord  Hailes  has  done  this.” 

Here  it  may  be  observed,  that  his  fre- 
quent use  of  the  expression,  No,  sir,  was 
not  always  to  intimate  contradiction:  for 
he  would  say  so  when  he  was  about  to  en- 
force an  affirmative  proposition  which  had 
not  been  denied,  as  in  the  instance  last  men- 
tioned. I used  to  consider  it  as  a kind  of 
flag  of  defiance;  as  if  he  had  said,  “ Any  ar- 
gument you  may  offer  against  this  is  not 
jus.t.  No,  sir,  it  is  not.”  It  was  like  Fal- 
staff’s  “ I deny  your  major3.” 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  having  said  that  he 
took  the  altitude  of  a man’s  taste  by  his 
stories  and  his  wit,  and  of  his  understand- 
ing by  the  remarks  which  he  repeated;  be- 
ing always  sure  that  he  must  be  a weak 
man,  who  quotes  common  things  with  an 
emphasis  as  if  they  were  oracles; — Johnson 
agreed  with  him;  and  Sir  Joshua  having 
also  observed  that  the  real  character  of  i 
man  was  found  out  by  his  amusements, 
Johnson  added,  “ Yes,  sir;  no  man  is  £ 
hypocrite  in  his  pleasures.” 

1 have  mentioned  Johnson’s  general  aver 
sion  to  a pun.  He  once,  however,  endured 
one  of  mine.  When  we  were  talking  of  a 
numerous  company  in  which  he  had  distin 
guished  himself  highly,  I said,  “ Sir,  you 
were  a cod  surrounded  by  smelts.  Is  nol 
this  enough  for  you?  at  a time  too  when 
you  were  not  jishing  for  a compliment?” 
He  laughed  at  this  with  a complacent  ap- 
probation. Old  Mr.  Sheridan  observed, 
upon  my  mentioning  it  to  him,  “ He  liked 
your  compliment  so  well,  he  was  willing  to 
take  it  with  pun  sauce”  [Though  no 

2 It  is  now  (1804)  known,  that  the  “ Heroick 
Epistle”  was  written  by  Mason. — Malone. 
[The  Editor  is  satisfied,  from  a variety  of  evidence, 
that  Walpole  was  concerned  in  this  lively  satire, 
and  that  the  distribution  of  the  shares  given  in  a 
former  note  ( ante , p.  298)  is  substantially  correct 
-Ed.] 

3 [Sir  James  Mackintosh  remembers  that  while 
spending  the  Christmas  of  1797  at  Beaconsfield, 
Mr.  Burke  said  to  him,  “Johnson  showed  more 
powers  of  mind  in  company  than  in  his  w ritings, 
but  he  argued  only  for  victory ; and  when  he  had 
neither  a paradox  to  defend,  nor  an  antagonist  to 
crush,  he  would  preface  his  assent  with,  Why . 
no,  sir." — Ed.] 


1784. — iETAT.  75. 


393 


Hawk.  great  friend  to  puns,  ne  once,  by  acci- 
Apoph.  dent,  made  a singular  one.  A person 
p.  2io.  wh0  affected  to  live  after  the  Greek 
nanner,  and  to  anoint  himself  with  oil,  was 
one  day  mentioned:  Johnson,  in  the  course 
of  conversation  on  the  singularity  of  his 
practice,  gave  him  the  denomination  of  this 
man  of  Greece  (or  grease,  as  you  please  to 
take  it)].  For  my  own  part,  I think  no 
innocent  species  of  wit  or  pleasantry  should 
be  suppressed;  and  that  a good  pun  may  be 
admitted  among  the  smaller  excellencies  of 
lively  conversation. 

Had  Johnson  treated  at  large  De  Claris 
Oratoribus,  he  might  have  given  us  an 
admirable  work.  When  the  Duke  of  Bed- 
ford attacked  the  ministry  as  vehemently 
as  he  could,  for  having  taken  upon  them  to 
extend  the  time  for  the  importation  of  corn, 
Lord  Chatham,  in  his  first  speech  in  the* 
House  of  Lords,  boldly  avowed  hinrself  to 
be  an  adviser  of  that  measure.  “ My  col- 
leagues,” said  he,  “ as  I was  confined  by 
indisposition,  did  me  the  signal  honour  of 
coming  to  the  bedside  of  a sick  man,  to  ask 
his  opinion.  But,  had  they  not  thus  con- 
descended, I should  have  taken  up  my  bed, 
and  walked , in  order  to  have  delivered  that 
opinion  at  the  Council-board.”  Mr.  Lang- 
ton,  who  was  present,  mentioned  this  to 
Johnson,  who  observed,  “ Now,  sir,  we 
see  that  he  took  these  words  as  he  found 
them,  without  considering,  that  though  the 
expression  in  Scripture,  take  up  thy  bed 
and  walk,  strictly  suited  the  instance  of  the 
sick  man  restored  to  health  and  strength, 
who  would  of  course  be  supposed  to  carry 
his  bed  with  him,  it  could  not  be  proper  in 
the  case  of  a man  who  was  lying  in  a state 
of  feebleness,  and  who  certainly  would  not 
add  to  the  difficulty  of  moving  at  all,  that  of 
carrying  his  bed1.” 

When  I pointed  out  to  him  in  the  news- 
paper one  of  Mr.  Grattan’s  animated  and 
glowing  speeches  in  favour  of  the  freedom 
of  Ireland,  in  which  this  expression  occurred 
(I  know  not  if  accurately  taken):  “We 
will  persevere,  till  there  is  not  one  link  of 
the  English  chain  left  to  clank  upon  the 
rags  of  the  meanest  beggar  in  Ireland:” — 
“ Nay,  sir,”  said  Johnson, “ don’t  you  per- 
ceive that  one  link  cannot  clank?” 

Mrs.  Thrale  has  published2,  as  John- 
son’s, a kind  of  parody  or  counterpart  of  a 
fine  poetical  passage  in  one  of  Mr.  Burke’s 
speeches  on  American  taxation.  It  is  vig- 
orously but  somewhat  coarsely  executed; 
and  I am  inclined  to  suppose,  is  not  quite 
correctly  exhibited.  I hope  he  did  not  use 

1 [Lord  Chatham  meant,  in  his  strong  meta- 
phorical way,  to  say,  that  his  desire  to  do  that 
public  duty  would  have  operated  a miracle  on 
him ; so  that  Johnson’s  remark  seems  hypercritical. 

-Ed.] 

8 [Sec  ante , p 275. — Ed.] 

vot..  .i  50 


the  words  “vile  agents?”  for  the  Amerl 
cans  in  .the  House  of  Parliament;  and  if  he 
did  so,  in  an  extempore  effusion,  I wish  the 
lady  had  not  committed  it  to  writing. 

Mr.  Burke  uniformly  showed  Johnson  the 
greatest  respect;  and  when  Mr.  Towns- 
hend, now  Lord  Sydney,  at  a period  when 
he  was  c-onspicuous  in  opposition,  threw  out 
some  reflection  in  parliament  upon  the  grant 
of  a pension  to  a man  of  such  political  prin- 
ciples as  Johnson;  Mr.  Burke,  though  then 
of  the  same  party  with  Mr  Townshend, 
stood  warmly  forth  in  defence  of  his  friend, 
to  whom,  he  justly  observed,  the  pension 
was  granted  solely  on  account  of  his  emi- 
nent literary  merit.  I am  well  assured, 
that  Mr.  Townshend’s  attack  upon  John 
son  was  the  occasion  of  his  “ hitching  in  a 
rhyme  3 ; ” for  that  in  the  original  copy  of 
Goldsmith’s  character  of  Mr.  Burke,  in  his 
“ Retaliation,”  another  person’s  name  stood 
in  the  couplet  where  Mr.  Townshend  is  now 
introduced: 

“ Though  fraught  with  all  learning  kept  straining 
his  throat, 

To  persuade  Tommy  Townshend  to  lend  him 
a vote.” 

It  may  be  worth  remarking  among  the 
minutice  of  my  collection,  that  Johnson  was 
once  drawn  to  serve  in  the  militia,  the 
trained  bands  of  the  city  of  London,  and  that 
Mr.  Rackstrow,  of  the  Museum  in  Fleet- 
street,  was  his  colonel.  It  may  be  believed 
he  did  not  serve  in  person;  but  the  idea, 
with  all  its  circumstances,  is  certainly  laugh- 
able. He  upon  that  occasion  provided 
himself  with  a musket,  and  with  a sword 
and  belt,  which  I have  seen  hanging  in  his 
closet. 

He  was  very  constant  to  those  whom  he 
once  employed,  if  they  gave  him  no  reason 
to  be  displeased.  When  somebody  talked  of 
being  imposed  on  in  the  purchase  of  tea  and 
sugar,  and  such  articles:  “That  will  not 
be  the  case,”  said  he,  “ if  you  go  to  a state- 
ly shop,  as  I always  do.  In  such  a shop 
it  is  not  worth  their  while  to  take  a petty 
advantage.” 

An  authour  of  most  anxious  and  restless 
vanity  4 being  mentioned,  “ Sir,”  said  he, 
“ there  is  not  a young  sapling  upon  Parnassus 
more  severely  blown  about  by  every  wind  of 
criticism  than  that  poor  fellow.” 

The  difference,  he  observed,  between  a 
well-bred  and  an  ill-bred  man  is  this 
“ One  immediately  attracts  your  liking, 
the  other  your  aversion.  You  love  the  one 

3 [I  rather  believe  that  it  was  in  consequence 
of  his  persisting  in  clearing  the  gallery  of  the  House 
of  Commons,  in  spite  of  the  earnest  remonstrances 
of  Burke  and  Fox,  one  evening  when  Garrick  was 
present. — Mackintosh.] 

4 [Probably  Mr  Perceval  Stockdale.  See  ante 

1 p.  270 Ed.) 


394 


1784.—  JET  AT.  75 


till  you  find  reason  to  hate  him;  you  hate 
the  other  till  you  find  reason  to  love  him.” 

The  wife  of  one  of  his  acquaintance  1 had 
fraudulently  made  a purse  for  herself  out  of 
her  husband’s  fortune.  Feeling  a proper 
compunction  in  her  last  moments,  she  con- 
fessed how  much  she  had  secreted;  but  be- 
fore she  could  tell  where  it  was  placed,  she 
was  seized  with  a convulsive  fit  and  ex- 
pired. Her  husband  said,  he  was  more  hurt 
by  her  want  of  confidence  in  him,  than  by 
the  loss  of  his  money.  “ I told  him,”  said 
Johnson,  “that  he  should  console  himself; 
for  perhaps  the  money  might  he  found,  a*nd 
he  was  sure  that  his  wife  was  gone.” 

A foppish  physician  once  reminded  John- 
son of  his  having  been  in  company  with  him 
on  a former  occasion:  “ I do  not  remember 
it,  sir.”  The  physician  still  insisted;  ad- 
ding that  he  that  day  wore  so  fine  a coat 
that  it  must  have  attracted  his  notice. 
“ Sir,”  said  Johnson,  “ had  you  been  dip- 
ped in  Pactolus,  I should  not  have  noticed 
you.” 

He  seemed  to  take  a pleasure  in  speaking 
in  his  own  style;  for  when  he  had  carelessly 
missed  it,  he  would  repeat  the  thought 
translated  into  it.  Talking  of  the  comedy 
of  “ The  Rehearsal,”  he  said,  “ It  has  not 
wit  enough  to  keep  it  sweet.”  This  was 
easy; — he  therefore  caught  himself,  and 
pronounced  a more  round  sentence : “ It  has 
not  vitality  enough  to  preserve  it  from  pu- 
trefaction 2.” 

He  censured  a writer  of  entertaining 3 
Travels  for  assuming  a feigned  character, 
saying  (in  his  sense  of  the  word),  “ He  car- 
ries out  one  lie;  we  know  not  how  many  he 
brings  back.”  At  another  time,  talking  of 
the  same  person,  he  observed,  “ Sir,  your  as- 
sent to  a man  whom  you  have  never  known 
to  falsify  is  a debt:  but  after  you  have 
known  a man  to  falsify,  your  assent  to  him 
then  is  a favour.” 

Though  he  had  no  taste  for  painting,  he 
admired  much  the  manner  in  which  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  treated  of  his  art,  in  his 
u Discourses  to  the  Royal  Academy.”  He 
observed  one  day  of  a passage  in  them,  “ I 
think  I might  as  well  have  said  this  my- 
self ; ” and  once  when  Mr.  Langton  was 
sitting  by  him,  he  read  one  of  them  very 
eagerly,  and  expressed  himself  thus : “ Very 
well,  Master  Reynolds;  very  well,  indeed. 
But  it  will  not  be  understood.” 

When  I observed  to  him  that  Painting 

1 [ Lady  Knight  tells  this  anecdote  in  her  papers 
on  Miss  Williams  ( Europ . Mag.  1799),  but  she 
does  not  call  the  lady  the  wife  of  one  of  his  ac- 
quaintance.— Ed  . ] 

2 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  116. — Ed  ] 

3 [Perhaps  Dr.  Thomas  Campbell’s  work  on 
Ireland,  see  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  516;  but  the  Editor 

mspeets  it  was  some  more  recent  publication. — 
Enl 


was  so  far  inferiour  to  Poetry,  that  the 
story  or  even  emblem  which  it  communi- 
cates must  be  previously  known,  and  men- 
tioned as  a natural  and  laughable  instance 
of  this,  that  a little  miss,  on  seeing  a pic- 
ture of  Justice  with  the  scales,  had  ex- 
claimed to  me,  “ See,  there’s  a woman 
selling  sweetmeats;  ” he  said,  “ Painting, 
sir,  can  illustrate,  but  cannot  inform.” 

[For  painting  he  certainly  had  no 
taste,  no  acquired  taste,  for  his  sight  JJJSj 
was  worse  even  than  his  hearing.] 

[He  even  to  Mrs.  Piozzi  professed  piozzi; 
such  scorn  of  it,  as  to  say  that  he  Anec. 
should  sit  very  quietly  in  a room  hung  p‘  76' 
round  with  pictures  of  the  greatest  masters, 
and  never  feel  the  slightest  disposition  to  turn 
them,  if  their  backs  were  outermost,  unless 
it  might  be  for  the  sake  of  telling  Sir  Joshua 
that  he  had  turned  them.  In  one  instance, 
however,  he  admitted  that  painting  required 
a considerable  exercise  of  mind  ; yet  even 
on  that  occasion  he  betrayed  what  Mrs. 
Thrale  calls  his  “ scorn  of  the  art.”  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  mentioned  some  picture 
as  excellent.  “ It  has  often  grieved  75 
me,  sir,”  said  Dr.  Johnson,  “ to  see  p‘ 
so  much  mind  as  the  science  of  painting  re- 
quires, laid  out  upon  such  perishable  mate- 
rials: why  do  not  you  oftener  make  use  of 
copper?  I could  wish  ypur  superiority  in 
the  art  you  profess  to  be  preserved  in  stuff' 
more  durable  than  canvas.”  Sir  Joshua 
urged  the  difficulty  of  procuring  a plate 
large  enough  for  historical  subjects,  and 
was  going  to  raise  farther  observations: 
“What  foppish  obstacles  are  these ! ” ex- 
claimed on  a sudden  Dr.  Johnson:  “ here  is 
Thrale  has  a thousand  ton  of  copper  ; you 
may  paint  it  all  round  if  you  will,  I sup- 
pose ; it  will  serve  htm  to  brew  in  after- 
ward: will  it  not,  sir?”]  [In  one  Eq 
of  his  opinions,  however,  on  this  art, 
the  Editor  confesses  that  he  entirely  con- 
curs.] [Talking  with  some  persons  Hawk, 
about  allegorical  painting,  he  said,  Apoph 
“ I had  rather  see  the  portrait  of  a p‘203‘ 
dog  that  I know,  than  all  the  allegorical 
paintings  they  can  show  mein  the  world.”] 
No  man  was  more  ready  to  make  an 
apology  when  he  had  censured  unjustly 
than  Johnson.  When  a proof-sheet  of  one 
of  his  works  was  brought  to  him,  he  found 
fault  with  the  mode  in  which  a part  of  it 
was  arranged,  refused  to  read  it,  and  in  a 
passion,  desired  that  the  compositor4  might 
be  sent  to  him.  The  compositor  was  Mr. 
Manning,  a decent  sensible  man,  who  had 
composed  about  one  half  of  his  “ Dictiona* 


4 Compositor  in  the  printing-house  means,  the 
person  who  adjusts  the  types  in  the  order  in  which 
they  are  to  stand  for  printing;  and  arranges  wha 
is  called  the  form,  from  which  an  impression  is 
taken. — Boswell. 


1784. — iETAT.  75. 


395 


ry,”  when  in  Mr.  Strahan’s  printing-house; 
and  a great  part  of  his  “ Lives  of  the  Poets,” 
when  in  that  of  Mr.  Nichols;  and  who  (in 
his  seventy-seventh  year)  when  in  Mr. 
Baldwin’s  printing-house,  composed  a part 
of  the  first  edition  of  this  work  concerning 
him.  By  producing  the  manuscript,  he  at 
once  satisfied  Dr.  Johnson  that  he  was  not 
to  blame.  Upon  which  Johnson  candidly 
and  earnestly  said  to  him,  “ Mr.  Composi- 
tor, I ask  your  pardon;  Mr.  Compositor,  I 
ask  your  pardon,  again  and  again.” 

His  generous  humanity  to  the  miserable 
was  almost  beyond  example.  The  follow- 
ing instance  is  well  attested:  coming  home 
late  one  night,  he  found  a poor  woman  ly- 
ing in  the  street,  so  much  exhausted  that 
she  could  not  walk  ; he  took  her  upon  his 
back  and  carried  her  to  his  house,  where  he 
discovered  that  she  was  one  of  those  wretch- 
ed females  who  had  fallen  into  the  lowest 
state  of  vice,  poverty,  and  disease.  Instead 
of  harshly  upbraiding  her,  he  had  her  taken 
care  of  w.ith  all  tenderness  for  a long  time, 
at  a considerable  expense,  till  she  was  re- 
stored to  health,  and  endeavoured  to  put 
her  into  a virtuous  way  of  living 1. 

[Miss  Reynolds  says,  that  through- 
Recoi  out  ^er  s^e  remembered  the  im- 
pression she  felt  in  his  favour  the 
first  time  she  was  in  company  with  Dr. 
Johnson,  on  his  saying,  that  as  he  returned 
to  his  lodgings,  at  one  or  two  o’clock  in  the 
morning,  he  often  saw  poor  children  asleep 
on  thresholds  and  stalls,  and  that  he  used 
to  put  pennies  into  their  hands  to  buy  them 
a breakfast2.] 

He  thought  Mr.  Caleb  Whitefoord  sin- 
gularly happy  in  hitting  on  the  signature 
of  Papyrius  Cursor  to  his  ingenious  and 
diverting  Cross  Readings  of  the  newspa- 
pers 3 ; it  being  a real  name  of  an  ancient 
Roman,  and  clearly  expressive  of  the  thing 
done  in  this  lively  conceit. 

He  once  in  his  life  was  known  to  have 
uttered  what  is  called  a bull:  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  when  they  were  riding  together 
in  Devonshire,  complained  that  he  had  a 
very  bad  horse,  for  that  even  when  going 
down  hill  he  moved  slowly  step  by  step. 
“ Ay,”  said  Johnson,  “ and  when  he  goes 
up  hill  he  stands  still .” 

He  had  a gr,eat  aversion  to  gesticulating 

1 The  circumstance  therefore  alluded  to  in  Mr. 
Courtenay’s  “Poetical  Character”  of  him  is 
strictly  true.  My  informer  was  Mrs.  Desmoulins, 
who  lived  many  years  in  Dr.  Johnson’s  house. — 
Boswell. 

2 [And  this  was  at  a time  when  he  himself  was 
living  on  pennies. — Ed.] 

3 [He  followed  his  Cross  Readings  by  a still 
more  witty  paper  on  the  Errors  of  the  Press. 
These  two  laughable  essays  are  preserved  in  the 
Foundling  Hospital  for  Wit,  and  some  similar 
publications. — Ed.] 


in  company.  He  called  once  to  a gentle* 
man4  who  offended  him  in  that  point, 
“ Do  n’t  attitudenise .”  And  when  another 
gentleman  thought  he  was  giving  addition- 
al force  to  what  he  uttered  by  expressive 
movements  of  his  hands,  Johnson  fairly 
seized  them,  and  held  them  down 

An  authour  of  considerable  eminence5 
having  engrossed  a good  share  of  the  con- 
versation in  the  company  of  Johnson,  and 
having  said  nothing  but  what  was  trifling 
and  insignificant,  Johnson,  when  he  was 
gone,  observed  to  us,  “ It  is  wonderful 
what  a difference  there  sometimes  is  be- 
tween a man’s  powers  of  writing  and  of  talk- 
ing.   writes  with  great  spirit,  but 

is  a poor  talker : had  he  held  his  tongue  we 
might  have  supposed  him  to  have  been  re- 
strained by  modesty  ; but  he  has  spoken  a 
great  deal  to-day,  and  you  have  heard  what 
stuff  it  was.” 

A gentleman  having  said  that  a conge 
d’elire  has  not,  perhaps,  the  force  of  a 
command,  but  may  be  considered  only  as  a 
strong  recommendation: — “Sir,”  replied 
Johnson,  who  overheard  him,  “ it  is  such  a 
recommendation,  as  if  I should  throw  you 
out  of  a two  pair  of  stairs  window,  and  re- 
commend to  you  to  fall  soft 6.” 

Mr.  Steevens,  who  passed  many  a social 
hour  with  him  during  their  long  acquaint- 
ance, which  commenced  when  they  both 
lived  in  the  Temple,  has  preserved  a good 
number  of  particulars  concerning  him,  most 
of  which  are  to  be  found  in  the  department 
of  Apophthegms  7,  &c.  in  the  collection  of 

4 [This  is  supposed  to  have  been  Sir  Richard 
Musgrave  {ante,  p.  346),  who  had,  it  must  be 
confessed,  a great  eagerness  of  manner.  One  day 
when  Sir  Richard  was  urging  him  with  singular 
warmth  to  write  the  lives  of  the  prose  writers, 
and  getting  up  to  enforce  his  suit,  Johnson  coldly 
replied,  “ Sit  down,  sir.”  Piozzi,  p.  225. — Ed.] 

5 [Perhaps  Doctor  Robertson.  See  ante , p. 
189.— Ed.] 

6 This  has  been  printed  in  other  publications 
“ fall  to  the  ground .”  But  Johnson  himself 
gave  me  the  true  expression  which  he  had  used 
as  above;  meaning  that  the  recommendation  left 
as  little  choice  in  that  one  case  as  the  other.— 
Boswell. 

7 [This  is  Sir  J.  Havsddns’s  collection  of  John- 
soniana , referred  to  ante,  p.  63.  Such  of  these 
anecdotes  as  were  also  given  by  Mr.  Boswell  and 
Mrs.  Piozzi  have  been  quoted  from  them.  Some 
others  have  been  selected  by  the  editor  and  placed 
near  corresponding  passages  of  Mr.  Boswell’s  text. 
The  remainder,  for  which  no  particular  place  oc- 
curred or  which  were  accidentally  overlooked, 
will  be  here  given  in  continuation  of  those  supplied 
by  Mr.  Steevens,  by  whom  Mr.  Boswel  (ever 
anxious  to  depreciate  the  merit  of  Sir  J.  Hawkins) 
intimates  that  “ most  of  them  ” were  originally 
furnished.  Mr.  Chalmers  says  that  they  were 
certainly  chiefly  collected  by  Steevens,  and  pub- 
lished by  him  in  the  St.  James’s  Chronicle. — Ed.) 


39b 


1784. — ABTAT.  75. 


« Johnson’s  Works.”  Bat  he  has  been 
pleased  to  favour  me  with  the  following-, 
which  are  original: 

“ One  evening,  previous  to  the 
Steevens.  trja[  Baret,ti,  a consultation  of 
his  friends  was  held  at  the  house  of  Mr. 
Cox,  the  solicitor,  in  Southampton-build- 
ings,  Chancery-lane.  Among  others  pres- 
ent were  Mr.  Burke  and  Dr.  Johnson,  who 
differed  in  sentiments  concerning  the  ten- 
dency of  some  part  of  the  defence  the  pri- 
soner was  to  make.  When  the  meeting 
was  over,  Mr.  Steevens  observed  that  the 
question  between  him  and  his  friend  had 
been  agitated  with  rather  too  much  warmth. 

‘ It  may  be  so,  sir,’  replied  the  Doctor,  £ for 
Burke  and  I should  have  been  of  one  opin- 
ion if  we  had  had  no  audience  V 

££  Dr.  Johnson  once  assumed  a character 
in  which  perhaps  even  Mr.  Boswell  never 
saw  him.  His  curiosity  having  been  ex- 
cited by  the  praises  bestowed  on  the  celebra- 
ted Torre’s  fireworks  at  Marybone-gardens, 
he  desired  Mr.  Steevens  to  accompany  him 
thither.  The  evening  had  proved  showery, 
and  soon  after  the  few  people  present  were 
assembled,  publick  notice  was  given  that 
the  conductors  of  the  wheels,  suns,  stars, 
&c.  were  so  thoroughly  watersoaked  that 
it  was  impossible  any  part  of  the  exhibition 
should  be  made.  c This  is  a mere  excuse,’ 
says  the  Doctor,  £ to  save  their  crackers  for 
a more  profitable  company.  Let  us  both 
hold  up  our  sticks  and  threaten  to  break 
those  coloured  lamps  that  surround  the  or- 
chestra, and  we  shall  soon  have  our  wishes 
gratified.  The  core  of  the  fireworks  cannot 
be  injured;  let  the  different  pieces  be  touch- 
ed in  their  respective  centres,  and  they  will 
do  their  offices  as  well  as  ever.’  Some 
young  men  who  overheard  him  immediate- 
ly began  the  violence  he  had  recommended, 
and  an  attempt  was  speedily  made  to  fire 
some  of  the  wheels  which  appeared  to  have 
received  the  smallest  damage;  but  to  little 
purpose  were  they  lighted,  for  most  of  them 
completely  failed.  The  authour  of  £ The 
Rambler,’  however,  may  be  considered  on 
this  occasion  as  the  ringleader  of  a success- 
ful riot,  though  not  as  a skilful  pyrotech- 
nist. 

“ It  has  been  supposed  that  Dr.  Johnson, 
so  far  as  fashion  was  concerned,  was  care- 
less of  his  appearance  in  publick.  But  this 
is  not  altogether  true,  as  the  following  slight 
instance  may  show: — Goldsmith’s  lastcom- 

1 [What  an  extraordinary  assertion,  that  in  a 

matter  in  which  the  life  and  death — nay,  the 
ignominious  death — of  a friend  was  at  stake,  he 
still  talked  for  victory ! The  Editor  has  seen  so 
much  reason  to  distrust  anecdotes  told  from 
memory,  that  he  hesitates  to  give  implicit  credit 
to  this  story.  Dr.  Johnson,  no  doubt,  too  often 
talked  for  victory,  but  not,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  on 

so  serious  an  occasion. — Ed.] 


edy  was  to  be  represented  during  som© 
court-mourning1 2,  and  Mr.  Steevens  ap- 
pointed to  call  on  Dr.  Johnson,  and  carry 
him  to  the  tavern  where  he  was  to  dine 
with  other  of  the  poet’s  friends.  The  Doc- 
tor was  ready  dressed,  but  in  coloured 
clothes;  yet  being  told  that  he  would  find 
every  one  else  in  black,  received  the  intelli- 
gence with  a profusion  of  thanks,  hastened 
to  change  his  attire,  all  the  wThile  repeating 
his  gratitude  for  the  information  that  had 
saved  him  from  an  appearance  so  improper 
in  the  front  row  of  a front  box.  ( I would 
not,’  added  he,  £ for  ten  pounds  have  seemed 
so  retrograde  to  any  general  observance.’ 

c£  He  would  sometimes  found  his  dislikes 
on  very  slender  circumstances.  Happen- 
ing one  day  to  mention  Mr.  Flexman,  a 
dissenting  minister,  with  some  compliment 
to  his  exact  memory  in  chronological  mat- 
ters; the  Doctor  replied,  £ Let  me  hear  no 
more  of  him,  sir.  That  is  the  fellow  who 
made  the  index  to  my  Ramblers,  and  set 
down  the  name  of  Milton  thus: — Milton, 
Mr.  John.’  ” 

Mr.  Steevens  adds  this  testimony : ££  It  is 
unfortunate,  however,  for  Johnson,  that  his 
particularities  and  frailties  can  be  more  dis- 
tinctly traced  than  his  good  and  amiable  ex- 
ertions. Could  the  many  bounties  he  stu- 
diously concealed,  the  many  acts  of  human- 
ity he  performed  in  private,  be  displayed 
with  equal  circumstantiality,  his  defects 
would  be  so  far  lost  in  the  blaze  of  his  vir- 
tues, that  the  latter  only  would  be  regard 
ed.” 

[Dr.  Johnson  said  he  always  Hawk, 
mistrusted  romantick  virtue,  as  Apoph. 
thinking  it  founded  on  no  fixed  p* 197"8, 
principle. 

He  used  to  say  that  where  secrecy  or 
mystery  began,  vice  or  roguery  was  not  far 
off. 

Being  once  asked  if  he  ever  embel- 
lished a story — ££  No,”  said  he;  ££  a story  is 
to  lead  either  to  the  knowledge  of  a fact  or 
character,  and  is  good  for  nothing  if  it  be 
not  strictly  and  literally  true3.” 

££  Round  numbers,”  said  he, ££  are  always 
false.” 

££ Watts’s  Improvement  of  the  Mind” 
was  a very  favourite  book  with  him;  he 
used  to  recommend  it,  as  he  also  did  ££  Le 
Dictionnaire  porta tif”  of  the  Abbe  L’Avo 
cat. 

He  has  been  accused  of  treating  Lord 
Lyttelton  roughly  in  his  life  of  him;  he  as- 
sured a friend,  however,  that  he  kept  back 
a very  ridiculous  anecdote  of  him,  relative 
to  a question  he  put  to  a great  divine  of  hii 
time.] 

2 [“  She  Stoops  to  Conquer ,”  first  acted  in 
March,  1773,  during  a court  mourning  for  tha 
king  of  Sardinia.  — Ed.] 

3 [See  ante,  p.  32. — Ed.] 


1784. — iETAT.  75. 


self  chiefly  in  reading  Euripides.  He  ex- 
pressed some  displeasure  at  me  for  not  ob- 
serving sufficiently  the  various  objects 
upon  the  road.  “ If  I had  your  eyes, 
sir,”  said  he,  “ I should  count  the  passen- 
gers.” It  was  wonderful  how  accurate  his 
observation  of  visual  objects  was,  notwith- 
standing his  imperfect  eyesight,  owing  to  a 
habit  of  attention.  That  he  was  much  sa- 
tisfied with  the  respect  paid  to  him  at  Dr. 
Letters  Adams’s  is  thus  attested  by  himself: 
voi.  ii.'’  “ I returned  last  night  from  Oxford, 
p.372.  after  a fortnight’s  abode  with  Dr. 
Adams,  who  treated  me  as  well  as  I could 
expect  or  wish;  and  he  that  contents  a sick 
man,  a man  whom  it  is  impossible  to  please, 
has  surely  done  his  part  well.”  [He 
D'  adds,  “ I went  in  the  common  vehi- 
cle, with  very  little  fatigue,  and  came  back 
I think  with  less.”] 

After  his  return  to  London  from  this  ex- 
cursion, I saw  him  frequently,  but  have  few 
memorandums;  I shall  therefore  here  insert 
some  particulars  which  I collected  at  vari- 
ous times. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Astle,  of  Ashbourne, 
in  Derbyshire,  brother  to  the  learned  and 
ingenious  Thomas  Astle,  Esq.  was  from  his 
early  years  known  to  Dr.  Johnson,  who 
obligingly  advised  him  as  to  his  studies,  and 
recommended  to  him  the  following  books, 
of  which  a list  which  he  has  been  pleased 
to  communicate  lies  before  me,  in  Johnson’s 
own  hand-writing: — “Universal  History 
(ancient) — Rollin’s  Ancient  History — Puf- 
fendorf’s  Introduction  to  History — Vertot’s 
History  of  Knights  of  Malta — Vertot’s  Re- 
volution of  Portugal — Vertot’s  Revolution 
of  Sweden — Carte’s  History  of  England — 
Present  State  of  England — Geographical 
Grammar— Prideaux’s  Connexion— Nelson’s 
Feasts  and  Fasts — Duty  of  Man — Gentle- 
man’s Religion — Clarendon’s  History — 
Watts’s  Improvement  of  the  Mind — Watts’s 
Logick — Nature  Displayed — Lowth’s  Eng- 
lish Grammar — Blackwall  on  the  Classicks 
— Sherlock’s  Sermons — Burnet’s  Life  of 
Hale — Dupin’s  History  of  the  Church — 
Shuckford’s  Connexions — Law’s  Serious 
Call — Walton’s  Complete  Angler— Sandys’s 
Travels — Sprat’s  History  of  the  Royal  So- 
ciety— England’s  Gazetteer — Goldsmith’s 
Roman  History — Some  Commentaries  on 
the  Bible.” 

It  having  been  mentioned  to  Dr.  Johnson 
that  a gentleman  who  had  a son  whom  he 
imagined  to  have  an  extreme  degree  of  ti- 
midity, resolved  to  send  him  to  a publick 
school,  that  he  might  acquire  confidence: 
“ Sir,”  said  Johnson,  “ this  is  a preposter- 
ous expedient  for  removing  his  infirmity; 
such  a disposition  should  be  cultivated  in 
the  shade.  Placing  him  at  a publick  school 
/s  forcing  an  owl  upon  day.” 

Speaking  of  a gentleman  whose  house 


33 

was  much  frequented  by  low  company. 
“ Rags,  sir,”  said  he,  “ will  always  make 
their  appearance  where  they  have  a right  to 
do  it.” 

Of  the  same  gentleman’s  mode  of  living, 
he  said,  “ Sir,  the  servants,  instead  of  do- 
ing what  they  are  bid,  stand  round  the  ta- 
ble in  idle  clusters,  gaping  upon  the  guests; 
and  seem  as  unfit  to  attend  a company,  as 
to  steer  a man  of  war.” 

A dull  country  magistrate  gave  Johnson 
a long,  tedious  account  of  his  exercising  his 
criminal  jurisdiction,  the  result  of  which  was 
his  having  sentenced  four  convicts  to  trans- 
portation. Johnson,  in  an  agony  of  impa- 
tience to  get  rid  of  such  a companion,  ex- 
claimed, “ I heartily  wish,  sir,  that  I were  a 
fifth.” 

Johnson  was  present  when  a tragedy 
was  read,  in  which  there  occurred  this  line: 

“ Who  rules  o’  er  freemen  should  himself  be  free.” 

The  company  having  admired  it  much, 
“ I cannot  agree  with  you,”  said  Johnson: 
“ it  might  as  well  be  said,' 

“ Who  drives  fat  oxen  should  himself  be  fat1.” 

He  was  pleased  with  the  kindness  of  Mr. 
Cator,  who  was  joined  with  him  in  Mr. 
Thrale’s  important  trust,  and  thus  describes 
him:  “ There  is  much  good  in  his  Letters 
character,  and  much  usefulness  in  voi.  ii.  ’ 
his  knowledge.”  He  found  a cordial  P-  234- 
solace  at  that  gentleman’s  seat  at  Becken- 
ham, in  Kent,  which  is  indeed  one  of  the 
finest  places  at  which  I ever  was  a guest; 
and  where  I find  more  and  more  a hospita- 
ble welcome. 

Johnson  seldom  encouraged  general  cen- 
sure of  any  profession;  but  he  was  willing 
t,o  allow  a due  share  of  merit  to  the  various 
departments  necessary  in  civilised  life.  In 
a splenetick,  sarcastical,  or  jocular  frame  of 
mind,  however,  he  would  sometimes  utter  a 
pointed  saying  of  that  nature.  One  in- 
stance has  been  mentioned2,  where  he  gave 
a sudden  satirical  stroke  to  the  character  of 
an  attorney.  The  too  indiscriminate  ad- 
mission to  that  employment,  which  requires 
both  abilities  and  integrity,  has  given  rise 
to  injurious  reflections,  which  are  totally  in- 
applicable to  many  very  respectable  men 
who  exercise  it  with  reputation  and  honour. 

Johnson  having  argued  for  some  time 
with  a pertinacious  gentleman;  his  oppo- 
nent, who  had  talked  in  a very  puzzling 
manner,  happened  to  say,  “ I don’t  under- 
stand you,  sir;  ” upon  which  Johnson  ob- 
served, “ Sir,  I have  found  you  an  argu- 
ment; but  I am  not  obliged  to  find  you  an 
understanding.” 

Talking  to  me  of  Horry  Walpole  (ua 


1 [ Ante , p.  115.— Ed.] 

! See  ante,  voi.  i.  p.  171. — Boswei.i 


398 


1784.— T/TAT.  75. 


and  elegance.  He  said,  indeed,  he  had 
taken  great  pains  about  it. 

Dr.  Johnson  and  Dr.  Sumner  of  Harrow 
were  dining  one  day,  with  many  other  per- 
sons, at  Mrs.  Macaulay’s l.  She  had  talked 
a long  time  at  dinner  about  the  natural 
equality  of  mankind.  Johnson,  when  she 
had  finished  her  harangue,  rose  up  from  the 
table,  and  with  great  solemnity  of  counte- 
nance, and  a bow  to  the  ground,  said  to  the 
servant,  who  was  waiting  behind  his  chair, 
“ Mr.  John,  pray  be  seated  in  my  place,  and 
permit  me  to  wait  upon  you  in  my  turn: 
your  mistress  says,  you  hear,  that  we  are 
all  equal.” 

Being  asked  whether  he  had  read  Mrs. 
Macaulay’s  second  volume  of  the  “ History 
of  England” — “No,  sir,”  says  he,  “nor 
her  first  neither.” 

When  some,  one  was  lamenting  Foote’s 
unlucky  fate  in  being  kicked  in  Dublin, 
Johnson  said  he  was  glad  of  it.  “ He  is  ris- 
ing in  the  world  (said  he) : when  he  was  in 
England,  no  one  thought  it  worth  while  to 
kick  him.” 

He  was  much  pleased  with  the  following 
repartee:  Fiat  exp  erimentum  incorporevili, 
said  a French  physician  to  his  colleague,  in 
speaking  of  the  disorder  of  a poor  man  that 
understood  Latin,  and  who  was  brought 
into  an  hospital;  Corpus  non  tam  vile  est, 
says  the  patient,  pro  quo  Christus  ipse  non 
dedignatus  est  mori. 

Johnson  used  to  say  a man  was  a scoun- 
drel that  was  afraid  of  any  thing. 

To  his  censure  of  fear2  in  general,  he 
made,  hoavever,  one  exception — with  re- 
spect to  the  fear  of  death,  timoruvn  maxi- 
mus : he  thought  that  the  best  of  us  were 
but  unprofitable  servants,  and  had  much 
reason  to  fear. 

When  some  one  asked  him  whether  they 
should  introduce  Hugh  Kelly,  the  authour, 
to  him — “ No,  sir,”  says  he,  “I  never  de- 
sire to  converse  with  a man  who  has  writ- 
ten more  than  he  has  read:  ” yet  when  his 
play  was  acted  for  the  benefit  of  his  widow, 
Johnson  furnished  a prologue. 

He  repeated  poetry  with  wonderful  ener- 
gy and  feeling.  He  was  seen  to  weep  whilst 
he  repeated  Goldsmith’s  character  of  the 
English  in  his  “ Traveller,”  beginning 
“ Stern  o’er  each  bosom3,”  fyc. 

He  held  all  authours  very  cheap  that 
were  not  satisfied  with  the  opinion  of  the 
publick  about  them.  He  used  to  say  that 
every  man  who  writes  thinks  he  can  amuse 
or  inform  mankind,  and  they  must  be  the 
best  judges  of  his  pretensions. 


' [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  200.  and  p.  77  of  this 
volume. — Ed.] 

2 [See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  500. — Ed.] 

3 [A  favourite  passage,  see  ante , vol.  i.  p. 
4 14. — Ed.] 


He  thought  worse  of  the  vices  of  retire 
ment  than  of  those  of  society. 

He  attended  Mr.  Thrale  in  his  last  mo- 
ments, and  stayed  in  the  room  praying,  as 
is  imagined,  till  he  had  drawn  his  last  breath. 
“ His  servants,”  said  he,  “ would  have 
waited  upon  him  in  this  awful  period,  and 
whv  not  his  friend  ? ” 

He  was  extremely  fond  of  reading  the 
lives  of  great  and  learned  persons.  Two  or 
three  years  before  he  died,  he  applied  to  a 
friend  of  his  to  give  him  a list  of  those  in 
the  French  language  that  were  well  writ- 
ten and  genuine.  He  said  that  Bolingbroke 
had  declared  he  could  not  read  Middleton’s 
“Life  of  Cicero.” 

He  was  not  apt  to  judge  ill  of  persons 
without  good  reasons:  an  old  friend  of  his 
used  to  say  that  in  general  he  thought  too 
well  of  mankind. 

One  day,  on  seeing  an  old  terrier  lie  asleep 
by  the  fireside  at  Streatham,  he  said,  “ Pres- 
to, you  are,  if  possible,  a more  lazy  dog  than 
I am.” 

Being  told  that  Churchill  had  abused  him 
under  the  character  of  Pomposo,  in  his 
Ghost,  “ I always  thought,”  said  he,  “he 
was  a shallow  fellow,  and  I think  so  still.” 

The  Duke  of  * * * once  said  to  Johnson, 
“ that  every  religion  had  a certain  degree 
of  morality  in  it.”  “ Ay,  my  lord,”  answer- 
ed he,  “ but  the  Christian  religion  alone 
puts  it  on  its  proper  basis.” 

The  picture  of  him  by  Sir  Joshua  Rey 
nolds,  which  was  painted  for  Mr.  Beauclerk, 
and  is  now  Mr.  Langton’s,  and  scraped  in 
mezzotinto  by  Doughty,  is  extremely  like 
him:  there  is  in  it  that  appearance  of  a la- 
bouring working  mind,  of  an  indolent  repos- 
ing body,  which  he  had  to  a very  great  de- 
gree. Indeed,  the  common  operations  of 
dressing,  shaving,  &c.  were  a toil  to  him 
he  held  the  care  of  the  body  very  cheap. 
He  used  to  say,  that  a man  who  rode  out 
for  an  appetite  consulted  but  little  the 
dignity  of  human  nature 

“ The  Life  of  Charles  XII.,”  by  Voltaire, 
he  said  was  one  of  the  finest  pieces  of  histo- 
ry ever  written. 

He  used  to  say  something  tantamount  to 
this:  When  a woman  affects  learning,  she 
makes  a rivalry  between  the  two  sexes  for 
the  same  accomplishments,  which  ought 
not  to  be,  their  provinces  being  different 
Milton  said  before  him, 

“ For  contemplation  he  and  valour  form’d, 

For  softness  she  and  sweet  attractive  grace.” 

And  upon  hearing  a lady  of  his  acquaint- 
ance commended  for  her  learning,  he  said, 
“ A man  is  in  general  better  pleased  when 
he  has  a good  dinner  upon  his  table  thar 
when  his  wife  talks  Greek.  My  olci  frieno 


4 [See  ante,  p.  151.— Ed  ] 


1784. — ,/ETAT.  75. 


399 


Mrs.  Carter,”  he  added,  “ could  make  a 
pudding-  as  well  as  translate  Epictetus  from 
the  Greek,  and  work  a handkerchief  as  well 
as  compose  a poem.”  He  thought,  however, 
that  she  was  too  reserved  in  conversation 
upon  subjects  she  was  so  eminently  able  to 
converse  upon,  which  was  occasioned  by 
her  modesty  and  fear  of  giving  offence. 

He  said  that  when  he  first  conversed 
with  Mr.  Bruce,  the  Abyssinian  traveller, 
he  was  very  much  inclined  to  believe  he 
had  been  there;  but  that  he  had  afterwards 
altered  his  opinion. 

He  was  much  pleased  with  Dr.  Jortin’s1 
Sermons,  the  language  of  which  he  thought 
very  elegant;  but  thought  his  “Life  of 
Erasmus  ” a dull  book. 

He  thought  Cato  the  best  model  of  tra- 
gedy we  had;  yet  he  used  to  say,  of  all 
things,  the  most  ridiculous  would  be  to  see 
a girl  cry  at  the  representation  of  it. 

He  thought  the  happiest  life  was  that  of 
a man  of  business,  with  some  literary  pur- 
suits for  his  amusement;  and  that  in  gene- 
ral no  one  could  be  virtuous  or  happy  that 
was  not  completely  employed. 

Johnson  had  read  much  in  the  works  of 
Bishop  Taylor:  in  his  Dutch  “ Thomas  a 
ICempis  ” he  has  quoted  him  occasionally  in 
the  margin. 

He  is  said  to  have  very  frequently  made 
sermons  for  clergymen  at  a guinea  a-picce. 

He  had  a great  opinion  of  the  knowledge 
procured  by  conversation  with  intelligent 
and  ingenious  persons.  His  first  question 
concerning  such  as  had  that  character  was 
ever,  “ What  is  his  conversation?  ” 

Speaking  one  day  of  tea,  he  said,  “What 
a delightful  beverage  must  that  be  that 
pleases  all  palates  at  a time  when  they  can 
take  nothing  else  at  breakfast! 55 

Speaking  of  schoolmasters,  he  used  to 
say  they  were  worse  'than  the  Egyptian 
taskmasters  of  old.  “No  boy,”  says  he, 
“ is  sure  any  day  he  goes  to  school  to  es- 
cape a whipping.  How  can  the  schoolmas- 
ter tell  what  the  boy  has  really  forgotten, 
and  what  he  has  neglected  to  learn?  what 
he  has  had  no  opportunities  of  learning, 
and  what  he  has  taken  no  pains  to  get  at 
the  knowledge  of?  yet  for  any  of  these, 
however  difficult  they  may  be,  the  boy  is 
obnoxious  to  punishment.” 

Of  a member  of  parliament,  who,  after 
having  harangued  for  some  hours  in  the 
house  of  commons,  came  into  a company 
where  Johnson  was,  and  endeavou  ed  to 
talk  him  down,  he  said,  “ This  man  has  a 
Bulse  in  his  tongue9.” 

One  who  had  long  known  Johnson  said 
of  him,  “ In  general  you  may  tell  what  the 


1 [See  ante , p.  151. — Ed.] 

5 [The  Editor  does  not  see  the  point  of  this. — 
Ed.1 


man  to  whom  you  are  speaking  will  say 
next:  this  you  can  never  do  of  Johnson: 
his  images,  his  allusions,  his  great  powers 
of  ridicule,  throw  the  appearance  of  novelty 
upon  the  most  common  conversation.” 

He  was  extremely  fond  of  Dr.  Ham- 
mond’s 3 works,  and  sometimes  gave  them 
as  a present  to  young  men  going  into  or- 
ders: he  also  bought  them  for  the  library 
at  Streatham. 

He  said  he  was  always  hurt  when  he 
found  himself  ignorant  of  any  thing. 

He  was  extremely  accurate  in  his  com- 
putation of  time.  He  could  tell  how  many, 
heroick  Latin  verses  could  be  repeated  in 
such  a given  portion  of  it,  and  was  anxious 
that  his  friends  should  take  pains  to  form 
in  their  minds  some  measure  for  estimating 
the  lapse  of  it. 

“ Complainers,”  said  he,  “ are  always  loud 
and  clamorous.” 

He  thought  highly  ofMandeville’s  “Trea- 
tise on  the  Hypochondriacal  Disease.” 

“ I wrote,”  said  Johnson,  “ the  first  sev- 
enty lines  in  the  ‘ Vanity  of  Human  Wish- 
es ’ 4 in  the  course  of  one  morning,  in  that 
small  house  beyond  the  church  at  Hamp- 
stead. The  whole  number  was  composed 
before  1 committed  a single  couplet  to  wri- 
ting. The  same  method  I pursued  in  re- 
gard to  the  Prologue  on  opening  Drury-lane 
Theatre.  I did  not  afterwards  change 
more  than  a word  in  it,  and  that  was  done 
at  the  remonstrance  of  Garrick.  I did  not 
think  his  criticism  just,  but  it  was  necessary 
that  he  should  be  satisfied  with  what  he 
was  to  utter.” 

To  a gentleman  who  expressed  himself 
in  disrespectful  terms  of  Blackmore,  one  of 
whose  poetick  bulls  he  happened  just  then 
to  recollect,  Dr.  Johnson  answered,  “ 1 
hope,  sir,  a blunder,  after  you  have  heard 
what  I shall  relate,  will  not  be  reckoned  de- 
cisive against  a poet’s  reputation.  When  I 
was  a young  man,  I translated  Addison’s 
Latin  poem  on  the  Battle  of  the  Pygmies 
and  the  Cranes,  and  must  plead  guilty  to 
the  following  couplet: 

Down  from  the  guardian  boughs  the  nests  they 
flung, 

And  kill’d  the  yet  unanimated  young. 

And  yet  I trust  I am  no  blockhead.  I af- 

s [Henry  Hammond,  D.  D.,  born  in  1605; 
elected  a fellow  of  Magdalen  College,  Oxford,  in 
1025;  canon  of  Christ  church,  1645.  lie  suffered 
much  persecution  during  the  Rebellion,  and  was, 
it  is  said,  designed  for  the  bishoprick  of  Worcester 
at  the  Restoration;  but  he  died  a few  days  before 
the  king’s  return.  He  was  a very  voluminous 
writer,  but  his  best  known  work  is  “ A Paraphrase 
and  Annotations  on  the  New  Testament,”  which 
Dr.  Johnson  recommended  to  Mr.  Boswell.  Ante , 
p.  71. — Ed.] 

4 [See  ante.  vol.  i.  p.  76. — Ed.] 


400 


1784.— ^ETAT.  75. 


terwards  changed  the  word  kill’d  into 
crush’d  ” 

“ I am  convinced,”  said  he  to  a friend,  “ I 
ought  to  be  present  at  divine  service 1 more 
frequently  than  I am;  but  the  provocations 
given  by  ignorant  and  affected  preachers 
too  often  disturb  the  mental  calm  which 
otherwise  would  succeed  to  prayer.  I am 
apt  to  whisper  to  myself  on  such  occasions, 
How  can  this  illiterate  fellow  dream  of  fix- 
ing attention,  after  we  have  been  listening 
to  the  sublimest  truths,  conveyed  in  the 
most  chaste  and  exalted  language,  through- 
out a liturgy  which  must  be  regarded  as  the 
genuine  offspring  of  piety  impregnated  by 
wisdom!  Take  notice,  however,  though  I 
make  this  confession  respecting  myself,  I do 
notvmean  to  recommend  the  fastidiousness 
that  sometimes  leads  me  to  exchange  con- 
gregational for  solitary  worship.”  He  was 
at  Streatham  church  when  Dodd’s  first  ap- 
plication to  him  was  made,  and  went  out 
of  his  pew  immediately,  to  write  an  answer 
to  the  letter  he  had  received.  Afterwards, 
when  he  related  this  circumstance,  he  added, 
cc  I hope  I shall  be  pardoned,  if  once  I de- 
serted the  service  of  God  for  that  of  man.” 

His  knowledge  in  manufactures  was  ex- 
tensive, and  his  comprehension  relative  to 
mechanical  contrivances  was  still  more  ex- 
raordinary.  The  well-known  Mr.  Ark- 
wright pronounced  him  to  be  the  only  person 
who  on  a first  view  understood  both  the 
principle  and  powers  of  his  most  compli- 
cated piece  of  machinery. 

He  would  not  allow  the  verb  derange , a 
word  at  present  much  in  use,  to  be  an  Eng- 
lish word.  “ Sir,”  said  a gentleman  who 
had  some  pretensions  to  literature,  “ I have 
seen  it  in  a book.”  “ Not  in  a bound  book,” 
said  Johnson;  “ disarrange  is  the  word  we 
ought  to  use  instead  of  it2.” 

He  thought  very  favourably  of  the  pro- 
fession of  the  law,  and  said  that  the  sages 
thereof,  for  a long  series  backward,  had 
been  friends  to  religion.  Fortescue  says 
that  their  afternoon’s  employment  was  the 
study  of  the  scriptures3.] 

1 [ Ante , vol.  i.  p.  225. — Ed.] 

2 [Even  so  late  as  the  year  1795,  a writer  in 
the  British  Critic  censured  as  a gallicism  Mr. 
Burke’s  use  of  derange  for  disarrange. — Ed.] 

3 [Lord  Coke,  in  his  Institutes,  1.  2.  c.  1.  s. 
85.  quotes  these  ancient,  as  he  calls  them,  verses, 
recommending  a proper  distribution  of  the  time  of 
a law-student. 

“ Sex  horse  somno,  totidem  des  legibus  aequis, 

Quatuor  orabis,  des  epulisque  duas 
Q.uod  super  esteultrb  sacris  largire  Camaenis.” 

Of  these  Sir  William  Jones. made  two  versions: 

“ Six  hours  to  sleep,  to  law’s  grave  study  six; 

Four  spend  in  prayer— the  rest  on  nature  fix : ” 

rather  (he  adds), 

“ Six  hours  to  law,  to  soothing  slumber  seven  ; 

Ten  to  the  world  allot,  and  all  to  Heaven.” 

It  is  not  very  clear  what  nature  in  the  first 
version  means'  in  the  second  Sir  William  has 


Though,  from  my  very  high  admiration 
of  Johnson,  I have  wondered  that  he  was 
not  courted  by  all  the  great  and  all  the  em- 
inent persons  of  his  time,  it  ought  fairly  to 
be  considered,  that  no  man  of  humble  birth, 
who  lived  entirely  by  literature,  in  short  no 
authour  by  profession,  ever  rose  in  this 
country  into  that  personal  notice  which  he 
did.  In  the  course  of  this  work  a numerous 
variety  of  names  has  been  mentioned,  to 
■which  many  might  be  added.  I cannot 
omit  Lord  and  Lady  Lucan4,  at  whose 
house  he  often  enjoyed  all  that  an  elegant 
table  and  the  best  company  can  contribute 
to  happiness:  he  found  hospitality  united 
with  extraordinary  accomplishments,  and 
embellished  with  charms  of  which  no  man 
could  be  insensible. 

On  Tuesday,  22d  June,  I dined  with  him 
at  the  Literary  Club,  the  last  time  of  his 
being  in  that  respectable  society.  The 
other  members  present  were  the  Bishop  of 
St.  Asaph,  Lord  Eliot,  Lord  Palmerston 
Dr.  Fordyce,  and  Mr.  Malone.  He  looker 
ill,  but  had  such  a manly  fortitude,  that  h» 
did  not  trouble  the  company  with  melan 
choly  complaints.  They  all  showed  evi 
dent  marks  of  kind  concern  about  him,  with 
which  he  was  much  pleased,  and  he  ex- 
erted himself  to  be  as  entertaining  as  his 
indisposition  allowed  him. 

The  anxiety  of  his  friends  to  preserve 
so  estimable  a life  as  long  as  human  means 
might  be  supposed  to  have  influence,  made 
them  plan  for  him  a retreat  from  the  severi- 
ty of  a British  winter  to  the  mild  climate 
of  Italy.  This  scheme  was  at  last  brought 
to  a serious  resolution  at  General  Paoli’s, 
where  I had  often  talked  of  it.  One  essen- 
tial matter,  however,  I understood  was  ne- 
cessary to  be  previously  settled,  which  was 
obtaining  such  an. addition  to  his  income  as 
would  be  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  defray 
the  expense  in  a manner  becoming  the 
first  literary  character  of  a great  nation, 
and,  independent  of  all  his  other  merits,  the 
authour  of  the  “ Dictionary  of  the  English 
Language.”  The  person  to  whom  I above 
all  cithers  thought  I should  apply  to  nego- 
tiate this  business  was  the  lord  chancellor, 
because  I knew  that  he  highly  valued 
Johnson,  and  that  Johnson  highly  valued 
his  lordship,  so  that  it  was  no  degradation 
of  my  illustrious  friend  to  solicit  for  him 
the  favour  of  such  a man.  I have  men- 
tioned what  Johnson  said  of  him  to  me 


shortened  his  day  to  twenty-three  hours:  and  the 
general  advice  “ of  all  to  Heaven ” destroys  the 
peculiar  appropriation  of  a certain  period  to 
religious  exercises.  The  following  version,  if  less 
poetical,  is  at  least  more  exact: 

“ Six  hours  to  sleep  devote — to  law  the  same , 

Pray  four,  feast  tivo—the  rest  the  muses  claim,"-  Ed.\ 
4 [See  ante,  p.  56,  n.,  where  Lord  Lucan 
(though  not  an  English  peer)  should  have  been 
noted  as  an  exception. — Ed.] 


1784. — ;ETA 


when  he  was  at  the  bar  1 2 ; and  after  his 
.ordship  was  advanced  to  the  seals,  he  said 
of  him,  “ I would  prepare  myself  for  no 
man  in  England  but  Lord  Thurlow. 
When  I am  to  meet  with  him,  I should 
wish  to  know  a day  before  2.”  How  he 
would  have  prepared  himself,  I cannot  con- 
jecture. Would  he  have  selected  certain 
topicks,  and  considered  them  in  every 
view,  so  as  to  be  in  readiness  to  argue  them 
at  all  points?  and  what  may  we  suppose 
those  topicks  to  have  been?  I once  started 
the  curious  inquiry  to  the  great  man  who 
was  the  subject  of  this  compliment:  he 
smiled,  but  did  not  pursue  it. 

I first  consulted  with  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, who  perfectly  coincided  in  opinion 
with  me ; and  I therefore,  though  person- 
ally very  little  known  to  his  lordship,  wrote 
to  him3,  stating  the  case,  and  requesting 
his  good  offices  for  Dr.  Johnson.  I men- 
tioned that  I was  obliged  to  set  out  for 
Scotland  early  in  the  following  week,  so 
that  if  his  lordship  should  have  any  com- 
mands for  me  as  to  this  pious  negotiation, 
he  would  be  pleased  to  send  them  before 
that  time,  otherwise  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
would  give  all  attention  to  it. 

[The  following  is  a copy  of  this  letter: 

“ MR.  BOSWELL  TO  LORD  THURLOW. 

“ General  Paoli’s,  Upper  Seymour  Street, 
Portman  Square,  24th  June,  1784. 

R “ My  lord, — Dr.  Samuel  John- 

Mss.  son,  though  wonderfully  recovered 
from  a complication  of  dangerous 
illness,  is  by  no  means  well,  and  1 have 
reason  to  think  that  his  valuable  life  can- 


1 [See  ante , p.  401. — Ed.] 

2 [As  this  was  not  said  to  Mr.  Boswell  himself, 
foe  Editor  ventures  to  disbelieve  that  it  was  said 
at  all.  It  is  very  nearly  nonsense,  and  the  kind 
of  nonsense  the  least  like  any  thing  that  Doctor 
Johnson  could  say.  Mr.  Boswell,  it  seems,  re- 
peated the  story  to  Lord  Thurlow,  and  his  lord- 
ship  “ smiled' ’ — perhaps  at  so  direct  and  awk- 
ward an  attempt  at  flattery. — Ed.] 

3 It  is  strange  that  Sir  John  Hawkins  should 
have  related  that  the  application  was  made  by  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  when  he  could  so  easily  have 
been  informed  of  the  truth  by  inquiring  of  Sir 
Joshua.  Sir  John’s  carelessness  to  ascertain  facts 
is  very  remarkable. — Boswell.  [Mr.  Boswell 
is,  as  usual,  unjust  towards  Sir  J.  Hawkins. 
Johnson’s  own  letter  of  thanks  to  Lord  Thurlow 
mentions  Sir  Joshua  as  the  channel  of  communi- 
cation on  the  subject,  and  does  not  allude  to  Bos- 
well; so  that  Hawkins  had  no  reason  to  suspect 
that  Mr.  Boswell  had  any  thing  to  do  with  it ; and 
we  shall  see  by  and  by  some  reason  to  suspect 
that  Sir  Joshua  was  not  anxious  that  Mr.  Boswell’s 
name  should  appear  in  the  transaction.  The  Editor 
cannot  guess  why  Mr.  Boswell  did  not  print  his 
own  fetter  to  Lord  Thurlow,  which  is  now  given 
from  a copy  in  his  hand,  in  the  Reynolds  papers. 
—Ed.] 

VOL.  II. 


40  J 

not  be  preserved  long  without  »he  being 
nant  influence  of  a southern  clinvate. 

tc  It  would  therefore  be  of  very  great 
moment  wTere  he  to  go  to  Italy  before  win 
ter  sets  in ; and  I know  he  wishes  it  much. 
But  the  objection  is,  that  his  pension  of 
three  hundred  pounds  a year  would  not  be 
sufficient  to  defray  his  expense,  and  make 
it  convenient  for  M.  Sastces,  an  ingenious 
and  worthy  native  of  that  country,  and  a 
teacher  of  Italian  here,  to  accompany  him 

“ As  I am  well  assured  of  your  lordship’s 
regard  for  Dr.  Johnson,  I presume,  without 
his  knowledge,  so  far  to  indulge  my  anxious 
concern  for  him,  as  to  intrude  upon  your 
lordship  with  this  suggestion,  being  per- 
suaded that  if  a representation  of  the  mat- 
ter were  made  to  his  majesty  by  proper  au- 
thority, the  royal  bounty  would  be  ex- 
tended in  a suitable  manner. 

“ Your  lordship,  I cannot  doubt,  will 
forgive  me  for  taking  this  liberty.  I even 
flatter  myself  you  will  approve  of  it.  I am 
to  set  out  for  Scotland  on  Monday  morn- 
ing, so  that  if  your  lordship  should  have 
any  commands  for  me  as  to  this  pious  nego- 
tiation, you  will  be  pleased  to  send  them 
befoie  that  time.  But  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, with  whom  I have  consulted,  will  be 
here,  and  will  gladly  give  all  attention  to 
it.  I am,  with  very  great  respect,  my  lord, 
your  lordship’s  most  obedient  and  most 
humble  servant,  “ James  Boswell.”] 

This  application  was  made  not  only 
without  any  suggestion  on  the  part  of 
Johnson  himself,  but  was  utterly  unknown 
to  him,  nor  had  he  the  smallest  suspicion 
of  it.  Any  insinuations,  therefore,  which 
since  his  death  have  been  thrown  out,  a? 
if  he  had  stooped  to  ask  what  was  superflu- 
ous, are  without  any  foundation.  But,  had 
he  asked  it,  it  would  not  have  bden  super- 
fluous; for  though  the  money  he  had  saved 
proved  to  be  more  than  his  friends  im- 
agined, or  than  I believe  he  himself,  in  his 
carelessness  concerning  worldly  matters, 
knew  it  to  be,  had  he  travelled  upon  the 
continent,  an  augmentation  of  his  income 
would  by  no  means  have  been  unnecessary. 

On  Wednesday,  June  23, 1 v.isited  him  in 
the  morning,  after  having  been  present  at 
the  shocking  sight4  of  fifteen  men  executed 
before  Newgate.  I said  to  him  I was  sure 
that  human  life  was  not  machinery,  that  is 
to  say,  a chain  of  fatality  planned  and  di- 
rected by  the  Supreme  Being  as  it  had  in 
it  so  much  wickedness  and  misery,  so  many 
instances  of  both,  as  that  by  which  my 
mind  was  now  clouded.  Were  it  machin- 
ery, it  would  be  better  than  it  is  in  these 
respects,  though  less  noble,  as  not  being  a 

4  [A  shocking  sight  indeed! — but  Mr.  Boswell 
was  fond  of  enjoying  those  shocking  sights,  which 
yet,  he  said,  “ clouded  his  mind.” — Ep,] 


51 


*02 


1784.— ^ETAT.  75 


system  of  moral  government.  He  agreed 
with  me  now,  as  he  always  did,  upon  the 
great  question  of  the  liberty  of  the  human 
will,  which  has  been  in  all  ages  perplexed 
with  so  much  sophistry:  “ But,  sir,  as  to  the 
doctrine  of  necessity,  no  man  believes  it. 
If  a man  should  give  me  arguments  that  I 
do  not  see,  though  I could  not  answer  them, 
should  I believe  that  I do  not  see?”  It  will 
be  observed,  that  Johnson  at  all  times  made 
the  just  distinction  between  doctrines  con- 
trary to  reason,  and  doctrines  above  reason. 

Talking  of  the  religious  discipline  proper 
for  unhappy  convicts,  he  said,  “ Sir,  one  of 
our  regular  clergy  will  probably  not  impress 
their  minds  sufficiently:  they  should  be  at- 
tended by  a methodist  preacher  1,  or  a po- 
pish piiest.”  Let  me  however  observe, 
in  justice  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Yilette,  who 
has  been  ordinary  of  Newgate  for  no  less 
than  eighteen  years,  in  the  course  of  which 
he  has  attended  many  hundreds  of  wretched 
criminals,  that  his  earnest  and  humane  ex- 
hortations have  been  very  effectual.  His 
extraordinary  diligence  is  highly  praise- 
worthy, and  merits  a distinguished  reward.1 2 

On  Thursday,  J une  24, 1 dined  with  him  at 
Mr.  Dilly’s,  where  were  the  Rev.  Mr.  (now 
Dr.)  Knox,  master  of  Tunbridge  School, 
Mr.  Smith,  vicar  of  Southill,  Dr.  Beattie, 
Mr.  Pinkerton,  author  of  various  literary 
performances3,  and  the  Rev.  Dr.  Mayo.  At 
my  desire  old  Mr.  Sheridan  was  invited,  as 
I was  earnest  to  have  Johnson  and  him 
brought  together  again  by  chance,  that  a 
reconciliation  might  be  effected.  Mr. 
Sheridan  happened  to  come  early,  and  hav- 
ing learnt  that  Dr.  Johnson  was  to  be  there, 
went  away;  so  I found,  with  sincere  regret, 
that  my  friendly  intentions  were  hopeless  4. 
I recollect  nothing  that  passed  this  day,  ex- 
cept Johnson’s  quickness,  who,  when  Dr. 
Beattie  observed,  as  something  remarkable 
which  had  happened  to  him,  that  he  had 
chanced  to  see  both  No.  1 and  No.  1000 
of  the  hackney-coaches,  the  first  and  the 
last — “ Why,  sir,”  said  Johnson,  “ there  is 

1 A friend  of  mine  happening  to  be  passing  by 
aj field  congregation  in  the  environs  of  London, 
when  a methodist  preacher  quoted  this  passage 
with  triumph. — Boswell. 

2 I trust  that  the  City  of  London,  m v happily 
in  unison  with  the  court,  will  have  the  justice  and 
generosity  to  obtain  preferment  for  this  reverend 
gentleman,  now  a worthy  old  servant  of  that 
magnificent  corporation. — Boswell.  [This  wish 
was  not  accomplished.  Mr.  Vihtte  died  in  April, 
1799,  having  been  nearly  thirty  years  chaplain  of 
Newgate. — Ed.] 

3 [The  same  whose  con  spondence  has  been 
lately  published. — Ed.] 

4 [No  doubt  Mr.  Boswell’s  intentions  were 
friendly,  but  he  certainly  had  himself  contributed 
by  his  indiscretions  to  keep  alive  the  old  animosity. 

-Ed.] 


an  equal  chance  for  one's  seeing  those  twe 
numbers  as  any  other  two.”  He  was  clearly 
right;  yet  the  seeing  of  the  two  extremes, 
each  of  which  is  in  some  degree  more  con- 
spicuous than  the  rest,  could  not  but  strike 
one  in  a stronger  manner  than  the  sight  of 
any  other  two  numbers. — Though  I have 
neglected  to  preserve  his  conversation,  it 
was  perhaps  at  this  interview  that  Dr.  Knox 
formed  the  notion  of  it  which  he  has  exhib- 
ited in  his  “ Winter  Evenings.” 

On  Friday,  June  25,  I dined  with  him  at 
General  Paoli’s,  where,  he  says  in  one  of  his 
letters  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  “ I love  to  dine.” 
There  was  a variety  of  dishes  much  to  his 
taste,  of  all  which  he  seemed  to  me  to  eat 
so  much,  that  I was  afraid  he  might  be  hurt 
by  it;  and  I whispered  to  the  General  my 
fear,  and  begged  he  might  not  press  him. 
“ Alas ! ” said  the  General,  “ see  how  very 
ill  he  looks;  he  can  live  but  a very  short 
time.  Would  you  refuse  any  slight  grati- 
fications to  a man  under  sentence  of  death? 
There  is  a humane  custom  in  Italy, 
by  which  persons  in  that  melancholy  sit- 
uation are  indulged  with  having  whatever 
they  like  best  to  eat  and  drink,  even  with 
expensive  delicacies.” 

I showed  him  some  verses  on  Lichfield 
by  Miss  Seward,  which  I had  that  day  re- 
ceived from  her,  and  had  the  pleasure  to 
hear  him  approve  of  them.  He  confirmed 
to  me  the  truth  of  a high  compliment  which 
I had  been  told  he  had  paid  to  that  lady, 
when  she  mentioned  to  him  “ The  Cohim- 
biade,”  an  epick  poem,  by  Madame  du 
Boccage:— C£  Madam,  there  is  not  anything 
equal  to  your  description  of  the  sea  round 
the  North  Pole,  in  your  Ode  on  the  Death 
of  Captain  Cook.” 

[I  have  thus  quoted  a compli-  Gent.  Mag. 
ment  paid  by  Dr.  Johnson  to  one  1793> 
of  this  lady’s  poetical  pieces,  and  p*  l011‘ 
f have  withheld  his  opinion  of  herself, 
thinking  that  she  might  not  like  it.  I am 
afraid  that  it  has  reached  her  by  some  oth- 
er means,  and  thus  we  may  account  for  th«. 
various  attacks  made  by  her  on  her  venera- 
ble towsnman  since  his  decease;  some 
avowed,  and  with  her  own  name — others, 
I believe,  in  various  forms  and  under  seve- 
eral  signatures.  What  are  we  to  think  of 
the  scraps  5 of' letters  between  her  and  Mr. 


5  [A  specimen  of  these  scraps  will  amuse  the 
reader,  and  more  than  justify  Mr.  Boswell’s 
censure  of  Miss  Seward. 

“ MISS  SEWARD  TO  MR.  HAYLEY. 

“ 1782. 

“You  have  seen  Dr.  Johnson’s  * Lives  of  the 
Poets  :’  they  have  excited  your  generous  indigna- 
tion: a heart  like  Mr.  Hay  ley’s  would  shrink  back 
astonished  to  perceive  a mind  so  enriched  with 
the  power  of  genius,  capable  of  such  cool  malig- 
nity. Yet  the  Gentleman’s  Magazine  praised 


1784— iftTAT.  75. 


403 


"Hayley,  impotently  attempting  to  under- 
mine the  noble  pedestal  on  which  public 
opinion  has  placed  Dr.  Johnson1.] 

“ TO  MRS.  THRALE. 

“ London,  26th  June,  1784. 

Letters,  “ A message  came  to  me  yesterday 
voi.  ii.  to  tell  me  that  Macbean  is  dead,  af- 
p‘  373‘  ter  three  days  of  illness.  He  was 

these  unworthy  efforts  to  blight  the  laurels  of  un- 
doubted fame.  O that  the  venom  may  fall  where 
it  ought! — that  the  breath  of  public  contempt  may 
blow  it  from  the  beauteous  wreaths,”  &c.  &c. 
“ I turn  from  this  comet  in  literature  {Dr.  John- 
son) to  its  Sun, — Mr.  Hayley  !” 

“MR.  HAYLEY  TO  MISS  SEWARD. 

“5th  August. 

“ I have  read  the  ‘ Lives  of  the  Poets,  with  as 
much  indignation  as  you  can  give  me  credit  for — 
with  a strange  mixture  of  detestation  and  delight. 
As  his  language,  to  give  the  devil  his  due,  is 
frequently  sublime  and  enriched  with  certain 
diabolical  graces  of  his  own,  I continue  to  listen 
to  him,  whenever  he  speaks,  with  an  equal  mix- 
ture of  admiration  and  abhorrence.” 

Hayley  seems  to  have  been  puzzled  between 
his  real  admiration  of  Johnson  and  his  wish  to  ap- 
pear to  share  the  indignation  of  his  fair  corres- 
pondent, who  evidently  did  not  like  the  expres- 
sion of  “ delight  ” and  “ admiration  ” with 
which  Hayley  had  qualified  his  assent.  She 
therefore  artfully  enough  seeks  to  enlist  him  more 
thoroughly  in  her  cause  by  insinuating  that  John- 
son, who  was  then  at  Lichfield,  and  whom,  after 
Churchill,  she  calls  “ Jmmane  Pomposo,”  had 
spoken  coldly  of  Hayley’s  poetry,  while  she 
“ kept  an  indignant  silence.’  ’ This  partly  suc- 
ceeds, and  Hayley’s  reply  is  a little  more  satisfac- 
tory to  the  ireful  lady. 

“25th  October. 

“ Your  accovur.t  of  Pomposo  delights  me — that 
noble  leviathan  who  lashes  the  troubled  waters 
into  a sublime  but  mischievous  storm  of  turbulence 
and  mud,”  &c. 

But  she  was  still  dissatisfied: — “ I am  dubious,” 
she  says,  “ about  the  epithet  noble;  ” and  then 
she  proceeds  with  a long  see-saw  galimatliias 
of  praise  and  dispraise  of  his  charity  and  genius  on 
the  one  hand,  and  of  his  acrimony,  envy,  malig- 
nity, bigotry,  and  superstition,  on  the  other. 

Miss  Seward  stated  afterwards  that  this  trash 
nad  been  published  without  her  consent;  though 
she  admitted  having  sent  it  to  some  of  her  distant 
friends,  “ induced  by  the  wit  and  elegance  of 
the  Hay  lean  passages.”  This  latter  motive  the 
Editor  is  sorry  to  say  he  wholly  disbelieves,  for 
he  finds  that  the  Haylean  passages  are  but  two, 
and  contain  but  thirty-two  lines  of  the  letter- 
press;  while  Miss  Seward’s  own  are  four  in  num- 
ber, and  extend  to  a hundred  and  ninety-one 
lints;  that  the  correspondence  begins  and  ends 
wilh  her,  and  clearly  has  no  objects  whatsoever 
but  to  exalt  herself  and  depreciate  Dr.  Johnson. 
Mr.  llayley  attempted  to  ridicule  Johnson  in  the 
character  of  Rumble  in  one  of  his  dull  rhyming 
comedies,  and  in  a Dialogue  of  the  Dead,  which 
was  dead-born. — Ed.] 

1 [This  passage  is  an  extract  from  Mr.  Boswell’s 


one  of  those  who,  as  Swift  says,  stood  as 
a screen  between  me  and  death  He  has,  1 
hope,  made  a good  exchange.  He  was 
very  pious  ; he  was  very  innocent ; he  did 
no  ill ; and  of  doing  good  a continual  ten- 
our  of  distress  allowed  him  few  opportuni- 
ties : he  was  very  highly  esteemed  in  the 
house2.”] 

On  Sunday,  June  27,  I found  him  rathei 
better.  I mentioned  to  him  a young  man 
who  was  going  to  Jamaica  with  his  wife 
and  children,  in  expectation  of  being  pro- 
vided for  by  two  of  her  brothers  settled  in 
that  island,  one  a clergyman  and  the  other 
a physician.  Johnson.  “ It  is  a wild 
scheme,  sir,  unless  he  has  a positive  and  de- 
liberate invitation.  There  was  a poor  girl, 
who  used  to  come  about  me,  who  had  a 
cousin  in  Barbadoes,  that,  in  a letter  to  her, 
expressed  a wish  she  should  come  out  to 
that  island,  and  expatiated  on  the  comforts 
and  happiness  of  her  situation.  The  poor 
girl  went  out : her  cousin  was  much  sur- 
prised, and  asked  her  how  she  could  think 
of  coming.  c Because,’  said  she,  ‘ you  in- 
vited me.’ — c Not  I,’  answered  the  cousin. 
The  letter  was  then  produced.  ‘ I see  it  is 
true,’  said  she,  £ that  I did  invite  you  : but 
I did  not  think  you  would  come.’  They 
lodged  her  in  an  out-house,  where  she  pass- 
ed her  time  miserably  ; and  as  soon  as  she 
had  an  opportunity  she  returned  to  England. 
Always  tell  this  when  you  hear  of  people 
going  abroad  to  relations  upon  a notion  of 
being  well  received.  In  the  case  which 
you  mention,  it  is  probable  the  clergyman 
spends  all  he  gets,  and  the  physician  does 
not  know  how  much  he  is  to  get.” 

We  this  day  dined  at  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds’s, with  General  Paoli,  Lord  Eliot 
(formerly  Mr.  Eliot,  of  Port  Eliot),  Dr. 
Beattie,  and  some  other  company.  Talk- 
ing of  Lord  Chesterfield  : — Johnson.  “ His 
manner  was  exquisitely  elegant,  and  he  had 
more  knowledge  than  I expected.”  Bos- 
well. “ Did  you  find,  sir,  his  conversa- 
tion to  be  of  a superiour  style  ? ” John- 
son. “ Sir,  in  the  conversation  which  I 
had  with  him  I had  the  best  right  to  supe- 
riority, for  it  was  upon  philology  and  lit- 
erature.” Lord  Eliot,  who  had  travelled  at 
the  same  time  with  Mr.  Stanhope,  Lord 
Chesterfield’s  natural  son,  justly  observed, 
that  it  was  strange  that  a man  who  showed 
he  had  so  much  affection  for  his  son  as 
Lord  Chesterfield  did,  by  writing  so  many 
long  and  anxious  letters  to  him,  almost  all  of 
them  when  he  was  secretary  of  state,  which 
certainly  was  a proof  of  great  goodness  of 
disposition,  should  endeavour  to  make  his 


controversy  with  Miss  Seward — Gentleman’s 
Magazine,  1793,  p.  1011. — Ed.] 

2 [The  Charter-IIobse,  into  which  Johnson 
had  procured  his  admission. — Ed  I 


404 


1784. — iETAT.  75. 


son  & rasca..  His  lordship  told  us  that 
Foote  had  intended  to  bring  on  the  stage  a 
father  who  had  thus  tutored  his  son,  and 
to  show  the  son  an  honest  man  to  every 
one  else,  but  practising  his  father’s  maxims 
upon  him,  and  cheating  him.  Johnson. 
“I  am  much  pleased  with  this  design  ; but 
I think  there  was  no  occasion  to  make  the 
son  honest  at  all.  No;  he  should  be  a 
consummate  rogue  : the  contrast  between 
honesty  and  knavery  would  be  the  strong- 
er. It  should  be  contrived  so  that  the  fa- 
ther should  be  the  only  sufferer  by  the  son’s 
villany,  and  thus  there  would  be  poetical 
justice.” 

Hawk  [Johnson  said  that  he  had  once 
Apoph.  seen  Mr.  Stanhope,  Lord  Chester- 
309  field’s  son,  at  Dodsley’s  shop,  and 
was  so  much  struck  with  his  awkward  man- 
ner and  appearance,  that  he  could  not  help 
asking  Mr.  Dodsley  who  he  was.] 

He  put  Lord  Eliot  in  mind  of  Dr.  Wal- 
ter Harte1.  “I  know,”  said  he,  “Harte 
was  your  lordship’s  tutor,  and  he  was  also 
tutor  to  the  Peterborough  family.  Pray, 
my  lord,  do  you  recollect  any  particulars 
that  he  told  you  of  Lord  Peterborough  ? 
He  is  a,  favourite  of  mine2,  and  is  not 
enough  known  ; his  character  has  been  on- 
y A#ntilated  in  party  pamphlets.”  Lord 
Eliot  said,  if  Dr.  Johnson  would  be  so  good 
as  to  ask  him  any  questions,  he  would  tell 
what  he  could  recollect.  Accordingly  some 
things  were  mentioned.  “ But,”  said  his 
lordship,  “ the  best  account  of  Lord  Peter- 
borough that  I have  happened  to  meet  with 
is  in  ‘ Captain  Carleton’s  Memoirs.’  Carle- 
ton  was  descended  of  an  ancestor3  who 
had  distinguished  himself  at  the  siege  of 
Derry.  He  was  an  officer  ; and,  what  was 
rare  at  that  time,  had  some  knowledge  of 
engineering.”  Johnson  said,  he  had  never 
heard  of  the  book.  Lord  Eliot  had  it  at 
Port  Eliot;  but,  after  a good  deal  of  inquiry, 
procured  a copy  in  London  4,  and  sent  it  to 
Johnson,  who  told  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
‘hat  he  was  going  to  bed  when  it  came, 
'ut  was  so  much  pleased  with  it,  that  he 
sat  up  till  he  had  read  it  through,  and  found 
in  it  such  an  air  of  truth,  that  he  could  not 
doubt  of  its  authenticity  ; adding,  with  a 
6mile  (in  allusion  to  Lord  Eliot’s  having 
recently  been  raised  to  the  peerage),  “ I 
did  not  think  a young  lord  could  have  men- 
tioned to  me  a book  in  the  English  history 
that  was  not  known  to  me.” 

An  addition  to  mir  company  came  after 


1 [See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  168. — Ed.] 

2 [See  ante,  p.  273,  his  observation  on  Pope’s 
noble  friends. — Ed.] 

3 [This  is  absurd — Carleton  himself  was  in  one 
of  James's  sea  fights  long  prior  to  the  siege  of 
Derry. — Ed.] 

• [Carleton  s very  amusing  Memoirs  were 
republished  in  1808,  in  an  8vo.  volume. — Ed.] 


we  went  up  to  the  drawing-room  ; Dr. 
Johnson  seemed  to  rise  in  spirits  as  his  au- 
dience increased.  He  said,  he  wished  Lord 
Orford’s  pictures  5 and  Sir  Ashton  Lever’s 
museum  6 might  be  purchased  by  the  pub- 
lick,  because  both  the  money,  and  the  pic- 
tures, and  the  curiosities  would  remain  in 
the  country;  whereas  if  they  were  sold  into 
another  kingdom,  the  nation  would  indeed 
get  some  money,  but  would  lose  the  pic- 
tures and  curiosities,  which  it  would  be  de- 
sirable we  should  have  for  improvement  in 
taste  and  natural  history.  The  only  ques- 
tion was,  as  the  nation  was  much  in  want 
of  money,  whether  it  would  not  be  better  to 
take  a large  price  from  a foreign  state? 

He  entered  upon  a curious  discussion  of 
the  difference  between  intuition  and  sagaci- 
ty ; one  being  immediate  in  its  effect,  the 
other  requiring  a circuitous  process ; one, 
he  observed,  was  the  eye  of  the  mind,  the 
other  the  nose  of  the  mind7. 

A young  gentleman8  present  took  up  the 
argument  against  him,  and  maintained  that 
no  man  ever  thinks  of  the  nose  of  the  mind , 
not  adverting  that  though  that  figurative 
sense  seems  strange  to  us,  as  very  unusual, 
it  is  truly  not  more  forced  than  Hamlet’s 
“ In  my  mind’s  eye,  Horatio.”  He  persist- 
ed much  too  long,  and  appeared  to  Johnson 
as  putting  himself  forward  as  his  antagonist 
with  too  much  presumption:  upon  which 
he  called  to  him  in  a loud  tone,  “What  is 
it  you  are  contending  for,  if  you  be  contend- 
ing ? ” — And  afterwards  imagining  that  the 
gentleman  retorted  upon  him  with  a kind  of 
smart  drollery,  he  said,  “ Mr.  *****  it  does 
not  become  you  to  talk  so  to  me.  Besides, 
ridicule  is  not  your  talent  ; you  have  there 
neither  intuition  nor  sagacity.” — The  gen- 
tleman protested  that  he  had  intended  no 
improper  freedom,  but  had  the  greatest 
respect  for  Dr.  Johnson.  After  a short 
pause,  during  which  we  were  somewhat  un- 
easy ; — Johnson.  “ Give  me  your  hand, 
sir.  You  were  too  tedious,  and  I was  too 


5 [The  fine  Houghton  collection,  which  was 
sold  to  the  Empress  of  Russia. — Ed.] 

6 [Sir  Ashton  Lever  was  knighted  by  George 
the  Third.  He  died  in  1788.  His  celebrated 
museum  (valued  before  a committee  of  the  house 
of  commons  at  5^,0001.)  was  disposed  of,  in 
1784,  by  a private  lottery,  to  Mr.  Parkinson,  who 
removed  it  to  Albion-place,  Blackfriars-bridge, 
where  it  was  for  many  years  open  as  an  exhibi- 
tion. The  several  articles  of  which  it  was  com- 
posed were  afterwards  sold  separately  by  auction. 
— Ed.] 

7 [These  illustrations  were  probably  suggested 
by  the  radical  meaning  of  the  words,  the  first  of 
which,  in  Latin,  properly  belongs  to  sight , and 
the  latter  to  smelt. — Ed.] 

8 [The  epithet  “ young  ” was  added  after  the 
two  first  editions,  and  the  *****  substituted  in- 

stea  1 of  a dash , which  lead  to  a suspicion 

tbs*  ■ >ung  Mr.  Buikc  was  meant. — Ed.] 


1784.— iETAT.  76. 


short  1 Mr.  *****.  “ Sir,  I am  honoured 
by  your  attention  in  anyway.”  Johnson. 

“ Come,  sir,  let ’s  have  no  more  of  it.  We 
offended  one  another  by  our  contention  ; 
let  us  not  offend  the  company  by  our  com- 
pliments.” 

He  now  said,  he  wished  much  to  go  to 
Italy,  and  that  he  dreaded  passing  the  win- 
ter in  England.  I said  nothing  ; but  en- 
joyed a secret  satisfaction  in  thinking  that 
I had  taken  the  most  effectual  measures  to 
make  such  a scheme  practicable. 

On  Monday,  June  28,  I had  the  honour 
to  receive  from  the  Lord  Chancellor  the  fol- 
lowing letter : 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“ Sir, — I should  have  answered  your 
letter  immediately,  if  (being  much  engaged 
when  I received  it)  I had  not  put  it  in  my 
pocket,  and  forgot  to  open  it  till  this  morn- 
ing. 

“ I am  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  sug- 
gestion ; and  I will  adopt  and  press  it  as 
far  as  I can.  The  best  argument,  I am  sure, 
and  I hope  it  is  not  likely  to  fail,  is  Dr. 
Johnson’s  merit.  But  it  will  be  necessary, 
if  I should  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  miss  see- 
ing you,  to  converse  with  Sir  Joshua  on 
the  sum  it  will  be  proper  to  ask, — in  short, 
upon  the  means  of  setting  him  out.  It 
would  be  a reflection  on  us  all  if  such  a 
man  should  perish  for  want  of  the  means  to 
take  care  of  his  health.  Yours,  &c. 

“ Thurlow.” 

This  letter  gave  me  very  high  satisfac- 
tion ; I next  day  went  and  showed  it  to 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  who  Avas  exceedingly 
pleased  with  it.  He  thought  that  I should 
now  communicate  the  negotiation  to  Dr. 
Johnson,  who  might  afienvards  complain 
if  the  attention  Avith  Avhich  he  had  been 
honoured  should  be  too  long  concealed  from 
him.  I intended  to  set  out  for  Scotland 
next  morning  ; but  Sir  Joshua  cordially 
insisted  that  I should  stay  another  day,  that 
Johnson  and  I might  dine  with  him,  that 
we  three  might  talk  of  his  Italian  tour,  and, 
as  Sir  Joshua  expressed  himself,  “ have  it 
all  out.”  I hastened  to  Johnson,  and  Avas 
told  by  him  that  he  was  rather  better  to- 
day. Boswell.  “ I am  very  anxious 
about  you,  sir,  and  particularly  that  you 
should  go  to  Italy  for  the  winter,  which  I 
believe  is  your  own  wish.”  Johnson.  “It  is, 
sir.”  Boswell.  “ You  have  no  objection, 
I presume,  but  the  money  it  Avould  re- 
quire.” Johnson.  “ Why,  no,  sir.”  Up- 
on which  I gave  him  a particular  account 
of  what  had  been  done,  and  read  to  him  the 
Lord  Chancellor’s  letter.  He  listened  with 
much  attention  ; then  Avarmly  said,  “ This 
is  taking  prodigious  pains  about  a man.” 
“ O,  sir,”  said  I,  Avith  most  sincere  affection, 


4 Oh 

“ your  friends  would  d every  thjng  for 
you.”  He  paused, — grew  more  and  more 
agitated, — till  tears  started  into  his  eyes, 
and  he  exclaimed  with  fervent  emotion^ 
“ God  bless  you  all  ! ” I was  so  affected 
that  I also  shed  tears.  After  a short  si- 
lence, he  renewed  and  extended  his  grate- 
ful benediction,  “ God  bless  you  all,  for 
Jesus  Christ’s  sake.”  We  both  remain- 
ed for  some  time  unable  to  speak.  He  rose 
suddenly  and  quitted  the  room,  quite  melt- 
ed in  tenderness.  He  staid  but  a short 
time,  till  he  had  recovered  his  firmness  ; 
soon  after  he  returned  I left  him,  having 
first  engaged  him  to  dine  at  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds’s  next  day.  I never  was  again 
under  that  roof  which  I had  so  long  rever- 
enced. 

On  Wednesday,  June  30,  the  friendly 
confidential  dinner  with  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds took  place,  no  other  company  being 
present.  Had  I knoAvn  that  this  was  the 
last  time  that  I should  enjoy  in  this  world 
the  conversation  of  a friend  Avhorn  1 so 
much  respected,  and  from  whom  I derived 
so  much  instruction  and  entertainment,  1 
should  have  been  deeply  affected.  When 
I now  look  back  to  it,  I am  vexed  that  a 
single  word  should  have  been  forgotten. 

Both  Sir  Joshua  and  I were  so  sanguine 
in  our  expectations,  that  we  expatiated 
with  confidence  on  the  liberal  provision 
which  we  were  sure  Avould  be  made  for  him, 
conjecturing  whether  munificence  would  be 
displayed  in  one  large  donation,  or  in  an 
ample  increase  of  his  pension.  He  himself 
catched  so  much  of  our  enthusiasm  as  to 
allow  himself  to  suppose  it  not  impossible 
that  our  hopes  might  in  one  way  or  other  be 
realized.  He  said  that  he  would  rather 
have  his  pension  doubled  than  a grant  of  a 
thousand  pounds;  “ For,”  said  he,  “ though 
probably  I may  not  live  to  receive  as  much 
as  a thousand  pounds,  a man  Avould  have 
the  consciousness  that  he  should  pass  the 
remainder  of  his  life  in  splendour,  how  long 
soever  it  might  be.”  Considering  what  a 
moderate  proportion  an  income  of  six  hun- 
dred pounds  a-year  bears  to  innumerable 
fortunes  in  this  country,  it  is  worthy  of  re- 
mark, that  a man  so  truly  great  should  think 
it  splendour. 

As  an  instance  of  extraordinary  liberality 
of  friendship,  he  told  us  that  Dr.  Brocklesby 
had  upon  this  occasion  offered  him  a hun- 
dred a-year  for  his  life  h A grateful  tear 


1 [It  should  be  recollected  that  the  amiable 
and  accomplished  man  who  made  this  generous 
offer  to  the  tory  champion  was  a keen  whig; 
and  it  is  stated  in  the  Biographical  Dictionary , 
that  he  pressed  Johnson  in  his  last  illness  to  re- 
move to  his  house  for  the  more  immediate  con- 
venience of  medical  advice.  Dr.  Brocklesby  died 
in  1797,  aet.  76.  lie  was  a very  intimate  friend 


400 


1784.— iETAT.  75. 


started  into  nis  eye,  as  he  spoke  this  in  a 
faltering  tone. 

Sir  Joshua  and  I endeavoured  to  flatter 
his  imagination  with  agreeable  prospects  of 
happiness  in  Italy.  “ Nay,”  said  he,  “ I 
must  not  expect  much  of  that;  when  a man 
goes  to  Italy  merely  to  feel  how  he  breathes 
the  air,  he  can  enjoy  very  little.” 

Our  conversation  turned  upon  living  in 
the  country,  which  Johnson,  whose  melan- 
choly mind  required  the  dissipation  of  quick 
successive  variety,  had  habituated  himself 
to  consider  as  a kind  of  mental  imprison- 
ment. “ Yet,  sir,”  said  I,  “ there  are  many 
people  who  are  content  to  live-in  the  coun- 
try.” Johnson.  “ Sir,  it  is  in  the  intel- 
lectual world  as  in  the  physical  world:  we 
are  told  by  natural  philosophers  that  a body 
is  at  rest  in  the  place  that  is  fit  for  it;  they 
who  are  content  to  live  in  the  country  are 
fit  for  the  country.” 

Talking  of  various  enjoyments,  I argued 
that  a refinement  of  taste  was  a disadvan- 
tage, as  they  who  have  attained  to  it  must 
be  seldomer  pleased  than  those  who  have  no 
nice  discrimination,  and  are  therefore  satis- 
fied with  every  thing  that  comes  in  their 
way.  Johnson.  “ Nay,  sir,  that  is  a pal- 
try notion.  Endeavour  to  be  as  perfect  as 
you  can  in  every  respect.” 

I accompanied  him  in  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds’s coach  to  the  entry  of  Bolt-court. 
He  asked  me  whether  I would  not  go  with 
him  to  his  house;  I declined  it,  from  an  ap- 
prehension that  my  spirits  would  sink.  We 
bade  adieu  to  each  other  affectionately  in 
the  carriage.  When  he  had  got  down  upon 
the  foot-pavement,  he  called  out,  “ Fare 
you  well!”  and,  without  looking  back, 
sprang  away  with  a kind  of  pathetick  brisk- 
ness, if  I may  use  that  expression,  which 
seemed  to  indicate  a struggle  to  conceal  un- 
easiness, and  impressed  me  with  a forebod- 
ing of  our  long,  long  separation. 

I remained  one  day  more  in  town,  to 
have  the  chance  of  talking  over  my  negoti- 
ation with  the  Lord  Chancellor;  but  the 
multiplicity  of  his  lordship’s  important  en- 
gagements did  not  allow  of  it;  so  I left  the 

of  the  celebrated  Charles  Townshend,  as  well  as 
of  Mr.  Burke  to  whom  he  had  bequeathed  1000/. 
in  his  will;. but  recollecting  that  he  might  outlive 
his  friend,  or  that  the  legacy  might  fall  when  Mr. 
Burke  did  not  want  it,  he  requested  him  to  accept 
it  from  his  living  hand,  “ ut  pignus  amicitice .” 
Doctor  Brocklesby’s  name  was  the  subject  of  one 
of  Mr.  Burke’s  playful  puns.  There  was,  cotem- 
porary with  him,  in  London,  a low  quack  who 
called  himself  Doctor  Rock.  One  day  Mr.  Burke 
called  Brockleshy  Doctor  Rock,  and  on  his  taking 
some  offence  at  this  disreputable  appellation,  Burke 
undertook  to  prove  algebraically' that  Rock  was 
his  proper  name,  thus,  ‘ Brock — b = Rock ,” 
or  “ brock  less  b,  ma^es  Rock.”  Q.  E.  D. — 
Ed.) 


management  of  the  business  in  the  hands  of 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

Soon  after  this  time  Dr.  Johnson  had  the 
mortification  of  being  informed  by  Mrs. 
Thrale,  that  “ what  she  supposed  he  never 
believed  ” was  true;  namely,  that  she  was 
actually  going  to  marry  Signor  Piozzi,  an 
Italian  musick-master. 

[“MRS.  PIOZZI1  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“ Bath,  30th  June,  [1784.J 

“ My  dear  sir, — The  enclosed  is  Lettera 
a circular  letter,  which  I have  sent  voi  ii.  ’ 
to  all  the  guardians;  but  our  friend-  P-  375- 
ship  demands  somewhat  more:  it  requires 
that  I should  beg  your  pardon  for  conceal 
ing  from  you  a connexion  which  you  must 
have  heard  of  by  many,  but  I suppose  never 
believed.  Indeed,  my  dear  sir,  it  was  con- 
cealed only  to  save  us  both  needless  pains. 
I could  not  have  borne  to  reject  that  coun 
sel  it  would  have  killed  me  to  take,  and  I 
only  tell  it  you  now  because  all  is  irrevoca- 
bly settled,  and  out  of  your  power  to  pre- 
vent. I will  say,  however,  that  the  dread 
of  your  disapprobation  has  given  me  some 
anxious  moments,  and  though,  perhaps,  1 
am  become  by  many  privations  the  most  in 
dependent  woman  in  the  world,  I feel  as  if 
acting  without  a parent’s  consent  till  yoi 
write  kindly  to  your  faithful  servant, 

“ H.  L.  P.”] 

He  endeavoured  to  prevent  it;  but  in  vain 

[The  following  is  the  only  letter  of  Eq 
Dr.  Johnson  on  this  subject  which  she  ° 
has  published: — 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MRS.  PIOZZI. 

“London,  July  8th,  1784. 

“ Dear  madam, — What  you  have  Letters, 
done,  however  I may  lament  it,  I voi.  ii. 
have  no  pretence  to  resent,  as  it  has  p-  376' 
not  been  injurious  to  me  : I therefore 
breathe,  out  one  sigh  more  of  tenderness, 
perhaps  useless,  but  at  least  sincere. 

“ I wish  that  God  may  grant  you  every 
blessing,  that  you  may  be  happy  in  this 
world  for  its  short  continuance,  and  eter- 
nally happy  in  a better  state;  and  whatevei 

1 [In  the  lady’s  own  publication  of  the  corres- 
pondence, this  letter  is  given  as  from  Mrs.  Piozzi , 
and  is  signed  with  the  initial  of  her  new  name  ; 
Dr.  Johnson’s  answer  is  also  addressed  to  Mrs. 
Piozzi,  and  both  the  letters  allude  to  the  matter  as 
done;  yet  it  appears  by  the  periodical  publications 
of  the  day  that  tke  marriage  did  not  take  place  until 
the  25 th  July.  The  Editor  knows  not  how  to 
account  for  this  but  by  supposing  that  Mrs.  Piozzi,  to 
avoid  Johnson’s  importunities,  had  staged  that  as 
done  which  was  only  settled  to  be  done.  Any 
reader  who  is  curious  about  this  miserable  mesal- 
liance will  find  it  most  acrimoniously  discussed 
in  Baretti's  Strictures  in  the  European  Magazin* 
for  1788. — Ed.) 


1784. — A5TAT.  75. 


407 


I can  contribute  to  your  happiness  I am  ve- 
ry ready  to  repay,  for  that  kindness  which 
soothed  twenty  years  of  a life  radically 
wretched. 

“ Do  not  think  slightly  of  the  advice 
which  I now  presume  to  offer.  Prevail  up- 
on M.  Piozzi  to  settle  in  England:  you  may 
live  here  with  more  dignity  than  in  Italy, 
and  with  more  security:  your  rank  will  be 
higher  and  your  fortune  more  under  your 
own  eye.  I desire  not  to  detail  all  my  rea- 
sons, but  every  argument  of  prudence  and 
interest  is  for  England,  and  only  some 
phantoms  of  imagination  seduce  you  to 
Italy 

“I  am  afraid,  however,  that  my  counsel 
is  vain;  yet  I have  eased  my  heart  by  giv- 
ing it. 

“ When  Queen  Mary  took  the  resolu- 
tion of  sheltering  herself  in  England,  the 
Archbishop  of'  St.  Andrew’s  attempting  to 
dissuade  her,  attended  on  her  journey;  and 
when  they  came  to  the  irremeable  stream 
that  separated  the  two  kingdoms,  walked 
Dy  her  side  into  the  water,  in  the  middle  of 
which  he  seized  her  bridle,  and  with  ear- 
nestness proportioned  to  her  danger  and  his 
own  affection  pressed  her  to  return.  The 
queen  went  forward.  If  the  parallel  reaches 
thus  far,  may  it  go  no  farther.  The  tears 
stand  in  my  eyes. 

u I am  going  into  Derbyshire,  and  hope 
.o  be  followed  by  your  good  wishes,  for  I 
am,  with  great  affection,  your,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson. 

kt  Any  letters  that  come  forme  hither  will 
be  sent  me.”] 

If  she  would  publish  the  whole  of  the  cor- 
respondence that  passed  between  Dr.  John- 
son and  her  on  the  subject,  we  should  have 
a full  view  of  his  real  sentiments.  As  it  is, 
our  judgment  must  be  biassed  by  that  char- 
acteristick  specimen  which  Sir  John  Haw- 
kins has  given  us  [in  the  following  pas- 
sage h] 

[About  the  middle  of  1784,  he 
p.a567*.  was’  to  appearance,  so  well,  that 
both  himself  and  his  friends  hoped 
that  he  had  some  years  to  live.  He  had  re- 
covered from  the  paralytic  stroke  of  the 
last  year  to  such  a degree,  that,  saving  a 
little  difficulty  in  his  articulation,  he  had  no 
remains  of  it:  he  had  also  undergone  a 
•slight  fit  of  the  gout,  and  conquered  an  op- 
pression on  his  lungs,  so  as  to  be  able,  as 
himself  told  me,  to  run  up  the  whole  stair- 
case of  the  Royal  Academy,  on  the  day  of 
the  annual  dinner  there.  In  short,  to  such 
a degree  of  health  was  he  restored,  that  he 
forgot  all  his  complaints:  he  resumed  sitting 
to  Opie  for  his  picture,  which  had  been  be- 

1 [Here  Mr.  Boswell  had  inserted  a few  lines 
of  the  passage,  which  the  Editor  thinks  right  to 
giv?  in  full. — Ed.] 


gun  the  year  before,  but,  I believe,  was 
never  finished,  and  accepted  an  invitation 
to  the  house  of  a friend  at  Ashbourne  in 
Derbyshire,  proposing  to  stay  there  till  to 
wards  the  end  of  the  summer,  and,  in  his 
return,  to  visit  Mrs.  Porter,  his  daughter- 
in-law,  and  others  of  his  friends,  at  Lichfield. 

A few  weeks  before  his  setting  out,  he 
was  made  uneasy  by  a report  that  the  widow 
of  his  friend  Mr.  Thrale  was  about  to  dis- 
pose of  herself  in  marriage  to  a foreigner,  a 
singer  by  profession,  and  with  him  to  quit 
the  kingdom.  Upon  this  occasion  he  took 
the  alarm,  and  to  prevent  a degradation  of 
herself,  and,  what  as  executor  of  her  hus- 
band was  more  his  concern,  the  desertion  of 
her  children,  wrote  to  her,  she  then  being 
at  Bath,  a letter,  of  which  the  following- 
spurious  copy  was  inserted  in  the  Gentle- 
man’s Magazine  for  December,  1784: — 

“ Madam, — II  you  are  already  ignommi- 
ously  married,  you  are  lost  beyond  redemp- 
tion;— if  you  are  not,  permit  me  one  hour’s 
conversation,  to  convince  you  that  such  a 
marriage  must  not  take  place.  If,  after  a 
whole  hour’s  reasoning,  you  should  not  be 
convinced,  you  will  still  be  at  liberty  to  act 
as  you  think  proper.  I have  been  extreme- 
ly ill,  and  am  still  ill;  but  if  you  grant  me 
the  audience  I ask,  I will  instantly  take  a 
post-chaise  and  attend  you  at  Bath.  Pray 
do  not  refuse  this  favour  to  a man  who  hath 
so  many  years  loved  and  honoured  you.” 

That  this  letter  is  spurious,  as  to  the  lan- 
guage, I have  Johnson’s  own  authority  for 
saying;  but,  in  respect  of  the  sentiments, 
he  avowed  it,  in  a declaration  to  me,  that 
not  a sentence  of  it  was  his,  but  yet  that  it 
was  an  adumbration  of  one  that  he  wrote 
upon  the  occasion.  It  may  therefore  be 
suspected,  that  some  one  who  had  heard 
him  repeat  the  contents  of  the  letter  had 
given  it  to  the  public  in  the  form  in  which 
it  appeared. 

What  answer  was  returned  to  his  friend 
ly  monition  I know  not,  but  it  seems  that  it 
was  succeeded  by  a letter  2 of  greater  length, 


2 [It  appears  as  if  Sir  J.  Hawkins,  who  had  not 
had  the  advantage  of  seeing  the  correspondence 
published  by  Mrs.  Piozzi,  had  made  some  confu- 
sion about  these  letters.  It  seems  clear  that  the 
first  of  the  series  must  have  been,  not  Johnson’s 
remonstrance,  but  hers,  (ante,  p.  406,  dated 
Bath,  30 th  June.  To  that  Johnson  probably 
replied  by  the  letter,  the  contents  of  which  are 
adumbrated  in  that  of  the  “ Gentleman's  Mag- 
azine.”  To  this  she  probably  rejoined  by  the 
letter  which  Sir  J.  Hawkins  says  that  he  saw,  to 
which  Johnson’s  of  the  8th  July,  given  above, 
may  have  been  the  reply.  Sir  J.  Hawkins  thinks 
that  there  were  three  letters  from  Dr.  Johnson, 
whereas  it  seems  probable  that  there  were  but  two 
of  which  one  only  is  preserved. — Ed  ] 


408 


V784.— JETAT.  75 


written,  as  it  afterwards  appeared,  too  iate 
to  do  any  good,  in  which  he  expressed  an 
opinion,  "that  the  person  to  whom  it  was 
addressed  had  forfeited  her  fame.  The  an- 
swer to  this  I have  seen:  it  is  written  from 
Bath,  and  contains  an  indignant  vindica- 
tion as  well  of  her  conduct  as  her  fame,  an 
inhibition  of  Johnson  from  following  her  to 
Bath,  and  a farewell,  concluding — cc  Till 
you  have  changed  your  opinion  of  [Piozzi] 
iet  us  converse  no  more.” 

From  the  style  of  the  letter,  a conclusion 
was  to  be  drawn  that  baffled  all  the  powers 
of  reasoning  and  persuasion: 

“ One  argument  she  summ’d  up  all  in, 

The  thing  was  done,  and  past  recalling  ” 

which  being  the  case,  he  contented  himself 
with  reflecting  on  what  he  had  done  to  pre- 
vent that  which  he  thought  one  of  the 
greatest  evils  that  could  befal  the  progeny 
of  his  friend,  the  alienation  of  the  affections 
of  their  mother.  He  looked  upon  the  de- 
sertion of  children  by  their  parents,  and  the 
withdrawing  from  them  that  protection, 
that  mental  nutriment,  which,  in  their 
youth,  they  are  capable  of  receiving,  the 
exposing  them  to  the  snares  and  tempta- 
tions of  the  world,  and  the  solicitations  and 
deceits  of  the  artful  and  designing,  as  most 
unnatural;  and  in  a letter  on  the  subject  to 
me,  written  from  Ashbourne,  thus  delivered 
his  sentiments:  v 

“ Poor  Thrale ! I thought  that  either  her 
virtue  or  her  vice,”  (meaning,  as  I under- 
stood, by  the  former,  the  love  of  her  chil- 
dren, and  by  the  latter  her  pride)  “ would 
have  restrained  her  from  such  a marriage. 
She  is  now  become  a subject  for  her  ene- 
mies to  exult  over,  and  for  her  friends,  if 
she  has  any  left,  to  forget  or  pity.”] 

It  must  be  admitted  that  Johnson  derived 
a considerable  portion  of  happiness  from  the 
comforts  and  elegancies  which  he  enjoyed 
in  Mr.  Thrale’s  family;  but  Mrs.  Thrale 
assures  us  he  was  indebted  for  these  to  her 
husband  alone,  who  certainly  respected  him 
sincerely.  Her  words  are,  “ Veneration 
for  his  virtue , reverence  for  his  talents , 
delight  in  his  conversation , and  habitual 
endurance  of  a yoke  my  husband  first  put 
upon  me,  and  of  which  he  contentedly  bore 
his  share  for  sixteen  or  seventeen  years, 
made  me  go  on  so  long  with  Mr.  Johnson; 
but  the  perpetual  confinement  I will  own  to 
have  been  terrifying  in  the  first  years  of  our 
friendship,  and  irksome  in  the  last;  nor 
could  I pretend  to  support  it  without  help, 
when  my  coadjutor  was  no  more .”  Alas! 
how  different  is  this  from  the  declarations 
which  I have  heard  Mrs.  Thrale  make  in 
his  lifetime,  without  a single  murmur  against 


1 Pope  and  Swift's  Miscellanies,  “ Phyllis,  or 
the  Progress  of  Love.” — Boswell. 


any  peculiarities,  or  against  any  one  c:r 
cumstance  which  attended  their  intimacy ! 

As  a sincere  friend  of  the  great  man  whose 
life  I am  writing,  I think  it  necessary  to  guard 
my  readers  against  the  mistaken  notion  of 
Dr.  Johnson’s  character,  which  this  lady’s 
“Anecdotes”  of  him  suggest;  for  from  the 
very  nature  and  form  of  her  book,  “ it  lends 
deception  lighter  wings  to  fly.” 

“ Let  it  be  remembered,”  says  an  eminent 
critick  2,  “ that  she  has  comprised  in  a small 
volume  all  that  she  could  recollect  of  Dr. 
Johnson  in  twenty  years,  during  which  pe- 
riod, doubtless,  some  severe  things  were 
said  by  him;  and  they  who  read  the  book  in 
two  hours  naturally  enough  suppose  that 
his  whole  conversation  was  of  this  com- 
plexion. But  the  fact  is,  I have  been  often 
in  his  company,  and  never  once  heard  him 
say  a severe  thing  to  any  one;  and  many 
others  can  attest  the  same.  When  he  did 
say  a severe  thing,  it  was  generally  extort- 
ed by  ignorance  pretending  to  knowledge, 
or  by  extreme  vanity  or  affectation. 

“ Two  instances  of  inaccuracy,”  adds  he, 
“ are  peculiarly  worthy  of  notice: 

“ It  is  said,  4 that  natural  rough-  piozaa 
ness  of  his  manner  so  often  mention-  Anec. 
ed  would,  notwithstanding  the  regu-  p‘  183‘ 
larity  of  his  notions,  burst  through  them  all 
from  time  to  time;  and  he  once  bade  a very 
celebrated  lady , who  praised  him  with  too 
much  zeal  perhaps,  or  perhaps  too  strong  an 
emphasis  {which always  offended  him),  con- 
sider what  her  flattery  was  worth  before 
she  choked  him  with  it.’ 

“ Now  let  the  genuine  anecdote  be  con 
trasted  with  this. — The  person  thus  repre- 
sented as  being  harshly  treated,  though  a 
very  celebrated  lady,  was  then  just  come  to 
London  from  an  obscure  situation  in  the 
country.  At  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s  one 
evening,  she  met  Dr.  Johnson.  She  very 
soon  began  to  pay  her  court  to  him  in  the 
most  fulsome  strain.  £ Spare  me,  I beseech 
you,  dear  madam,’  was  his  reply.  She  still 
laid  it  on.  ‘ Pray,  madam,  let  us  have  no 
more  of  this,’  he  rejoined.  Not  paying 
any  attention  to  these  warnings,  she  contin- 
ued still  her  eulogy.  At  length,  provoked 
by  this  indelicate  and  vain  obtrusion  of 


2 Who  has  been  pleased  to  furnish  me  with  hi* 
remarks. — Boswell.  [This  “ critic”  is  no  doubt 
Mr.  xVIalone,  whose  MS.  notes  on  Mrs.  Piozzi'e 
“ Anecdotes  ” contains  the  germs  of  these  criti- 
cisms. Several  of  his  similar  animadversions 
have  been  already  quoted,  with  the  editor's  rea- 
sons for  differing  essentially  from  Mr.  Boswell  and 
Mr.  Malone  in  their  estimate  of  Mrs.  Piozzi's 
work.  See  ante,  pp.  142,  258,  260,  261,  n. 
Mr.  Malone's  notes  were  communicated  to  me 
by  Mr.  Markland,  who  purchased  the  volume  at 
the  sale  of  the  library  of  the  late  James  Boswell 
junior,  in  1825. — Ed.] 


1784.— jETAT.  75. 


409 


compliments,  he  exelaimed,  ‘Dearest  lady, 
consider  with  yourself  what  your  flattery 
is  worth,  before  you  bestow  it  so  freely.’ 

“ How  different  does  this  story  appear  *, 
when  accompanied  with  all  those  circum- 
stances which  really  belong  to  it,  but  which 
Mrs.  Thrale  either  did  not  know,  or  has 
suppressed ! 

“ She  says,  in  another  place,  ‘ One  gen- 
tleman, however,  who  dined  at  a nobleman’s 
house  in  his  company , and  that  of  Mr. 
Thrale,  to  whom  I was  obliged  for  the  an- 
ecdote, was  willing  to  enter  the  lists  in  de- 
fence of  King  William’s  character;  and 
having  opposed  and  contradicted  Johnson 
two  or  three  times,  petulantly  enough,  the 
master  of  the  house  began  to  feel  uneasy, 
and  expect  disagreeable  consequences ; to 
avoid  which  he  said,  loud  enough  for  the 
Doctor  to  hear,  ‘ Our  friend  here  has  no 
meaning  novj  in  all  this,  except  just  to  re- 
late at  club  to-morrow  how  he  teased  John 
son  at  dinner  to-day ; this  is  all  to  do  him- 
self honour.’ — ‘ No,  upon  my  word,’  replied 
the  other,  1 1 see  no  honour  in  it,  whatever 
you  may  do.’ — ‘ Well,  sir,’  returned  Mr. 
Johnson,  sternly , ‘ if  you  do  not  see  the 
honour,  I am  sure  I feel  the  disgrace.’ 

“ This  is  all  sophisticated.  Mr.  Thrale 
was  not  in  the  company,  though  he  might 
have  related  the  story  to  Mrs.  Thrale.  A 
friend,  from  whom  I had  the  story,  was 
present;  and  it  was  not  at  the  house  of  a 
nobleman.  On  the  observation  being  made 
by  the  master  of  the  house  on  a gentleman’s 
contradicting  Johnson,  that  he  had  talked 
for  the  honour,  &c.  the  gentleman  muttered 
in  a low  voice,  ‘ I see  no  honour  in  it;  ’ and 
Dr.  Johnson  said  nothing:  so  all  the  rest 
(though  bien  trouvte ) is  mere  garnish2.” 

I have  had  occasion  several  times,  in  the 
course  of  this  work,  to  point  out  the  incor- 
rectness of  Mrs.  Thrale  as  to  particulars 
which  consisted  with  my  own  knowledge. 
But  indeed  she  has,  in  flippant  terms 
enough,  expressed  her  disapprobation  of 


1 [The  “ critic  ” does  not  give  any  authority 
for  his  statement  of  the  story ; and  when  he  him- 
self applies  the  terms  “ fulsome,  vain,  indeli- 
cate, and  obtrusive  ” to  the  lady’s  conduct, 
there  seems  no  great  reason  (knowing,  as  we  do, 
what  things  Johnson  did  on  any  slight  provocation 
say  even  to  ladies)  to  prefer  Mr.  Malone’s  version 
to  Mrs.  Piozzi’s.  See  also  ante,  p.  169,  in  which 
it  will  be  seen  that  both  Boswell  and  Malone 
were  well  aware  how  much  Johnson  was  dis- 
pleased at  Miss  More’s  flattery. — Ed.] 

2 [Upon  this  anecdote  it  is  to  be  observed, 
that,  again,  as  the  “ critic  ” does  not  mention  his 
authority,  so  we  should  rather  believe  Mrs.  Piozzi, 
who  does  give  hers ; and  as  she  certainly  had 
the  substance  of  the  story  right,  she  is  just  as 
likely  to  have  been  accurate  in  the  details  as 
Mr.  Malone,  who  had  it,  like  herself,  a second 
hand. — Ed.] 

VOL  II. 


that  anxious  desire  of  authenticity  wnich 
prompts  a person  who  is  to  record  conver 
sations  to  write  them  down  at  the  moment. 
Unquestionably,  if  they  are  to  be  recorded 
at  all,  the  sooner  it  is  done  the  better. 
This  iady  herself  says,  “ To  recollect , how- 
ever, and  to  repeat  the  sayings  of  Dr  John- 
son, is  almost  all  thcd  can  be  done  by  the 
writers  of  his  Life ; as  his  life , at  least 
since  my  acquaintance  with  him,  consisted 
in  little  else  than  talking,  when  he  was  not 
employed  in  some  serious  piece  of  work.” 
She  boasts  of  her  having  kept  a common- 
place book;  and  we  find  she  noted,  at  one 
time  or  other,  in  a very  lively  manner,  spe- 
cimens of  the  conversation  of  Dr.  Johnson, 
and  of  those  who  talked  with  him : but  had 
she  done  it  recently,  they  probably  would 
have  been  less  erroneous,  and  we  should 
have  been  relieved  from  those  disagreeable 
doubts  of  their  authenticity  wfth  which  we 
must  now  pursue  them. 

She  says  of  him,  “ He  was  the  most  char- 
itable of  mortals , without  being  what  we 
call  an  active  friend.  Admirable  at  giving 
counsel;  no  man  saw  his  way  so  clearly; 
but  he  would  not  stir  a finger  for  the  assist- 
ance of  those  to  whom  be  was  willing 
enough  to  give  advice 3.”  And  again,  on 
the  same  page,  “ If  you  vmnted  a slight 
favour,  you  must  apply  to  people  of  other 
dispositions ; for  not  a step  would  John- 
son move  to  obtain  a man  a vote  in  a society , 
to  repay  a compliment  which  might  be  use- 
ful or  pleasing,  to  write  a letter  of  request, 
fyc.,  or  to  obtain  a hundred  pounds  a year 
more  for  a friend  who  perhaps  had  already 
two  or  three.  No  force  could  urge  him  to 
diligence,  no  importunity  could  conquer  his 
resolution  to  stand  still.” 

It  is  amazing  that  one  who  had  such  op- 
portunities of  knowing  Dr.  Johnson  should 
appear  so  little  acquainted  with  his  real 
character.  I am  sorry  this  ’ady  does  not 
advert,  that,  she  herself*  contrau  cts4  the  as- 
sertion of  his  being  obstinately  defective  in 
the  petit es  morales,  in  the  little  endearing 
charities  of  social  life,  in  conferring  smaller 
favours  ; for  she  says,  “ Dr.  Johnson  was 
liberal  enough  in  granting  literary  assist- 
ance to  others,  I think;  and  innumerable  are 


3 Ante,  p.  265. 

4 [Mrs.  Piozzi  may  have  been  right  or  wrong 
as  to  the  degree  in  which  Dr.  Johnson’s  indolence 
operated  on  those  occasions;  but  at  least  she  was 
sincere,  for  she  did  not  conceal  from  Johnson  him- 
self that  she  thought  him  negligent  in  doing  small 
favours:  and  Mr.  Boswell’s  own  work  affords 
several  instances  in  which  Johnson  exhibits  and 
avows  the  contradictions  in  his  character  which 
are  here  imputed  to  Mrs.  Piozzi  as  total  misrepre- 
sentations. The  truth  seems  to  be  that  to  all  the 
little  idle  matters  about  which  Mrs.  Piozzi  teased 
him,  pr®bably  too  often,  he  was  very  indifferent 
and  she  describes  him  as  she  found  him. — Ed.] 


52 


410 


1784.— JET  AT.  75 


the  prefaces,  sermons , lectures,  and  dedica- 
tions which  he  used  to  make  for  people 
who  begged  of  him.”  I am  certain  that  a 
more  active  friend  has  rarely  been  found  in 
any  age  This  work,  which  I fondly  hope 
will  rescue  his  memory  from  obloquy,  con- 
tains a thousand  instances  of  his  benevo- 
lent exertions  in  almost  every  way  that  can 
be  conceived  ; and  particularly  in  employ- 
ing his  pen  with  a generous  readiness  for 
those  to  whom  its  aid  could  be  useful.  In- 
deed bis  obliging  activity  in  doing  little 
offices  of  kindness,  both  by  letters  and  per- 
sonal application,  was  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable features  in  his  character ; and  for 
the  truth  of  this  I can  appeal  to  a number 
of  his  respectable  friends:  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, Mr.  Langton,  Mr.  Hamilton,  Mr. 
Burke,  Mr.  Windham,  Mr.  Malone,  the 
Bishop  of  Dromore,  Sir  William  Scott,  Sir 
Robert  Chambers.  And  can  Mrs.  Thrale 
forget  the  advertisements  which  he  wrote 
for  her  husband  at  the  time  of  his  election 
contest;  the  epitaphs  on  him  and  her  moth- 
er; the  playful  and  even  trifling  verses  for 
the  amusement  of  her  and  her  daughters; 
his  corresponding  with  her  children,  and 
entering  into  their  minute  concerns,  which 
shows  him  in  the  most  amiable  light? 

She  relates,  that  Mr.  Cholmondeley 1 
unexpectedly  rode  up  to  Mr.  Thrale’s  car- 
riage, in  which  Mr.  Thrale,  and  she,  and 
Dr.  Johnson  were  travelling;  that  he  paid 
them  all  his  proper  compliments,  but  ob- 
serving that  Dr.  Johnson,  who  was  read- 
ing, did  not  see  him,  “ tapped  him  gently 
on  the  shoulder.  s 5 Tis  Mr.  Cholmondeley,’ 
says  my  husband.  i Well,  sir — and  what 
if  it  is  Mr.  Cholmondeley?  ’ says  the  other, 
sternly , just  lifting  his  eyes  a moment  from 
his  book,  and,  returning  to  it  again  with 
renewed  avidity .”  This  surely  conveys  a 
notion  of  Johnson,  as  if  he  had  been  gross- 
ly rude  to  Mr.  Cholmondeley,  a gentleman 
whom  he  always  loved  and  esteemed.  If, 
therefore,  there  was  an  absolute  necessity 
for  mentioning  the  story  at  all,  it  might 
have  been  thought  that  her  tenderness  for 
Dr.  Johnson’s  character  would  have  dis- 
posed her  to  state  any  thing  that  could 
soften  it.  Why  then  is  there  a total  silence 
as  to  what  Mr.  Cholmondeley  told  her? — 
that  Johnson,  who  had  known  him  from  his 
earliest  years,  having  been  made  sensible 
oi  what  had  doubtless  a strange  appearance, 

1 George  James  Cholmondeley,  Esq.,  grandson 
of  George,  third  Earl  of  Cholmondeley,  and  one 
of  the  commissioners  of  excise;  a gentleman  res- 
pected for  his  abilities  and  elegance  of  manners. 
— Boswell.  [He  died  in  Feb.  1831,  set.  79, 
as  this  sheet  was  passing  through  the  press.  It  is 
odd  that  the  Editor  should  have  had  the  same  re- 
mark to  make  as  to  Mr.  Chamberlain  Clark  and 

Mi.  Joddrel  so  nearly  at  the  same  time:  ante , p. 

366  and  376. — Ed  J 


took  occasion,  when  he  afterwards  met  him, 
to  make  a very  courteous  and  kind  apology 
There  is  another  little  circumstance  which 
I cannot  but  remark.  Her  book  was  pub- 
lished in  1785  ; she  had  then  in  her  posses- 
sion a letter  from  Dr.  Johnson,  dated  in 
1777,  which  begins  thus:  “ Choi-  Letters, 
mondeley’s  story  shod  s me,  if  it  be  v°i.  ii. 
true,  which  I can  ha-rdly  think,  for  I p' 12m 
am  utterly  unconscious  of  it:  I am  very 
sorry,  and  very  much  ashamed.”  Why 
then  publish  the  anecdote?  Or  if  she  did, 
why  not  add  the  circumstances,  with  which 
she  was  well  acquainted  2 ? 

In  his  social  intercourse  she  thus  pi0Zzi 
describes  him:  “Ever  musing  till  Anec. 
he  was  called  out  to  converse,  and  p'23’ 
conversing  till  the  fatigue  of  his  friends, 
or  the  promptitude  of  his  own  temper  to 
take  offence,  consigned  him  back  again  to 
silent  meditation .”  Yet  in  the  same  book 
she  tells  us,  “ He  was,  however,  seldom  in- 
clined to  be  silent  when  any  moral  or  lite 
vary  question  was  started;  and  it  was  on 
such  occasions  that,  like  the  sage  in  c Ras 
selas,’  he  spoke,  and  attention  watched  his 
lips;  he  reasoned,  and  conviction  closed 
his  periods .”  His  conversation,  indeed, 
was  so  far  from  ever  fatiguing  his  friends 3, 
that  they  regretted  when  it  was  interrupted 
or  ceased,  and  could  exclaim  in  Milton’s 
language, 

“ With  thee  conversing,  I forget  all  time.” 

I certainly,  then,  do  not  claim  too  much 
in  behalf  of  my  illustrious  friend  in  say- 
ing, that  however  smart  and  entertain- 
ing Mrs.  Thrale’s  “ Anecdotes  ” are,  they 
must  not  be  held  as  good  evidence  against 
him;  for  wherever  an  instance  of  harshness 
and  severity  is  told,  I beg  leave  to  doubt 
its  perfect  authenticity  ; for  though  there 
may  have  been  some  foundation  for  it,  yet, 


2 [See  ante,  p.  187.  Let  it  be  observed  that 
here  is  no  charge  of  falsehood  or  inaccuracy ; the 
story  is  admitted  to  be  true,  but  Mr.  Boswell  asks, 
“ why  did  she  not  relate  the  apology  which  John- 
son made  to  Mr.  Cholmondeley  ? ” It  does  not 
appear  that  she  knew  it:  and  finally  Mr.  Boswell 
inquires,  “ why  publish  so  unfavourable  an  anec- 
dote?” Why,  it  maybe  asked  in  return,  has 
Mr.  Boswell  published  fifty  as  unfavourable? — 
Ed.] 

3 [Mr.  Boswell  himself  tells  us  that  Johnson 
kept  such  late  hours  that  he  would  frequently  out- 
sit all  his  company.  Surely  Mrs.  Piozzi  was  jus- 
tified in  saying,  in  a colloquial  style,  that  such  a 
conversation  had  ended  from  “ the  fatigue  of  his 
friends.”  Jinte,  p.  133.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  after  her  deplorable  marriage  she  lost  much 
of  her  reverence  and  regard  for  Dr.  Johnson,  and 
many  of  her  observations  and  expressions  are 
tinged  with  vexation  and  anger;  but  they  do  not, 
in  the  Editor’s  opinion,  ever  amount  to  any  thing 
like  a falsification  of  facts. — Ed.] 


1784. — iETA  I\  75 


ike  that  of  his  reproof  to  the  ££  very  cele- 
brated lady,”  it  may  be  so  exhibited  in  the 
narration  as  to  be  very  unlike  the  real  fact. 

The  evident  tendency  of  the  following 
anecdote  is  to  represent  Dr.  Johnson  as 
extremely  deficient  in  affection,  tenderness, 
or  even  common  civility.  ££  When  I one 
day  lamented  the  loss  of  a first  cousin 
killed  in  America, — £ Prithee , my  dear 
{said  he ),  have  done  with  canting;  how 
would  the  world  be  the  worse  for  it,  I may 
sk,  if  all  your  relations  were  at  once 
spitted  like  larks,  and  roasted  for  Presto’s 
supper  ? ’ — Presto  was  the  dog  that  lay 
under  the  table  while  we  talked .”  I sus- 
pect this  too  of  exaggeration  and  distor- 
tion. I allow  that  he  made  her  an  angry 
speech;  but  let  the  circumstances  fairly  ap- 
pear, as  told  by  Mr.  Baretti,  who  was  pre- 
sent 1 : 

££  Mrs.  Thrale,  while  supping  very  heart- 
ily upon  larks,  laid  down  her  knife  and 
fork,  and  abruptly  exclaimed,  £ O,  my  dear 
Johnson,  do  you  know  -fahat  has  happened  ? 
The  last  letters  from  abroad  have  brought 
us  an  account  that  our  poor  cousin’s  head 
was  taken  off  by  a cannon-ball.’  Johnson, 
who  was  shocked  both  at  the  fact  and  her 
light  unfeeling  manner  of  mentioning  it, 
replied,  £ Madam,  it  would  give  you  very 
little  concern  if  all  your  relations  were 
spitted  like  those  larks,  and  dressed  for 
Presto’s  supper2.”’ 

It  is  with  concern  that  I find  myself  oblig- 
ed to  animadvert  on  the  inaccuracies  of 
Mrs.  Piozzi’s  ££  Anecdotes,”  and  perhaps  J 
may  be  thought  to  have  dwelt  too  long  upon 
her  little  collection.  But  as  from  Johnson’s 
long  residence  under  Mr.  Thrale’s  roof,  and 

1 [It  must  be  recollected  that  Baretti’s  evidence 
is,  in  this  case,  worse  than  nothing,  he  having  be- 
come a most  brutal  libeller  of  Mrs.  Piozzi;  but 
even  if  his  version  were  the  true  one,  Mr.  Boswell 
should  have  seen  that  it  made  Dr.  Johnson’s  illus- 
tration much  more  personally  and  pointedly  offen- 
sive than  as  told  by  Mrs.  Piozzi. — Ed.] 

2 Upon  mentioning  this  to  my  friend  Mr. 
Wilkes,  he,  with  his  usual  readiness,  pleasantly 
matched  it  with  the  following  sentimental  anec- 
dote. He  was  invited  by  a young  man  of  fashion 
at  Paris  to  sup  with  him  and  a lady,  who  had 
been  for  some  time  his  mistress,  but  with  whom 
he  was  going  to  part.  He  said  to  Mr.  Wilkes 
that  he  really  felt  very  much  for  her,  she  was  in 
such  distress,  and  that  he  meant  to  make  her  a 
present  of  two  hundred  louis-d’ors.  Mr.  Wilkes 
observed  the  behaviour  of  mademoiselle,  who 
sighed,  indeed,  very  piteously,  and  assumed  every 
pathetick  air  of  grief,  but  ate  no  less  than  three 
French  pigeons,  which  are  as  large  as  English 
partridges,  besides  other  things.  Mr.  Wilkes 
whispered  the  gentleman,  “We  often  say  in 
England,  excessive  sorrow  is  exceeding  dry , 
but  I never  heard  excessive  sorrow  is  exceeding 
hungry.  Perhaps  one  hundred  will  do  ” The 
gentleman  took  the  hint. — Boswell. 


41 1 

his  intimacy  with  her,  the  account  which 
she  has  given  of  him  may  have  made  an  un- 
favourable and  unjust  impression,  my  duty, 
as  a faithful  biographer,  has  obliged  me  re- 
uctantly  to  perform  this  unpleasing  task  3. 

Having  left  the  pious  negotiation,  as  I 
called  it,  in  the  best  hands,  I shall  here  in- 
sert what  relates  to  it.  Johnson  wrote  to 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  on  July  6,  as  follows: 
££  I am  going,  I hope,  in  a few  days,  to  try 
the  air  of  Derbyshire,  but  hope  to  see  you 
before  I go.  Let  me,  however,  mention  to 
you  what  I have  much  at  heart.  If  the 
chancellor  should  continue  his  attention  to 
Mr.  Boswell’s  request,  and  confer  with  you 
on  the  means  of  relieving  my  languid  state, 
I am  very  desirous  to  avoid  the  appearance 
of  asking  money  upon  false  pretences.  I 
desire  you  to  represent  to  his  lordship,  what, 
as  soon  as  it  is  suggested,  he  will  perceive 
to  be  reasonable, — that,  if  I grow  much 
worse,  I shall  be  afraid  to  leave  my  physi- 
cians, to  suffer  the  inconveniences  of  travel, 
and  pine  in  the  solitude  of  a foreign  coun- 
try;— that,  if  I grow  much  better,  of  which 
indeed  there  is  now  little  appearance,  I shall 
not  wish  to  leave  my  friends  and  my  domes- 
tick  comforts,  for  I do  not  travel  for  plea- 
sure or  curiosity;  yet  if  I should  recover, 
curiosity  would  revive.  In  my  present 
state  I am  desirous  to  make  a struggle 
for  a little  longer  life,  and  hope  to  obtain 
some  help  from  a softer  climate.  Do  for  me 
what  you  can.”  He  wrote  to  me  July  26  * 
££  I wish  your  affairs  could  have  permitted  a 
longer  and  continued  exertion  of  your  zeal 
and  kindness.  They  that  have  your  kind- 
ness may  want  your  ardour.  In  the  mean 
time  I am  very  feeble  and  very  dejected.” 

By  a letter  from  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  I 
was  informed,  that  the  lord  chancellor  had 
called  on  him,  and  acquainted  him  that  the 
application  had  not  been  successful;  but 
that  his  lordship,  after  speaking  highly  in 
praise  of  Johnson,  as  a man  who  was  an 
honour  to  his  country,  desired  Sir  Joshua 
to  let  him  know,  that  on  granting  a mort- 
gage of  his  pension  4,  he  should  draw  on  his 


3 [The  Editor’s  duty  has  obliged  him  to  en- 
deavour to  remove  the  “ unjust  and  unfavourable 
impressions  ” which  Mr.  Boswell  has  given  of 
Mrs.  Piozzi;  but  he  is  too  well  aware  of  the  inev- 
itable inaccuracy  of  all  anecdotes — nay,  even  of 
those  like  Mr.  Boswell’s  own,  written  down  after 
short  intervals — to  give  implicit  confidence  to  Mrs. 
Piozzi’s  recollection;  the  chief  claim  of  her  Anec- 
dotes to  credit  is,  that  they  are  confirmed  in  may 
instances  by  Dr.  Johnson’s  correspondence,  and  in 
many  more  by  Mr.  Boswell’s  own  work. — Ed.] 

4 [This  offer  has  in  the  first  view  of  it  the  ap- 
pearance rather  of  a commercial  than  a gratuitous 
transaction;  but  Sir  Joshua  clearly  understood  at 
the  making  it  that  Lord  Thurlow  designedly  put 
it  in  that  form.  He  was  fearful  that  Johnson’s 


412 


1784. — ^TAT.  75. 


tordship  to  the  amount  of  five  or  six  hun- 
dred pounds,  and  that  his  lordship  explained 
the  meaning-  of  the  mortgage  to  be,  that  he 
wished  the  business  to  be  conducted  in  such 
a manner,  that  Dr.  Johnson  should  appear 
to  be  under  the  least  possible  obligation. 
Sir  Joshua  mentioned  that  he  had  by  the 
same  post  communicated  all  this  to  Dr. 
Tohnson. 

How  Johnson  was  affected  upon  the  oc- 
casion will  appear  from  what  he  wrote  to 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds: 

“ Ashbourne,  9th  September. 

“ Many  words  I hope  are  not  necessary 
between  you  and  me,  to  convince  you  what 
gratitude  is  excited  in  my  heart  by  the 
chancellor’s  liberality,  and  your  kind  offices. 
*****  * 

“ I have  enclosed  a letter  to  the  chancel- 
tor,  which,  when  you  have  read  it,  you  will 
be  pleased  to  seal  with  a head,  or  any  other 
general  seal,  and  convey  it  to  him:  had  I 
sent  it  directly  to  him,  I should  have  seemed 
l » overlook  the  favour  of  your  intervention.” 

‘ TO  THE  LORD  HIGH  CHANCELLOR  b 
“September,  1784. 

“ My  lord, — After  a long  and  not  inat- 
tentive observation  of  mankind,  the  gene- 
rosity of  your  lordship’s  offer  raises  in  me 
not  less  wonder  than  gratitude.  Bounty, 
so  liberally  bestowed,  I should  gladly  re- 
ceive, if  my  condition  made  it  necessary; 
for,  to  such  a mind,  who  would  not  be  proud 
to  own  his  obligations?  But  it  has  pleased 
God  to  restore  me  to  so  great  a measure  of 
health,  that  if  I should  now  appropriate  so 
much  of  a fortune  destined  to  do  good,  I 
could  not  escape  from  myself  the  charge  of 
advancing  a false  claim.  My  journey  to  the 
continent,  though  I once  thought  it  neces- 
sary, was  never  much  encouraged  by  my 
physicians;  and  I was  very  desirous  that 
your  lordship  should  be  told  of  it  by  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  as  an  event  very  uncertain; 
for  if  I grew  much  better,  I should  not  be 
willing,  if  much  worse,  not  able,  to  migrate. 
Your  lordship  was  first  solicited  without  my 
knowledge;  but,  when  I was  told  that  you 
were  pleased  to  honour  me  with  your  pa- 


high spirit  would  induce  him  to  reject  it  as  a do- 
nation, but  thought  that  in  the  way  of  loan  it 
might  be  accepted. — Hawkins’s  Life , p.  572. — 
Ed.] 

1 Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  on  account  of  the  ex- 
cellence both  of  the  sentiment  and  expression  of 
this  letter,  took  a copy  of  it,  which  he  showed  to 
some  of  his  friends:  one  of  whom  [ Lady  Lucan, 
it  is  said],  who  admired  it,  being  allowed  to  pe- 
ruse it  leisurely  at  home,  a copy  was  made,  and 
found  its  way  into  the  newspapers  and  magazines. 
It  was  transcribed  with  some  inaccuracies.  I print 
it  from  the  original  draft  in  Johnson’s  own  hand- 
writing.- -Boswell. 


tronage,  I did  not  expect  to  hear  of  a refu- 
sal; yet,  as  I have  had  no  long  time  to  brood 
hope,  and  have  not  rioted  in  imaginary  op- 
ulence, this  cold  reception  has  been  scarce 
a disappointment;  and,  from  your  lordship’s 
kindness,  I have  received  a benefit,  which 
only  men  like  you  are  able  to  bestow.  I 
shall  now  live  mihi  carior , with  a higher 
opinion  of  my  own  merit.  I am,  my  lord, 
your  lordship’s  most  obliged,  most  grateful, 
and  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

[An  incorrect  copy  of  the  above  Hawk, 
letter,  though  of  a private  nature,  p-  572,* 
found  its  way  into  the  publick  pa-  S7Sm 
pers  in  this  manner.  It  was  given  to  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  unsealed, *to  be  delivered 
to  Lord  Thurlow.  Sir  Joshua,  looking  up 
on  it  as  a handsome  testimony  of  gratitude, 
and  as  it  related  to  a transaction  in  which 
he  had  concerned  himself,  took  a copy  of  it, 
and  showed  it  to  a few  of  his  friends. 
Among  these  was  a lady  of  quality,  who, 
having  heard  it  read,  the  next  day" desired 
to  be  gratified  with  the  perusal  of  it  at  home : 
the  use  she  made  of  this  favour  was,  the 
copying  and  sending  it  to  one  of  the  news- 
papers, whence  it  was  taken  and  inserted  in 
others,  as  also  in  the  Gentleman’s  and  many 
other  magazines.  Johnson,  upon  being 
told  that  it  was  in  print,  exclaimed  in  my 
hearing— “ I am  betrayed;”  but  soon  aftei 
forgot,  as  he  was  ever  ready  to  do  all  real  or 
supposed  injuries,  the  error  that  made  the 
p-uhlication  possible.] 

Upon  this  unexpected  failure  I abstain 
from  presuming  to  make  any  remarks,  or  to 
offer  any  conjectures  2. 

[This  affair  soon  became  a topic  Ed. 
of  conversation,  and  it  was  stated 
that  the  cause  of  the  failure  was  the  refusal 
of  the  king  himself ; but  from  the  following 
letter  it  appears  that  the  matter  was  never 
mentioned  to  his  majesty;  that,  as  time 
pressed,  his  lordship  proposed  the  before- 
mentioned  arrangement  as  from  himself,  run- 
ning the  risk  of  obtaining  the  king’s  subse- 
quent approbation  when  he  should  have  an 
opportunity  of  mentioning  it  to  his  majesty. 
This  affords  some,  and  yet  not  a satisfactory, 

2 [It  is  rather  singular  that  Mr.  Boswell,  who 
was  so  angry  that  Sir  J.  Hawkins  did  not  inquire 
from  Sir  Joshua  about  the  beginning  of  this 
negotiation,  should  himself  have  been  so  much 
more  negligent  as  not  to  inquire  about  its  end.  If 
he  had  done  so,  Sir  Joshua  would  no  doubt  have 
communicated  to  him  Lord  Thurlow’s  letter  of 
the  18th  Nov.,  and  thus  saved  Mr.  Boswell  the 
pain  which  it  is  clear  he  felt  at  suf  posing  that  the 
king  himself  had  rejected  his  lordship’s  humane 
proposition.  It  seems  somewhat  odd  that  Sir 
Joshua,  after  the  appearance  of  the  above  passafft. 
in  Mr.  Boswell’s  first  edition,  did  not  explain  tSe 
true  state  of  the  case  to  him.  See  the  following 
note. — Ed.] 


1784.— ^TAT  75 


413 


explanation  of  the  device  suggested  by 
Lord  Thurlow  of  Johnson’s  giving  him  a 
mortgage  on  his  pension .] 

[<c  LORD  THURLOW  TO  SIR  J.  REYNOLDS. 

“ Thursday,  18th  November,  1784. 

cc  Dear  sir, — My  choice,  if  that 
{jjgg-  had  been  left  me,  would  certainly 
have  been  that  the  matter  should  not 
have  been  talked  of  at  all.  The  only  ob- 
ject I regarded  was  my  own  pleasure,  in 
contributing  to  the  health  and  comfort  of  a 
man  whom  I venerate  sincerely  and  highly 
for  every  part,  without  exception,  of  his  ex- 
alted character.  This  you.  know  I proposed 
to  do,  as  it  might  be  without  any  expense, 
in  all  events  at  a rate  infinitely  below  the 
satisfaction  I proposed  to  myself.  It  would 
have  suited  the  purpose  better  if  nobody  had 
heard  of  it,  except  Dr.  Johnson,  you,  and  J. 
Boswell  t.  But  the  chief  objection  to  the 
rumour  is  that  his  majesty  is  supposed  to 
have  refused  it.  Had  that  been  so,  I 
should  not  have  communicated  the  circum- 
stance. It  was  impossible  for  me  to  take 
the  king’s  pleasure  on  the  suggestion  I pre- 
sumed to  move.  I am  an  untoward  solici- 
tor. The  time  seemed  to  press,  and  I chose 
rather  to  take  on  myself  the  risk  of  his  ma- 
jesty’s concurrence  than  delay  a journey 
which  might  conduce  to  Dr.  Johnson’s 
health  and  comfort. 

“ But  these  are  all  trifles,  and  scarce  de- 
serve even  this  cursory  explanation.  The 
only  question  of  any  worth  is  whether  Dr. 
Johnson  has  any  wish  to  go  abroad,  or  oth- 
er occasion  for  my  assistance.  Indeed  he 
Bhould  give  me  credit  for  perfect  simplicity, 
when  I treat  this  as  merely  a pleasure  afford- 
ed me,  and  accept  it  accordingly:  any  reluc- 
tance, if  he  examines  himself  thoroughly, 
will  certainly  be  found  to  rest,  in  some  part 
or  other,  upon  a doubt  of  the  disposition 
with  which  I offer  it.  I am,  dear  sir,  with 
great  regard,  your  most  faithful  and  obedi- 
ent servant,  “ Thurlow.”] 

Having,  after  repeated  reasonings, brought 
Dr.  Johnson  to  agree  to  my  removing  to 
London,  and  even  to  furnish  me  with  argu- 
ments in  favour  of  what  he  had  opposed;  I 
wrote  to  him,  requesting  he  would  write 
them  for  me;  he  was  so  good  as  to  comply, 
and  I shall  extract  that  part  of  his  letter  to 
me  of  June  1 1 , as  a proof  how  well  he  could 

1 [That  this  letter  was  designedly  kept  from 
Mr.  Boswell’s  knowledge  is  rendered  probable  by 
the  following  curious  circumstance.  On  the  face 
of  the  original  letter  his  name  has  been  oblitera- 
ted with  so  much  care  that  but  for  the  different  col- 
our of  the  ink  and  some  other  small  circumstances, 
it  would  not  have  been  discoverable;  it  is  artfully 
done,  and  the  sentence  appears  to  run  “ except 

Dr.  Johnson , you,  and  l''  — “ Boswell  ” being 
erased  — Ed.] 


exhibit  a cautious  yet  encouraging  view  of 
it: 

“ I remember,  and  entreat  you  to  remem 
ber,  that  virtus  est  vitium  fugere ; the  first 
approach  to  riches  is  security  frcm  poverty 
The  condition  upon  which  you  have  my 
consent  to  settle  in  London  is,  that  you] 
expense  never  exceeds  your  annual  income. 
Fixing  this  basis  of  security,  you  cannot  be 
hurt,  and  you  may  be  very  much  advanced. 
The  loss  of  your  Scottish  business,  which 
is  all  that  you  can  lose,  is  not  to  be  reckon- 
ed as  any  equivalent  to  the  hopes  and  pos- 
sibilities that  open  here  upon  you.  If  you 
succeed,  the  question  of  prudence  is  at  an 
end;  every  body  will  think  that  done  right 
which  ends  happily;  and  though  your  ex- 
pectations, of  which  I would  not  advise  you 
to  talk  too  much,  should  not  be  totally  an- 
swered, you  can  hardly  fail  to  get  friends 
who  will  do  for  you  all  that  your  present 
situation  allows  you  to  hope;  and  if,  after  a 
few  years,  you  should  return  to  Scotland, 
you  will  return  with  a mind  supplied  by  va- 
rious conversation,  and  many  opportunities 
of  inquiry,  with  much  knowledge,  and  ma- 
terials for  reflection  and  instruction.” 

[“  DR.  JOHNSON  TO  DR.  ADAMS. 

“ London,  11th  June  (July),  1784. 

“ Dear  sir, — I am  going  into 
Staffordshire  and  Derbyshire  in 
quest  of  some  relief,  of  which  my 
need  is  not  less  than  when  I was  treated  at 
your  house  with  so  much  tenderness. 

“ I have  now  received  the  Collations  for 
Xenophon,  which  I have  sent  you  with  the 
letters  tha.t  relate  to  them.  I cannot  at 
present  take  any  part  in  the  work,  but  I 
would  rather  pay  for  a Collation  of  Oppian 
than  see  it  neglected;  for  the  Frenchmen 
act  with  great  liberality.  Let  us  not  fall 
below  them. 

“ I know  not  in  what  state  Dr.  Edwards 
left  his  book 1  2.  Some  of  his  emendations 
seemed  to  me  to  (be)  irrefragably  certain, 
and  such,  therefore,  as  ought  not  to  be  lost. 
His  rule  was  not  (to)  change  the  text;  and, 
therefore,  I suppose  he  has  left  notes  to  be 
subjoined.  As  the  book  is  posthumous, 
some  account  of  the  editor  ought  to  be 
given. 

“ You  have  now  the  whole  process  of 
the  correspondence  before  you.  When  the 
Prior  is  answered,  let  some  apology  be  made 
for  me. 

“ I was  forced  to  divide  the  Collation, 
but  as  if  is  paged  you  will  easily  put  every 
part  in  its  proper  place. 

“ Be  pleased  to  convey  my  respects  to 
Mrs.  and  Miss  Adams.  I am,  sir,  your 
most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.”] 


* [See  ante,  p.  200. — Ed.] 


414 


1784. — /ETAT.  75. 


Let  us  now  contemplate  Johnson  thirty 
years  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  still  retain- 
ing for  her  all  the  tenderness  of  affection l. 

“TO  THE  REVEREND  MR.  BAGSHAW, 

AT  BROMLEY2 *. 

“ l*2th  July,  1784. 

“ Sir, — Perhaps  you  may  remember,  that 
in  the  year  1753  you  committed  to  the  ground 
my  dear  wife.  I now  entreat  your  permis- 
sion to  lay  a stone  upon  her;  and  have  sent 
the  inscription,  that,  if  you  find  it  proper, 
you  may  signify  your  allowance. 

“ You  will  do  me  a great  favour  by  show- 
ing the  place  where  she  lies,  that  the  stone 
may  protect  her  remains. 

“ Mr.  Ryland  will  wait  on  you  for  the 
inscription  3,  and  procure  it  to  be  engraved. 
You  will  easily  believe  that  I shrink  from 
this  mournful  office.  When  it  is  done,  if  I 
have  strength  remaining,  I will  visit  Brom- 
ley once  again,  and  pay  you  part  of  the  re- 
spect to  which  you  have  a right  from,  rev- 
erend sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

On  the  same  day  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Lang- 
ton: 

“ I cannot  but  think  that  in  my  languid 
and  anxious  state,  I have  some  reason  to 
complain  that  I receive  from  you  neither 
inquiry  nor  consolation.  You  know  how 
much  I value  your  friendship,  and  with 
what  confidence  I expect  your  kindness,  if 
I wanted  any  act  of  tenderness  that  you 
could  perform;  at  least  if  you  do  not  know 
it,  I think  your  ignorance  is  your  own  fault. 
Yet  how  long  is  it  that  I have  lived  almost 
in  your  neighbourhood  without  the  least 
notice? — I do  not,  however,  consider  this 
neglect  as  particularly  shown  to  me;  I hear 
two  of  your  most  valuable  friends  make  the 
same  complaint.  But  why  are  all  thus 
overlooked?  You  are  not  oppressed  by 
sickness,  you  are  not  distracted  by  business; 
if  you  are  sick,  you  are  sick  of  leisure: — 
And  allow  yourself  to  be  told,  that  no  dis- 
ease is  more  to  be  dreaded  or  avoided. 
Rather  to  do  nothing  than  to  do  good,  is 


1 [If  Sir  J.  Hawkins  and  Mrs.  Piozzi  some- 
times took  an  unfavourable  impression  of  Dr.  John- 
son’s conduct,  Mr.  Boswell  occasionally  runs  into 
the  other  extreme.  Surely  it  is  no  such  exempla- 
ry proof  of  “ tenderness  of  affection  ” that  he, 
for  thirty-one  years,  had  neglected  one  of  the 
first  offices  not  merely  of  affection,  but  of  common 
regard,  and  seems  to  have  been  awakened  at  last 
to  the  melancholy  recollection  only  by  the  near 
prospect  of  needing,  himself,  a similar  memorial. 
Mr.  Boswell’s  injudicious  panegyric  forces  our 
thoughts  into  a contrary  direction. — Ed.] 

2 See  vol.  i.  p.  320. — Boswell. 

’ Printed  in  his  works — Boswell. 


the  lowest  stale  of  a degraded  mind.  Boi- 
leau  says  to  his  pupil, 

* Q,ue  les  vers  ne  soient  pas  votre  etemel  emploi, 

‘ Culfivez  vos  amis.’ 

That  voluntary  debility  which  modern  lan- 
guage is  content  to  term  indolence  will,  if 
it  is  not  counteracted  by  resolution,  render  in 
time  the  strongest  faculties  lifeless,  and  turn 
the  flame  to  the  smoke  of  virtue. — I do  not 
expect  or  desire  to  see  you,  because  I am 
much  pleased  to  find  that  your  mother  stays 
so  long  with  you,  and  I should  think  you 
neither  elegant  nor  grateful,  if  you  did  not 
study  her  gratification.  You  will  pay  my 
respects  to  both  the  ladies,  and  to  all  the 
young  people. — I am  going  northward  for  a 
while,  to  try  what  help  the  country  can 
give  me;  but  if  you  will  write,  the  letter 
will  come  after  me.” 

Next  day  he  set  out  on  a jaunt  to  Staf- 
fordshire and  Derbyshire,  flattering  himself 
that  he  might  be  in  some  degree  relieved. 

During  his  absence  from  London  he 
kept  up  a correspondence  with  several  of 
his  friends,  from  which  I shall  select  what 
appears  to  me  proper  for  publication,  with- 
out attending  nicely  to  chronological  order. 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  DR.  BROCKLESBY. 

“ Ashbourne,  20.th  July. 

tf  The  kind  attention  which  you  have  so 
long  shown  to  my  health  and  happiness 
makes  it  as  much  a.  debt  of  gratitude  as  a call 
of  interest  to  give  you  an  account  of  what  be- 
falls me,  when  accident  removes4  me  from 
your  immediate  care.  The  journey  of  the 
first  day  was  performed  with  very  little 
sense  of  fatigue;  the  second  day  brought 
me  to  Lichfield  without  much  lassitude; 
but  I am  afraid  that  I could  not  have  borne 
such  violent  agitation  for  many  days  to- 
gether. Tell  Dr.  Heberden,  that  in  the 
coach  I read  ‘ Cicer-onianus,’  which  I con- 
cluded as  I entered  Lichfield.  My  affec- 
tion and  understanding  went  along  with 
Erasmus,  except  that  once  or  twice  he 
somewhat  unskilliully  entangles  Cicero’s 
civil  or  moral  with  his  rhetorical  character. 
— I staid  five  days  at  Lichfield,  but,  being 
unable  to  walk,  had  no  great  pleasure,  and 
yesterday  (19th)  I came  hither,  where  I 
am  to  try  what  air  and  attention  can  per- 
form.— Of  any  improvement  in  my  health 
I cannot  yet  please  myself  with  the  percep- 
tion. *****  *_ — The  asthma  has  no  abate- 
ment. Opiates  stop  the  fit,  so  as  that  I can 
sit  and  sometimes  lie  easy,  but  they  do  not 
now  procure  me  the  powrer  of  motion;  and 


4 [This,  by  an  error  either  of  the  transcript  or 
the  press,  was  printed  recovers  : Mr.  Malone  made 
the  correction. — Ed.] 


1784. — vETAT.  75. 


415 


I am  afraid  that  my  general  strength  of 
body  does  not  increase.  The  weather  in- 
deed is  not  benign;  but  how  low  is  he  sunk 
whose  strength  depends  upon  the  weather ! 
I am  now  looking  into  Floyer  ],  who  lived 
with  his  asthma  to  almost  his  ninetieth 
year.  His  book,  by  want  of  order,  is  ob- 
scure; and  his  asthma,  I think,  not  of  the 
same  kind  with  mine.  Something,  how- 
ever, I may  perhaps  learn. — My  appetite 
still  continues  keen  enough;  and  what  I con- 
sider as  a symptom  of  radical  health,  I have 
a voracious  delight  in  raw  summer  fruit,  of 
which  I was  less  eager  a few  years  ago. — 
You  will  be  pleased  to  communicate  this 
account  to  Dr.  Heberden,  and  if  anything 
is  to  be  done,  let  me  have  your  joint  opin- 
ion.— Now — abite , euros! — let  me  inquire 
after  the  Club  V5 

“31st  July. 

“ Not  reco.iectmg  tnat  Dr.  Heberden 
might  be  at  Windsor,  I thought  your  letter 
long  in  coming.  But,  you  know,  nocitura 
petuntur;  the  letter  which  1 so  much  de- 
sired tells  me  that  I have  lost  one  of  my 
best  and  tenderest  friends  3.  My  comfort 
is,  that  he  appeared  to  live  like  a man  that 
had  always  before  his  eyes  the  fragility  of 
our  present  existence,  and  was  therefore,  I 
hope,  not  unprepared  to  meet  his  Judge. — 
Your  attention,  dear  sir,  and  that  of  Dr. 
Heberden,  to  my  health,  is  extremely  kind. 
I am  loth  to  think  that  I grow  worse;  and 
cannot  fairly  prove  even  to  my  own  partial- 
'ty  that  I grow  much  better.55 

“ 5th  August. 

“ I return  you  thanks,  aear  sir,  for  your 
unwearied  attention  both  medicinal  and 
friendly,  and  hope  to  prove  the  effect  of 
your  care  by  living  to  acknowledge  it.55 

“ 12th  August. 

“ Pray  be  so  kind  as  to  have  me  in  your 
thoughts,  and  mention  my  case  to  others  as 
you  have  opportunity.  I seem  to  myself 
neither  to  gain  nor  lose  strength.  I have 
lately  tried  milk,  but  have  yet  found  no  ad- 
vantage, and  am  afraid  of  it  merely  as  a 
liquid.  My  appetite  is  still  good,  which  I 
know  is  dear  Dr.  Heberden’s  criterion  of 
the  vis  vitce. — As  we  cannot  now  see  each 
other,  do  not  omit  to  write,  for  you  cannot 
think  with  what  warmth  of  expectation  I 
reckon  the  hours  of  a post-day.55 

“ 14th  August. 

“ I have  hitherto  sent  you  only  melan- 
choly letters;  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  some 
better  account.  Yesterday  the  asthma  re- 


1  [Sir  John  Floyer,  M.  D.  See  ante , vol.  i. 
p.  32.— Ed.] 

2 At  the  Essex  Head,  Essex-street. — Boswell. 

3 Mr.  Allen,  the  pointer. — Boswell 


mitted,  perceptibly  remitted,  and  I moved 
with  more  ease  than  I have  enjoyed  for 
many  weeks.  May  God  continue  his  mer- 
cy. This  account  I would  not  delay,  be- 
cause I am  not  a lover  of  complaints  or 
complainers,  and  yet  I have,  since  we  part- 
ed, uttered  nothing  till  now  but  terrour  and 
sorrow.  Write  to  me,  dear  sir.55 

“ 16th  August. 

“ Better,  I hope,  and  better.  My  respi 
ration  gets  more  and  more  ease  and  liberty. 
I went  to  church  yesterday,  after  a very 
liberal  dinner,  without  any  inconvenience; 
it  is  indeed  no  long  walk,  but  I never 
walked  it  without  difficulty,  since  I came, 
before.  ******  the  intention  was  only 
to  overpower  the  deeming  vis  inertias  of  the 
pectoral  and  pulmonary  muscles. — I am  fa- 
voured with  a degree  of  ease  that  very 
much  delights  me,  and  do  not  despair  of 
another  race  up  the  stairs  of  the  A cademy. 
— If  I were,  however,  of  a humour  to  see, 
or  to  show,  the  state  of  my  body,  on  the 
dark  side,  I might  say, 

‘ Quid  te  exempta  juvat  spinis  de  pluribus  una  ? * 

The  nights  are  still  sleepless,  and  the  water 
rises,  though  it  does  not  rise  very  fast. 
Let  us,  however,  rejoice  in  all  the  good  that 
we  have.  The  remission  of  one  disease 
will  enable  nature  to  combat  the  rest. — The 
squills  I have  not  neglected;  for  I have 
taken  more  than  a hundred  drops  a day, 
and  one  day  took  two  hundred  and  fifty, 
which,  according  to  the  popular  equivalent 
of  a drop  to  a grain,  is  more  than  half  an 
ounce.  I thank  you,  dear  sir,  for  your  at- 
tention in  ordering  the  medicines  ; your  at- 
tention to  me  has  never  failed.  If  the  vir- 
tue of  medicines  could  be  enforced  by  the 
benevolence  of  the  prescriber,  how  soon 
should  I be  well! 55 

“ 19th  August. 

“ The  relaxation  of  the  asthma  still  con 
tinues,  yet  I do  not  trust  it  wholly  to  itself, 
but  soothe  it  now  and  then  with  an  opiate. 
I not  only  perform  the  perpetual  act  of  res- 
piration with  less  labour,  but  I can  walk 
with  fewer  intervals  of  rest,  and  with  great- 
er freedom  of  motion.  I never  thought 
well  of  Dr.  James’s  compounded  medicines, 
his  ingredients  appear  to  me  sometimes  in- 
efficacious and  trifling,  and  sometimes  het- 
erogeneous and  destructive  of  each  other. 
This  prescription  exhibits  a composition  of 
about  three  hundred  and  thirty  grains,  in 
which  there  are  four  grains  of  emetick  tar- 
tar, and  six  drops  [of]  thebaic  tincture.  He 
that  writes  thus  surely  writes  for  show. 
The  basis  of  his  medicine  is  the  gum  am- 
moniacum,  which  dear  Dr.  Lawrence  used 
to  give,  but  of  which  I never  saw  any  effect 
We  will,  if  you  please,  let  this  medicine 
alone  The  squills  have  every  suffrage 


416 


1784.-  -jET AT.  75. 


and  in  the  squills  we  will  rest  for  the  pres- 
ent.” 

“ 21st  August. 

u The  kindness  which  you  show  by  hav- 
ing- me  ’n  your  thoughts  upon  all  occasions 
will,  I hope,  always  fill  my  heart  with  grat- 
itude. Be  pleased  to  return  my  thanks 
to  Sir  George  Baker  l,  for  the  consideration 
which  he  has  bestowed  upon  me.  Is  this 
the  balloon  that  has  been  so  long  expected, 
this  balloon2  to  which  I subscribed,  but 
without  payment?  It  is  pity  that  philoso- 
phers have  been  disappointed,  and  shame 
that  they  have  been  cheated;  but  I know 
not  well  how  to  prevent  either.  Of  this 
experiment  I have  read  nothing : where  was 
it  exhibited?  and  who  was  the  man  that  ran 
away  with  so  much  mpney?  Continue, 
dear  sir,  to  write  often,  and  more  at  a time; 
for  none  of  your  prescriptions  operate  to 
their  proper  uses  more  certainly  than  your 
letters  operate  as  cordials.55 

“ 26th  August. 

“ I suffered  you  to  escape  last  post  with- 
out a letter,  but  you  are  not  to  expect  such 
indulgence  very  often;  for  I write  not  so 
much  because  I have  any  thing  to  say,  as 
because  I hope  for  an  answer;  and  the  va- 
cancy of  my  life  here  makes  a letter  of  great 
value.  I have  here  little  company  and  lit- 
tle amusement,  and,  thus  abandoned  to  the 
contemplation  of  my  own  miseries,  I am 
something  gloomy  and  depressed;  this  too 
I resist  as  I can,  and  find  opium,  I think, 
useful;  but  I seldom  take  more  than  one 
grain.  Is  not  this  strange  weather?  Win- 
ter absorbed  the  spring,  and  now  autumn 
is  come  before  we  have  had  summer.  But 
let  not  our  kindness  for  each  other  imitate 
the  inconstancy  of  the  seasons.55 

“ 2d  Sept. 

“ Mr.  Windham  has  been  here  to  see 
me:  he  came,  I think,  forty  miles  out  of  his 
way,  and  staid  about  a day  and  a half ; per- 
haps I make  the  time  shorter  than  it  was. 
Such  conversation  I shall  not  have  again 
till  I come  back  to  the  regions  of  literature; 
and  there  Windham  is  inter  stellas  3 Luna 


1 [The  celebrated  physician,  created  a baronet 
in  1776,  died  June,  1809,  aetat.  88. — Ed.] 

2 [Does  Dr.  Johnson  here  allude  to  the  unsuc- 

cessful attempt  made,  in  1784,  by  De  Moret,  who 
was  determined  to  anticipate  Lunardi  in  his  first 
experiment  in  England  ? “ Moret  attempted  to 

inflate  his  balloon  with  rarified  air,  but  by  some 
accident  in  the  process  it  sunk  upon  the  fire,  and 
the  populace,  who  regarded  the  whole  as  an  im- 
posture, rushing  in,  completely  destroyed  the 
machine.” — Brayley's  Londiniana,  vol.  ii. 
162,  note. — J.  II.  Markland.] 

3 It  is  remarkable  that  so  good  a Latin  scholar 
as  Johnson  should  have  been  so  inattentive  to  the 
metre,  us  by  mistake  to  have  written  stellas  in- 
stead of  ignes. — Boswell. 


minores” — (He  then  mentions  the  effects 
of  certain  medicines,  as  taken;  and  adds] 
“ Nature  is  recovering  its  original  powers, 
and  the  functions  returning  to  their  proper 
state.  God  continue  his  mercies,  and  grant 
me  to  use  them  rightly.” 

“ 9th  September. 

“ Do  you  know  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of 
Devonshire?  And  have  you  ever  seen 
Chatsworth?  I was  at  Chatsworth  on 
Monday:  I had  seen  it  before,  but  never 
when  its  owners  were  at  home:  I was  very 
kindly  received,  and  honestly  pressed  to  stay; 
but  I told  them  that  a sick  man  is  not  a fit 
inmate  of  a great  house.  But  I hope  to  go 
again  some  time.55 

“ llth  September. 

“ I think  nothing  grows  worse,  but  all 
rather  better,  except  sleep,  and  that  of  late 
has  been  at  its  old  pranks.  Last  evening,  I 
felt  what  I had  not  known  for  a long  time, 
an  inclination  to  walk  for  amusement ; I 
took  a short  wTalk,  and  came  back  again  nei- 
ther breathless  nor  fatigued.  This  has 
been  a gloomy,  frigid,  ungenial  summer; 
but  of  late  it  seems  to  mend:  I hear  the 
heat  sometimes  mentioned,  but  I do  not  feel 
it: 

* Praeterea  minimus  gelido  jam  in  corpore  sanguis 
Febre  calet  sola.’ 

Juv.  s.  x.  v.  217. 

I hope,  however,  with  good  help,  to  find 
means  of  supporting  a winter  at  home,  and 
to  hear  and  tell  at  the  Club  what  is  doing, 
and  what  ought  to  be  doing,  in  the  world. 
I have  no  company  here,  and  shall  naturally 
come  home  hungry  for  conversation.  To 
wish  you,  dear  sir,  more  leisure,  would  not 
be  kind;  but  what  leisure  you  have,  you 
must  bestow  upon  me.55 

“ 16th  September. 

“ I have  now  let  you  alone  for  a long 
time,  having  indeed  little  to  say.  You 
charge  me  somewhat  unjustly  with  luxur}\ 
At  Chatsworth,  you  should  remember  that 
I have  eaten  but  once;  and  the  doctor,  with 
whom  I live,  follows  a milk  diet.  1 grow 
no  fatter,  though  my  stomach,  if  it  he  not 
disturbed  by  physick,  never  fails  me.  I 
now  grow  weary  of  solitude,  and  think  of 
removing  next  week  to  Lichfield,  a place  of 
more  society,  but  otherwise  of  less  conve- 
nience. When  I am  settled,  I shall  write 
again.  Of  the  hot  weather  that  you  men- 
tioned, we  have  [not]  had  in  Derbyshire 
very  much;  and  For  myself  I seldom  feel 
heat,  and  suppose  that  my  frigidity  is  the 
effect  of  my  distemper — a supposition  which 
naturally  leads  me  to  hope  that  a hotter  cli- 
mate may  be  useful.  But  I hope  to  stand 
another  English  winter.55 

“ Lichfield,  29ih  September. 

“On  one  day  I had  three  letters  about 


1784.  -AETAT.  75. 


417 


the  air-balloon  1 : yours  was  far  the  best, 
and  has  enabled  me  to  impart  to  my  friends 
in  the  country  an  idea  of  this  species  of 
amusement.  In  amusement,  mere  amuse 
ment,  I am  afraid  it  must  end,  for  I do  not 
find  that  its  course  can  be  directed  so  as 
that  it  should  serve  any  purposes  of  com- 
munication; and  it  can  give  no  new  intelli- 
gence of  the  state  of  the  air  at  different 
heights,  till  they  have  ascended  above  the 
height  of  mountains,  which  they  seem  never 
likely  to  do.  I came  hither  on  the  27th. 
How  long  I shall  stay,  I have  not  deter- 
mined. My  dropsy  is  gone,  and  my  asth- 
ma much  remitted,  but  I have  felt  myself 
a little  declining  these  two  days,  or  at  least 
to-day;  but  such  vicissitudes  must  be  ex- 
pected. One  day  may  be  worse  than  ano- 
ther; but  this  last  month  is  far  better  than 
the  former : if  the  next  should  be  as  much 
better  than  this,  I shall  run  about  the  town 
on  my  own  legs.” 

“ 6th  October. 

“ The  fate  of  the  balloon  I do  not  much 
lament:  to  make  new  balloons  is  to  repeat 
the  jest  again.  We  now  know  a method  of 
mounting  into  the  air,  and,  I think,  are  not 
likely  to  know  more.  The  vehicles  can 
serve  no  use  till  we  can  guide  them;  and 
they  can  gratify  no  curiosity  till  we  mount 
with  them  to  greater  heights  than  we  can 
reach  without;  till  we  rise  above  the  tops 
of  the  highest  mountains,  which  we  have 
yet  not  done.  We  know  the  state  of  the 
air  in  all  its  regions,  to  the  top  of  Teneriffe, 
and  therefore  learn  nothing  from  those  who 
navigate  a balloon  below  the  clouds.  The 
first  experiment,  however,  was  bold,  and 
deserved  applause  and  reward : but  since  it 
has  been  performed,  and  its  event  is  known, 

I had  rather  now  find  a medicine  that  can 
ease  an  asthma.” 

“ 25th  October. 

“ You  write  to  me  with  a zeal  that  ani- 
mates and  a tenderness  that  melts  me.  I am 
not  afraid  either  of  a journey  to  London,  or 
a residence  in  it.  I came  down  with  little 
fatigue,  and  am  now  not  weaker.  In  the 
smoky  atmosphere  I was  delivered  from  the 
dropsy,  which  I consider  as  the  original 
and  radical  disease.  The  town  is  my  ele- 
ment2 : there  are  my  friends,  there  are  my 


1 [Lunardi  had  ascended  from  the  Artillery 
Ground  on  the  15th  of  this  month,  and  as  this 
was  the  first  ascent  in  a balloon  which  had  been 
witnessed  in  England,  it  is  not  surprising  that  very 
general  interest  was  excited  by  the  spectacle,  and 
that  so  many  allusions  should  be  made  to  it  by 
Johnson  and  his  correspondents. — Mahkland.] 

2 His  love  of  London  continually  appears.  In 
a letter  from  him  to  Mrs.  Smart,  wife  of  his  friend 
the  poet,  which  is  published  in  a well-written  life 
of  him,  prefixed  to  an  edition  of  his  poems,  in 
1791,  there  is  the  following  sentence:  “ To  one 
that  has  passed  so  many  years  in  the  pleasures  and 

vol.  it.  53 


books,  to  which  I have  not  yet  bid  farewell, 
and  there  are  my  amusements  Sir  Josh- 
ua told  me  long  ago,  that  my  vocation  was 
to  publick  life,  and  I hope  still  to  keep  my 
station,  till  God  shall  bid  me  Go  in  peace  ” 

te  TO  MR.  HOOLE. 

“ Ashbourne,  7th  August. 

'c  Since  I was  here,  I hare  two  little  let- 
ters from  you,  and  have  not  had  the  grati- 
tude to  write.  But  every  man  is  most  free 
with  his  best  friends,  because  he  does  not 
suppose  that  they  can  suspect  him  of  inten- 
tional incivility.  One  reason  for  my  omis- 
sion is,  that  being  in  a place  to  which  you 
are  wholly  a stranger,  I have  no  topicks  of 
correspondence.  If  you  had  any  knowledge 
of  Ashbourne,  I could  tell  you  of  two  Ash- 
bourne men,  who,  being  last  week  condemn- 
ed at  Derby  to  be  hanged  for  robbery, 
went  and  hanged  themselves  in  their  cell. 
But  this,  however  it  may  supply  us  with 
talk,  is  nothing  to  you.  Your  kindness,  I 
know,  would  make  you  glad  to  hear  some 
good  of  me,  but  I have  not  much  good  to 
tell:  if  I grow  not  worse,  it  is  all  that  I can 
say.  I hope  Mrs.  Hoole  receives  more  help 
from  her  migration.  Make  her  my  compli- 
ments, and  write  again  to,  dear  sir,  your 
affectionate  servant.” 

“ 13th  August 

“ I thank  you  for  your  affectionate  letter. 
I hope  we  shall  both  be  the  better  for  each 
other’s  friendship,  and  I hope  we  shall  not 
very  quickly  be  parted.  Tell  Mr.  Nichols 
that  I shall  be  glad  of  h-is  correspondence 
when  his  business  allows  him  a little  remis- 
sion ; though  to  wish  him  less  business, 
that  I may  have  more  pleasure,  would  be 
too  selfish.  To  pay  for  seats  at  the  balloon 
is  not  very  necessary,  because  in  less  than 
a minute  they  wno  gaze  at  a mile’s  distance 
will  see  all  that  can  be  seen.  About  the 
wings,  I am  of  your  mind:  they  cannot  at 
all  assist  it,  nor  I think  regulate  its  motion. 

I am  now  grown  somewhat  easier  in  my 
body,  but  my  mind  is  sometimes  depressed. 
About  the  Club  I am  in  no  great  pain. 
The  forfeitures  go  on,  and  the  house,  I 
hear,  is  improved  for  our  future  meetings. 
I hope  we  shall  meet  often  and  sit  long.” 

“ 4th  September. 

“ Your  letter  was  indeed  long  in  coming, 
but  it  was  very  welcome.  Our  acquaint- 
ance has  now  subsisted  long,  and  our  recol- 

opulence  of  London,  there  are  few  places  that  can 
give  much  delight.” 

Once,  upon  reading  that  line  in  the  curious  ep- 
itaph quoted  in  “ The  Spectator.” 

“Born  in  New-England,  did  in  London  die,” 
he  laughed  and  said,  “ I do  not  wonder  at  this 
It  would  have  been  strange,  if,  born  in  London 
he  had  died  in  New-England.” — Bos  weli., 


418 


i784. — AT, TAT.  75. 


lection  of  each  other  involves  a great  space, 
and  many  little  occurrences  which  melt  the 
thoughts  to  tenderness.  Write  to  me, 
therefore,  as  frequently  as  you  can.  I 
.hear  from  Dr.  Brocklesby  and  Mr.  Ryland1 
that  the  Club  is  not  crowded.  I hope  we 
shall  enliven  it  when  winter  brings  us  to- 
gether.” 

“ TO  DR.  BURNEY. 

“ 2nd  August. 

u The  weather,  you  know,  has  not  been 
balmy.  I am  now  reduced  to  think,  and 
am  at  least  content  to  talk,  of  the  weather. 
Pride  must  have  a fall 2.  I have  lost  dear 
Mr.  Allen;  and  wherever  I turn,  the  dead 
or  the  dying  meet  my  notice,  and  force  my 
attention  upon  misery  and  mortality.  Mrs. 
Burney’s  escape  from  so  much  danger,  and 
her  ease  after  so  much  pain,  throws,  how- 
ever, some  radiance  of  hope  upon  the 
gloomy  prospect.  May  her  recovery  be 
perfect,  and  her  continuance  long ! I strug- 
gle hard  for  life.  I take  physick  and  take 
air  : my  friend’s  chariot  is  always  ready. 
We  have  run  this  morning  twenty-four 
miles,  and  could  run  forty-eight  more. 
But  who  can  run  the  race  with  death ? ” 

“ 4th  September. 

[Concerning  a private  transaction,  in 
which  his  opinion  was  asked,  and  after  giv- 
ing it,  he  makes  the  following  reflections, 
which  are  applicable  on  other  occasions.] 
“ Nothing  deserves  more  compassion  than 
wrong  conduct  with  good  meaning;  than 
loss  or  obloquy  suffered  by  one  who,  as  he 
is  conscious  only  of  good  intentions,  won- 
ders why  he  loses  that  kindness  which  he 
wishes  to  preserve;  and  not  knowing  his 
own  fault — if,  as  may  sometimes  happen, 
nobody  will  tell  him — goes  on  to  offend  by 
his  endeavours  to  please.  I am  delighted 
by  finding  that  our  opinions  are  the  same. 
You  will  do  me  a real  kindness  by  contin- 


1 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  75,  and  vol.  ii.  p.  364. 
Mr.  Ryland  died  24th  July,  1798,  aet.  81. — Ed.] 

2 There  was  no  information  for  which  Dr.  John- 
son was  less  grateful  than  for  that  which  concern- 
ed the  weather.  It  was  in  allusion  to  his  impa- 
tience with  those  who  were  reduced  to  keep  con- 
versation alive  by  observations  on  the  weather, 
that  he  applied  the  old  proverb  to  himself.  If 
any  one  of  his  intimate  acquaintance  told  him  it 
.vas  hot  or  cold,  wet  or  dry,  windy  or  calm,  he 
vould  stop  them  by  saying,  “ Poh!  poh!  you  are 
celling  us  that  of  which  none  but  men  in  a mine 
or  a dungeon  can  be  ignorant.  Let  us  bear  with 
patience,  or  enjoy  in  quiet,  elementary  changes, 
whether  for  the  better  or  the  worse,  as  they  are 
never  secrets.” — Burney.  [He  says  “ pride 
must  have  a fall,”  in  allusion  to  his  own  former 
assertions,  that  the  weather  had  no  effect  on  human 
health.  See  Idler , No.  11,  and  ante , vol.  i.  pp. 
142  and  193.— Ed.] 


uing  to  write.  A pcst-day  has  now  been 
long  a day  of  recreation.” 

“ 1st  November 

“ Our  correspondence  paused  for  want 
of  topicks.  I had  said  what  I had  to  say 
on  the  matter  proposed  to  my  considera- 
tion, and  nothing  remained  but  to  tell  you 
that  I waked  or  slept,  that  I was  more  oi 
less  sick.  I drew  my  thoughts  in  upon 
myself,  and  supposed  yours  employed  upon 
your  book.  That  your  book  has  been  de- 
layed I am  glad,  since  you  have  gained  an 
opportunity  of  being  more  exact  Of  the 
caution  necessary  in  adjusting  narratives 
there  is  no  end.  Some  tell  what  they  do 
not  know,  that  they  may  not  seem  igno- 
rant, and  others  from  mere  indifference 
about  truth.  All  truth  is  not,  indeed,  of 
equal  importance:  but,  if  little  violations 
are  allowed,  every  violation  will  in  time  be 
thought  little  ; and  a writer  should  keep 
himself  vigilantly  on  his  guard  against  the 
first  temptations  to  negligence  or  supine- 
ness. I had  ceased  to  write,  because  re- 
specting you  I had  no  more  to  say,  and 
respecting  myself  could  say  little  good.  I 
cannot  boast  of  advancement,  and  in  case 
of  convalescence  it  may  be  said,  with  few 
exceptions,  Non  progredi  est  regredi.  I 
hope  I may  be  excepted.  My  great  difff 
culty  was  with  my  sweet  Fanny  3,  who,  by 
her  artifice  of  inserting  her  letter  in  yours, 
had  given  me  a precept  of  frugality  which  1 
was  not  at  liberty  to  neglect ; and  I know 
not  who  were  in  town  under  whose  cover  I 
could  send  my  letter.  I rejoice  to  hear  that 
you  are  so  well,  and  have  a delight  particu- 
larly sympathetick  in  the  recovery  of  Mrs 
Burney.” 

<cTO  MR.  LANGTON. 

“ 25tli  August. 

“ The  kindness  of  your  last  letter,  and 
my  omission  to  answer  it,  begins  to  give 
you,  even  in  my  opinion,  a right  to  recrim- 
inate, and  to  charge  me  with  forgetfulness 
for  the  absent.  I will  therefore  delay  no 
longer  to  give  an  account  of  myself,  and 
wish  I could  relate  what  would  please  either 
myself  or  my  friend.  On  July  13  I left 
London,  partly  in  hope  of  help  from  new 
air  and  change  of  place,  and  partly  excited 
by  the  sick  man’s  impatience  of  the  present. 

I got  to  Lichfield  in  a stage  vehicle,  with 
very  little  fatigue,  in  two  days,  and  had  the 
consolation  4 to  find  that  since  my  last  visit 


3 The  celebrated  Miss  Fanny  Burney. — Bos 
WELL. 

4 Probably  some  word  has  been  here  omitted 
before  consolation — perhaps  sad  or  miserable , 
or  the  word  consolation  has  been  printed  by  mis- 
take, instead  of  mortification:  but  the  origina. 
letter  not  being  now  [1798]  in  Mr  Langton’* 


1784. — AST  AT.  75. 


41S 


my  three  old  acquaintances  are  all  dead. 
July  20  I went  to  Ashbourne,  where  I have 
been  till  now.  The  house  in  which  we  live 
is  repairing.  I live  in  too  much  solitude, 
and  am  often  deeply  dejected.  I wish  we 
were  nearer,  and  rejoice  in  your  removal  to 
London.  A friend  at  once  cheerful  and  se- 
rious is  a great  acquisition.  Let  us  not 
neglect  one  another  for  the  little  time  which 
Providence  allows  us  to  hope.  Of  my 
health  I cannot  tell  you,  what  my  wishes 
persuaded  me  to  expect,  that  it  is  much 
improved  by  the  season  or  by  remedies.  ' I 
am  sleepless;  my  legs  grow  weary  with  a 
very  few  steps,  and  the  water  breaks  its 
boundaries  in  some  degree.  The  asthma, 
however,  has  remitted  : my  breath  is  still 
much  obstructed,  but  is  more  free  than  it 
was.  Nights  of  watchfulness  produce  tor- 
pid days.  1 read  very  little,  though  I am 
alone  ; for  I am  tempted  to  supply  in  the 
day  what  I lost  in  bed.  This  is  my  histo- 
ry; like  all  other  histories,  a narrative  of 
misery.  Yet  I am  so  much  better  than  in 
the  beginning  of  the  year,  that  I ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  complaining.  I now  sit  and 
write  with  very  little  sensibility  of  pain  or 
weakness;  but  when  I rise,  I shall  find  my 
legs  betraying  me.  Of  the  money  which 
you  mentioned  I have  no  immediate  need: 
keep  it,  however,  for  me,  unless  some  exi- 
gence requires  it.  Your  papers  I will  show 
ou  certainly  when  you  would  see  them; 
ut  I am  a little  angry  at  you  for  not  keep- 
ing minutes  of  your  own  acceptum  et  ex- 
pensum,  and  think  a little  time  might  be 
spared  from  Aristophanes  for  the  res  famil- 
iares.  Forgive  me,  for  I mean  well.  I 
hope,  dear  sir,  that  you  and  J^ady  Rothes 
and  all  the  young  people,  too  many  to  enu- 
merate, are  well  and  happy.  God  bless  you 
all.” 

“ TO  MR.  WINDHAM. 

“ August. 

tc  The  tenderness  with  which  you  have 
been  pleased  to  treat  me  through  my  long 
illness,  neither  health  nor  sickness  can,  I 
hope,  make  me  forget;  and  you  are  not  to 
suppose  that  after  we  parted  you  were  no 
longer  in  my  mind.  But  what  can  a sick 
man  say,  but  that  he  is  sick  ? His  thoughts 
are  necessarily  concentred  in  himself:  he 
neither  receives  nor  can  give  delight ; his 
inquiries  are  after  alleviations  of  pain,  and 
his  efforts  are  to  catch  some  momentary 
comfort.  Though  I am  now  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  Peak,  you  must  expect  no 
account  of  its  wonders,  of  its  hills,  its  wa- 
ters, its  caverns,  or  its  mines;  but  I will  tell 
you,  dear  sir,  what  I hope  you  will  not  hear 
with  less  satisfaction,  that,  for  about  a week 
past,  my  asthma  has  been  less  afflictive.” 


hands,  the  errour  (if  it  be  one)  cannot  be  correct- 
ed.— Malone 


“ Lichfield,  2d  October. 

“ 1 believe  you  had  been  long  enough  ac 
quainted  with  the  phcenomena  of  sickness 
not  to  be  surprised  that  a sick  man  wishes 
to  be  where  he  is  not,  and  where  it  appears 
to  every  body  but  himself  that  he  might 
easily  be,  without  having  the  resolution  to 
remove.  I thought  Ashbourne  a solitary 
place,  but  did  not  come  hither  till  last  Mon- 
day. I have  here  more  company,  but  my 
health  has  for  this  last  week  not  advanced; 
and  in  the  languor  of  disease  how  little  can 
be  done ! Whitner  or  when  I shall  make 
my  next  remove,  I cannot  tell;  but  I en 
treat  you,  dear  sir,  to  let  me  know  from  time 
to  time  where  you  may  be  found,  for  your 
residence  is  a very  powerful  attractive  to, 
sir,  your  most  humble  servant.” 

“ TO  DR.  PERKINS. 

“ Lichfield,  4th  October,  1784 

“ Dear  sir, — I cannot  but  flatter  mysell 
that  your  kindness  for  me  will  make  you 
glad  to  know  where  I am,  and  in  what 
state. 

“ I have  been  struggling  very  hard  with 
my  diseases.  My  breath  has  been  very 
much  obstructed,  and  the  water  has  at- 
tempted to  encroach  upon  me  again.  I 
passed  the  first  part  of  the  summer  at  Ox- 
ford, afterwards  I went  to  Lichfield,  thence 
to  Ashbourne  in  Derbyshire,  and  a week  ago 
I returned  to  Lichfield. 

“ My  breath  is  now  much  easier,  and  the 
water  is  in  a great  measure  run  away,  so 
that  I hope  to  see  you  again  before  winter. 

<c  Please  make  my  compliments  to  Mrs. 
Perkins,  and  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barclay.  I 
am,  dear  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 
cc  Sam.  Johnson.” 

‘cT0  THE  RIGHT  HON.  WILLIAM  GERARD 
HAMILTON. 

“ Lichfield,  20th  October,  1784. 

“ Dear  sir, — Considering  what  reason 
you  gave  me  in  the  spring  to  conclude  that 
you  took  part  in  whatever  good  or  evil  might 
befall  me,  I ought  not  to  have  omitted  so 
long  the  account  which  I am  now  about  to 
give  you.  My  diseases  are  an  asthm#  and 
a dropsy,  and,  what  is  less  curable,  seventy- 
five.  Of  the  dropsy,  in  the  beginning  of  the 
summer,  or  in  the  spring, I recovered  to  a de- 
gree which  struck  with  wonder  both  me  and 
my  physicians:  the  asthma  now  is  likewise 
for  a time  very  much  relieved.  I went  to 
Oxford,  where  the  asthma  was  very  tyranni- 
cal, and  the  dropsy  began  again  to  threat- 
en me;  but  seasonable  physick  stopped  the 
inundation : I then  returned  to  London,  and 
in  July  took  a resolution  to  visit  Stafford- 
shire and  Derbyshire,  where  I am  yet 
struggling  with  my  disease.  The  dropsy 
made  another  attack,  and  was  not  easily 
ejected,  but  at  last  gave  way.  The  asth- 
ma suddenly  remitted  in  bed  on  the  18th 


420 


1784.  -JE TAT.  75. 


of  August,  and  though  now  very  oppres- 
sive, is,  I think,  still  something  gentler  than 
it  was  before  the  remission.  My  limbs  are 
miserably  debilitated,  and  my  nights  are 
sleepless  and  tedious.  When  you  read 
this,  dear  sir,  you  are  not  sorry  that  I wrote 
no  sooner.  I will  not  prolong  my  com- 
plaints. I hope  still  to  see  you  in  a happi- 
er hour , to  talk  over  what  we  have  often 
talked,  and  perhaps  to  find  new  topicks  of 
merriment,  or  new  incitements  to  curiosity. 
1 am,  dear  sir,  &c.  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

ftTO  JOHN  PARADISE,  ESQ,.  1 

“ Lichfield,  27th  October,  1784. 

*•  Dear  sir, — Though  in  all  my  sum- 
mer’s excursion  I have  given  you  no  ac- 
count of  myself,  I hope  you  think  better  of 
me  than  to  imagine  it  possible  for  me  to 
forget  you,  whose  kindness  to  me  has  been 
too  great  and  too  constant  not  to  have  made 
its  impression  on  a harder  breast  than  mine. 
Silence  is  not  very  culpable,  when  nothing 
pleasing  is  suppressed.  It  would  have  al- 
leviated none  of  your  complaints  to  have 
read  my  vicissitudes  of  evil.  I have  strug- 
gled hard  with  very  formidable  and  obsti- 
nate maladies  ; and  though  I cannot  talk  of 
health,  think  all  praise  due  to  my  Creator 
and  Preserver  for  the  continuance  of  my 
life.  The  dropsy  has  made  two  attacks,  and 
has  given  way  to  medicine  ; the  asthma  is 
very  oppressive,  but  that  has  likewise  once 
remitted.  I am  very  weak  and  very  sleep- 
ess  ; but  it  is  time  to  conclude  the  tale  of 
misery.  I hope,  dear  sir,  that  you  grow 
better,  for  you  have  likewise  your  share  of 
human  evil,  and  that  your  lady  and  the 
young  charmers  are  well.  I am,  dear  sir, 
&c.  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“TO  MR.  GEORGE  NICOL  2. 

“ Ashbourne.  19th  August,  1784. 

“Dear  sir, — Since  we  parted,  I have 
been  much  oppressed  by  my  asthma,  but  it 
has  lately  been  less  laborious.  When  I sit 
I am  almost  at  ease;  and  I can  walk,  though 
yet  very  little,  with  less  difficulty  for  this 
week  past  than  before.  I hope  I shall 
again  enjoy  my  friends,  and  that  you  and  I 
shall  have,  a little  more  literary  conversa- 
tion. Where  I now  am,  every  thing  is  very 
liberally  provided  for  me  but  conversation. 

1 Son  of  the  late  Peter  Paradise,  Esq.  his  Brit- 
annick  majesty’s  consul  at  Salonica  in  Macedonia, 
by  his  lady,  a native  of  that  country.  He  studied 
at  Oxford,  and  has  been  honoured  by  that  univer- 
sity with  the  degree  of  LL.  D.  He  is  distinguish- 
ed not  only  by  his  learning  and  talents,  but  by  an 
amiable  disposition,  gentleness  of  manners,  and  a 
very  general  acquaintance  with  well-informed 
and  accomplished  persons  of  almost  all  nations. — 
Boswell.  [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  22. — Ed.] 

2 Bookseller  to  his  majesty. — Boswell. 


My  friend  is  sick  himself,  and  the  recipro 
cation  of  complaints  and  groans  affords  no 
much  of  either  pleasure  or  instruction 
What  we  have  not  at  home  this  town  does 
not  supply;  and  I shall  be  glad  of  a little 
imported  intelligence,  and  hope  that  you 
will  bestow,  now  and  then,  a little  time  on 
the  relief  and  entertainment  of,  sir,  yours 
&c.  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  MR.  CRUIKSHANK. 

“ Ashbourne,  4th  September,  1784. 

“ Dear  sir, — Do  not  suppose  that  I for- 
get you : I hope  I shall  never  be  accused 
of  forgetting  my  benefactors.  I had,  til. 
lately,  nothing  to  write  but  complaints  upon 
complaints  of  miseries  upon  miseries;  but 
within  this  fortnight  I have  received  great 
relief.  Have  your  lectures  any  vacation? 
If  you  are  released  from  the  necessity  of 
daily  study,  you  may  find  time  for  a letter 
to  me. — [In  this  letter  he  states  the  particu- 
lars of  his  case.] — In  return  for  this  account 
of  my  health,  let  me  have  a good  account 
of  yours,  and  of  your  prosperity  in  all  your 
undertakings.  I am,  dear  sir,  yours,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  MR.  THOMAS  DAVIES. 

“ 14th  August. 

“ The  tenderness  with  which  you  always 
treat  me  makes  me  culpable  in  my  own 
eyes  for  having  omitted  to  write  in  so  long 
a separation.  I had,  indeed,  nothing  tc 
say  that  you  could  wish  to  hear.  All  has 
been  hitherto  misery  accumulated  upon 
misery,  disease  corroborating  disease,  til. 
yesterday  my  asthma  was  perceptibly  and 
unexpectedly  mitigated.  I am  much  com 
forted  with  this  short  relief,  and  am  willing 
to  flatter  myself  that  it  may  continue  anc 
improve.  I have  at  present  such  a degree 
of  ease  as  not  only  may  admit  the  comforts 
but  the  duties  of  life.  Make  my  compli- 
ments to  Mrs.  Davies. — Poor  dear  Allan ! — 
he  was  a good  man.” 

“TO  SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS. 

“ Ashbourne,  21st  July. 

“ The  tenderness  with  which  I am  treat- 
ed by  my  friends  makes  it  reasonable  to 
suppose  that  they  are  desirous  to  know  the 
state  of  my  health,  and  a desire  so  benevo- 
lent ought  to  be  gratified. — I came  to  Lich- 
field in  two  days  without  any  painful  fa- 
tigue, and  on  Monday  came  hither,  where  I 
purpose  to  stay  and  try  what  air  and  regu- 
larity will  effect.  I cannot  vet  persuade 
myself  that  I have  made  much  progress  in 
recovery.  My  sleep  is  little,  my  breath  is 
very  much  encumbered,  and  my  legs  are 
very  weak.  The  water  nas  increased  a lit- 
tle, but  has  again  rur.  off.  The  most  dis- 
tressing symptom  is  want  of  sleep.” 


1784. — vETAT.  75. 


421 


<c  19th  August,  j 

16  Having  had  since  our  separation  little 
to  say  that  could  please  you  or  myself  by 
saying,  I have  not  been  lavish  of  useless 
letters;  but  I flatter  myself  that  you  will 
partake  of  the  pleasure  with  which  I can 
now  tell  you  that,  about  a week  ago,  I felt 
suddenly  a sensible  remission  of  my  asthma, 
and  consequently  a greater  lightness  of  ac- 
tion and  motion. — Of  this  grateful  allevia- 
tion I know  not  the  cause,  nor  dare  depend 
upon  its  continuance;  but  while  it  lasts  I 
endeavour  to  enjoy  it,  and  am  desirous  of 
communicating,  while  it  lasts,  my  pleasure 
to  my  friends. — Hitherto,  dear  sir,  I had 
written  before  the  post,  which  stays  in  this 
town  but  a little  while,  brought  me  your 
letter.  Mr.  Davies  seems  to  have  repre- 
sented my  little  tendency  to  recovery  in 
terms  too  splendid.  I am  still  restless,  still 
weak,  still  watery,  but  the  asthma  is  less 
oppressive. — Poor  Ramsay1!  On  which 
side  soever  I turn,  mortality  presents  its  for- 
midable frown.  I left  three  old  friends  at 
Lichfield  when  I was  last  there,  and  now 
found  them  all  dead.  I no  sooner  lost  sight 
of  dear  Allan,  than  I am  told  that  I shall  see 
him  no  more.  That  we  must  all  die,  we 
always  knew:  I wish  I had  sooner  remem- 
bered it.  Do  not  think  me  intrusive  or  im- 
portunate, if*  I now  call,  dear  sir,  on  you  to 
remember  it.” 

“ 2d  September. 

“ I am  glad  that  a little  favour  from  the 
court  has  intercepted  your  furious  purpo- 
ses 2.  I could  not  in  any  case  have  approv- 
ed such  publick  violence  of  resentment,  and 
should  have  considered  any  who  encouraged 
it  as  rather  seeking  sport  for  themselves 
than  honour  for  you.  Resentment  gratifies 
him  who  intended  an  injury,  and  pains  him 
unjustly  who  did  not  intend  it.  But  all  this 
is  now  superfluous. — I still  continue,  by 
God’s  mercy,  to  mend.  My  breath  is  easier, 
my  nights  are  quieter,  and  my  legs  are  less 
in  bulk  and  stronger  in  use.  I have,  how- 
ever, yet  a great  deal  to  overcome  before  I 
can  yet  attain  even  an  old  man’s  health. — 
Write,  do  write  to  me  now  and  then.  We 
are  now  old  acquaintance,  and  perhaps  few 
people  have  lived  so  much  and  so  long  to- 
gether with  less  cause  of  complaint  on  either 
side.  The  retrospection  of  this  is  very 
pleasant,  and  I hope  we  shall  never  think 
on  each  other  with  less  kindness.” 


1 Allan  Ramsay,  Esq.  painter  to  his  majesty, 
who  died  August  10,  1784,  in  the  seventy-first 
year  of  his  age,  much  regretted  by  his  friends. 
• — Boswell.  [Soe  ante,  p.  152.] 

2 [This  no  doubt  refers  to  the  squabbles  in  the 

Academy,  and  an  intention  of  Sir  Joshua  to  resign 
the  chair;  a purpose,  however,  which  he  execu- 
ted it  Feb.  1790,  but  he  resumed  it  again  within 
* month. — Ed.] 


J “ 9th  September. 

“ I could  not  answer  your  letter  before  this 
day,  because  I went  on  the  sixth  to  Chats- 
worth,  and  did  not  come  back  till  the  post 
was  gone.  Many  words,  I hope,  are  not 
necessary  between  you  and  me  to  convince 
you  what  gratitude  is  excked  in  my  heart 
by  the  chancellor’s  liberality  and  your  kind 
offices.  I did  not  indeed  expect  that  what 
was  asked  by  the  chancellor  would  have 
been  refused3;  but  since  it  has,  we  will  not 
tell  that  any  thing  has  been  asked. — I have 
enclosed  a letter  to  the  chancellor,  which, 
when  you  have  read  it,  you  will  be  pleased 
to  seal  with  a head  or  other  general  seal, 
and  convey  it  to  him.  Had  I sent  it  direct 
ly  to  him,  I should  have  seemed  to  overlook 
the  favour  of  your  intervention. — My  last 
letter  told  you  of  my  advance  in  health, 
which,  I think,  in  the  whole  still  continues. 
Of  the  hydropick  tumour  there  is  now  very 
little  appearance:  the  asthma  is  much  less 
troublesome,  and  seems  to  remit  something 
day  after  day.  I do  not  despair  of  support- 
ing an  English  winter. — At  Chatsworth,  I 
met  young  Mr.  Burke,  who  led  me  very  com- 
modiously  into  conversation  with  the  duke 
and  duchess.  We  had  a very  good  morn- 
ing. The  dinner  was  publick.” 

“ 18th  September. 

“ I flattered  myself  that  this  week  would 
have  given  me  a letter  from  you,  but  none 
has  come.  Write  to  me  now  and  then,  but 
direct  your  next  to  Lichfield. — I think,  and 
I hope  am  sure,  that  l still  grow  better.  I 
have  sometimes  good  nights,  but  am  still  in 
my  legs  weak,  but  so  much  mended,  that  I 
go  to  Lichfield  in  hope  of  being  able  to  pay 
my  visits  on  foot,  for  there  are  no  coaches. 
— I have  three  letters  this  day,  all  about  the 
balloon:  I could  have  been  content  with 
one.  Do  not  write  about  the  balloon, 
whatever  else  you  may  think  proper  to  say.” 

“ 2d  October. 

“Iam  always  proud  of  your  approbation, 
and  therefore  was  much  pleased  that  you 
liked  my  letter.  When  you  copied  it,  you 
invaded  the  chancellor’s  right  rather  than 
mine. — The  refusal  I did  not  expect,  but  1 
had  never  thought  much  about  it,  for  \ 
doubted  whether  the  chancellor  had  sc 

3  [See  ante,  p.  41.1  v et  seq.  There  is  some 
obscurity  in  tins  ludUei  It  appears  that  Sir  Josh- 
ua understood  Lord  Thurlow  in  his  verbal  com- 
munication to  have  represented  his  request  as 
rejected,  though  in  the  letter  of  the  1 8th  Novem- 
ber he  says  the  contrary.  Perhaps  the  solution 
may  be,  that  Lord  Thurlow  happened  at  the 
moment  to  be,  as  he  often  was,  on  bad  terms 
with  Mr.  Pitt,  in  whose  special  department  the 
increase  of  a pension  would  be,  and  that  he 
did  not  like  to  speak  to  him  on  the  subje-t  — 
Ed.] 


422 


1784. — iETAT.  75. 


much  tenderness  for  me  as  to  ask.  He,  be- 
ing1 keeper  of  the  king’s  conscience,  ought 
not  to  be  supposed  capable  of  an  improper 
petition. — All  is  not  gold  that  glitters,  as 
we  have  often  been  told;  and  the  adage  is 
verified  in  your  place  and  my  favour;  but  if 
what  happens  does  not  make  us  richer,  we 
must  bid  it  welcome  if  it  makes  us  wiser. — 
I do  not  at  present  grow  better,  nor  much 
worse.  My  hopes,  however,  are  somewhat 
abated,  and  a very  great  loss  is  the  loss  of 
hope;  but  I struggle  on  as  I can.” 

ccTO  MR.  JOHN  NICHOLS  1. 

“ Lichfield,  20th  October. 

“ When  you  were  here,  you  were  pleas- 
ed, as  I am  told,  to  think  my  absence  an  in- 
convenience. I should  certainly  have  been 
very  glad  to  give  so  skilful  a lover  of  anti- 
quities any  information  about  my  native 
place,  of  which,  however,  I know  not  much, 
and  have  reason  to  believe  that  not  much  is 
known. — Though  I have  not  given  you  any 
amusement,  I have  received  amusement 
from  you.  At  Ashbourne,  where  I had  very 
little  company,  I had  the  luck  to  borrow 
c Mr.  Bowyer’s  Life; 5 a book  so  full  of  con- 
temporary history,  that  a literary  man  must 
find  some  of  his  old  friends.  I thought  that 
I could,  now  and  then,  have  told  you  some 
hints  worth  your  notice;  and  perhaps  we 
may  talk  a life  over.  I hope  we  shall  be 
much  together:  you  must  now  be  to  me 
what  you  were  before,  and  what  dear  Mr. 
Allen  was  besides.  He  was  taken  unex- 
pectedly away,  but  I think  he  was  a very 
good  man. — I have  made  little  progress  in 
recovery.  I am  very  weak  and  very  sleep- 
less; but  I live  on  and  hope.” 

This  various  mass  of  correspondence, 
which  I have  thus  brought  together2,  is 
valuable,  both  as  an  addition  to  the  store 
which  the  publick  already  has  of  Johnson’s 
writings,  and  as  exhibiting  a genuine  and 
noble  specimen  of  vigour  and  vivacity  of 
mind,  which  neither  age  nor  sickness  could 
impair  or  diminish3. 

1 [This  very  respectable  man,  who  contributed 
so  largely  to  the  literary  and  topographical  history 
of  his  country,  died  in  1826,  at  the  advanced  age 
of  eighty-two.  “ His  long  life,”  as  his  friend  and 
biographer,  Mr.  Alexander  Chalmers,  has  truly 
observed,  “ was  spent  in  the  promotion  of  useful 
knowledge.”  The  Life  of  Bowyer,  to  which 
Johnson  refers,  was  republished  in  1812-15,  with 
large  additions,  in  nine  vols.  8vo.,  under  the  title 
of  “ Literary  Anecdotes  of  the  Eighteenth  Centu- 
ry.” It  is  a storehouse  of  facts  and  dates,  and 
every  man  interested  in  literary  biography  must 
own  the  vast  obligations  which  are  due  to  its  inde- 
fatigable compiler. — Markland.] 

2 [This  is  the  Editor’s  example  and  excuse  for 
having  brought  together  in  a similar  manner  the  ex- 
tracts from  Mrs.  Thrale’s  correspondence. — Ed.] 

3 [Mr.  Boswell  carries  his  panegyric  a little  too 


It  may  be  observed,  that  his  writing  ih 
every  way,  whether  for  the  publick,  or  pri 
vately  to  his  friends,  was  by  fits  and  starts; 
for  we  see  frequently  that  many  letters  are 
written  on  the  same  day.  When  he  had 
once  overcome  his  aversion  to  begin,  he 
was,  I suppose,  desirous  to  go  on,  in  order 
to  relieve  his  mind  from  the  uneasy  reflec- 
tion of  delaying  what  he  ought  to  do. 

While  in  the  country,  notwithstanding 
the  accumulation  of  illness  which  he  en 
dured,  his  mind  did  not  lose  its  powers.  He 
translated  an  ode  of  Horace 4,  which  is 
printed  in  his  works,  and  composed  severa 
prayers.  I shall  insert  one  of  them,  which 
is  so  wise  and  energetick,  so  philosophica 
and  so  pious,  that  I doubt  not  of  its  afford 
ing  consolation  to  many  a sincere  Christian 
when  in  a state  of  mind  to  which  I believe 
the  best  are  sometimes  liable. 

“ AGAINST  INQUISITIVE  AND  PERPLEXING 
THOUGHTS. 

“ O Lord,  my  maker  and  protector,  who 
hast  graciously  sent  me  into  this  world  to 
work  out  my  salvation,  enable  me  to  drive 
from  me  all  such  unquiet  and  perplexing 
thoughts  as  may  mislead  or  hinder  me  in 
the  practice  of  those  duties  which  thou  hast 
required.  When  I behold  the  works  of  thy 
hands,  and  consider  the  course  of  thy  pro- 
vidence, give  me  grace  always  to  remember 
that  thy  thoughts  are  not  my  thoughts,  nor 
thy  ways  my  ways.  And  while  it  shall 
please  thee  to  continue  me  in  this  world, 
where  much  is  to  be  done  and  little  to  be 
known,  teach  me,  by  thy  Holy  Spirit,  to 
withdraw  my  mind  from  unprofitable  and 
dangerous  inquiries,  from  difficulties  vainly 
curious,  and  doubts  impossible  to  be  solved. 
Let  me  rejoice  in  the  light  which  thou  hast 
imparted,  let  me  serve  thee  with  active  zeal 
and  humble  confidence,  and  wait  with  pa- 
tient expectation  for  the  time  in  which  the 
soul  which  thou  receivest  shall  be  satisfied 
with  knowledge.  Grant  this,  O Lord,  for 
Jesus  Christ’s  sake.  Amen.” 

And  here  I am  enabled  fully  to  refute  a 
very  unjust  reflection,  by  Sir  John  Haw- 
kins, both  against  Dr.  Johnson  and  his 
faithful  servant  Mr.  Francis  Barber;  as  if 
both  of  them  had  been  guilty  of  culpable 

far;  Johnson  himself  has  assigned  reasons  why 
his  letters  at  this  period  should  not  exhibit  “ vig- 
our and  vivacity  of  mind.”  lie  tells  Mr.  Nicol 
that  every  thing  was  liberally  provided  for  him  at 
Ashbourne  but  conversation  ; and,  from  his  letter 
to  Dr.  Burney  (p.  418),  he  appears  to  have  been 
reduced  to  talk  about  the  weather  and  other  com- 
mon-place topics.  The  want  of  society,  and  the 
fact  that  Johnson  was  then  “ struggling  with  dis- 
ease,” will  account  for  his  correspondence  turning 
so  exclusively  upon  himself  and  his  own  com 
plaints. — Mark  Land.] 

4 [Book  iv.  ode  vii. — Diffugere  nives. — Ed. 


1784.-- ^ETAT.  "5. 


423 


neglect  towards  a person  of  the  name  of 
Heely,  whom  Sir  John  chooses  to  call  a re- 
lation of  Dr.  Johnson's.  The  fact  is,  that 
Mr.  Heely  was  not  his  relation : he  had  in- 
deed been  married  to  one  of  his  cousins,  but 
she  had  died  without  having  children,  and 
he  had  married  another  woman;  so  that 
even  the  slight  connexion  which  there  once 
had  been  by  alliance  was  dissolved.  Dr. 
Johnson,  who  had  shown  very  great  liber- 
ality to  this  man  while  his  first  wife  was 
alive,  as  has  appeared  in  a former  part  of 
this  work l,  was  humane  and  charitable 
enough  to  continue  his  bounty  to  him  occa- 
sionally; but  surely  there  was  no  strong  call 
of  duty  upon  him  or  upon  his  legatee  to  do 
more.  The  following  letter,  obligingly 
communicated  to  me  by  Mr.  Andrew  Stra- 
han,  will  confirm  what  I have  stated: 

“ TO  MR.  HEELY,  NO.  5,  IN  PYE-STREET, 
WESTMINSTER. 

“Ashbourne,  12th  August,  1784, 

“ Sir, — As  necessity  obliges  you  to  call 
bo  soon  again  upon  me,  you  should  at  least 
have  told  the  smallest  sum  that  will  supply 
your  present  want:  you  cannot  suppose  that 
I have  much  to  spare.  Two  guineas  is  as 
much  as  you  ought  to  be  behind  with  your 
creditor. — If  you  wait  on  Mr.  Strahan,  in 
New-street,  Fetter-lane,  or,  in  his  absence, 
on  Mr.  Andrew  Strahan,  show  this,  by 
which  they  are  entreated  to  advance  you 
two  guineas,  and  to  keep  this  as  a voucher. 
I am,  sir,  your  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

Indeed  it  is  very  necessary  to  keep  in 
mind  that  Sir  John  Hawkins  has  unac- 
countably viewed  Johnson’s  character  and 
conduct  in  almost  every  particular  with  an 
unhappy  prejudice  2. 

I shall  add  one  instance  only  to  those 
which  I have  thought  it  incumbent  on  me 
to  point  out.  Talking  of  Mr.  Garrick’s 
having  signified  his  willingness  to  let  John- 
son have  the  loan  of  any  of  his  books  to  as- 
sist him  in  his  edition  of  Shakspeare,  Sir 
John  says  (p.  444),  “ Mr.  Garrick  knew 
not  what  risk  he  ran  by  this  offer.  John- 
son had  so  strange  a forgetfulness  of  obli- 

1 Ante,  vol.  i.  p.  237. — Boswell. 

8 [This  seems  but  too  true.  Miss  Hawkins 
confesses  it  in  the  matter  of  the  Essex-street  Club. 
In  the  case  of  Heely  it  is  still  more  flagrant,  and 
without  any  justification.  We  shall  see  presently, 
that  in  the  last  scene  of  Johnson’s  life  a transac- 
tion took  place  (see  sub  5th  Dec.  1784)  which 
may  have  had  the  effect  of  souring  the  feeling  of 
Sir  John  towards  his  old  friend  and  his  servant 
Barber.  It  must,  however,  be  recollected,  that 
Mr.  Boswell  was  very  angry  that  Hawkins  had 
anticipated  him  as  Johnson’s  biographer,  and  was 
by  that  feeling  betrayed  into  a great  deal  of  injus- 
tice towards  him. — Ed.] 


gations  of  this  sort,  that  few  who  lent  him 
books  ever  saw  them  again.”  This  surely 
conveys  a most  unfavourable  insinuation, 
and  has  been  so  understood3.  Sir  John 
mentions  the  single  case  of  a curious  edition 
of  Politian,  which  he  tells  us  appeared  to 
belong  to  Pembroke  College,  which  proba- 
bly had  been  considered  by  Johnson  as  his 
own  for  upwards  of  fifty  years.  Would  it 
not  be  fairer  to  consider  this  as  an  inadvert- 
ence, and  draw  no  general  inference  ? The 
truth  is,  that  Johnson  was  so  attentive, 
that  in  one  of  his  manuscripts  in  my  posses- 
sion he  has  marked  in  two  columns  books 
borrowed  and  books  lent. 

In  Sir  John  Hawkins’s  compilation  there 
are,  however,  some  passages  concerning 
Johnson  which  have  unquestionable  merit. 
One  of  them  I shall  transcribe,  in  justice  to 
a writer  whom  I have  had  too  much  occa 
sion  to  censure,  and  to  show  my  fairness  as 
the  biographer  of  my  illustrious  friend: 
“There  was  wanting  in  his  conduct  and 
behaviour  that  dignity  which  results  from  a 
regular  and  orderly  course  of  action,  and  by 
an  irresistible  power  commands  esteem. 
He  could  not  be  said  to  be  a staid  man,  nor 
so  to  have  adjusted  in  his  mind  the  balance 
of  reason  and  passion,  as  to  give  occasion  to 
say  what  may  be  observed  of  some  men, 
that  all  they  do  is  just,  fit,  and  right.” 
Yet  a judicious  friend  well  suggests,  “ It 
might,  however,  have  been  added,  that  such 
men  are  often  merely  just,  and  rigidly  cor- 
rect, while  their  hearts  are  cold  and  unfeel- 
ing; and  that  Johnson’s  virtues  were  of  a 
much  higher  tone  than  those  of  the  staid , 
orderly  man  here  described.” 

We  now  behold  Johnson  for  the  last 
time  in  his  native  city,  for  which  he  ever 
retained  a warm  affection,  and  which  by 
a sudden  apostrophe,  under  the  word  Lich, 
he  introduces  with  reverence  into  his  im- 
mortal work,  “The  English  Dictionary:” 
— “ Salve  magna  parens  4 !”  While  here, 


3 [This  surely  is  over-stated.  There  are  many 
proofs  that  Johnson  was  slovenly  in  such  matters, 
but  no  one  ever  thought  it  an  imputation  of  so 
grave  a nature  as  Mr.  Boswell  here  chooses  to  rep- 
resent it. — Ed.] 

4 The  following  circumstance,  mutually  to  the 
honour  of  Johnson  and  the  corporation  of  his  na- 
tive city,  has  been  communicated  to  me  by  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Vyse  from  the  town-clerk:  “ Mr.  Simp- 
son has  now  before  him  a record  of  the  respect 
and  veneration  which  the  corporation  of  Lichfield, 
in  the  year  1767,  had  for  the  merits  and  learning 
of  Dr.  Johnson.  Ilis  father  built  the  corner  house 
in  the  market-place,  the  two  fronts  cf  which,  to- 
wards Market  and  Broad-market  Street,  stood 
upon  waste  land  of  the  corporation,  under  a forty 
years’  lease,  which  was  then  expired.  On  the 
15th  of  August,  1767,  at  a common-hall  of  the 
bailiffs  and  citizens,  it  was  ordered  (ai  <1  that  with- 
out any  solicitation),  that  a lease  should  he  gi anted 


424 


1784.— ,ETAT.  75. 


he  felt  a revival  of  al  the  tenderness  of  filial 
affection,  an  instance  of  which  appeared  in 
his  ordering* 1  the  grave-stone  and  inscription 
over  Elizabeth  Blaney  1 to  be  substantially 
and  carefully  renewed. 

To  Mr.  Henry  White2,  a young  clergy- 
man, with  whom  he  now  formed  an  intima- 
cy, so  as  to  talk  to  him  with  great  freedom, 
he  mentioned  that  he  could  not  in  general 
accuse  himself  of  having  been  an  undutiful 
son.  “ Once,  indeed,”  said  he,  “ I was  dis- 
obedient: I refused  to  attend  my  father  to 
Uttoxeter  market.  Pride  was  the  source  of 
that  refusal,  and  the  remembrance  of  it  was 
painful.  A few  years  ago  I desired  to  atone 
for  this  fault.  I went  to  Uttoxeter  in  very 
bad  weather,  and  stood  for  a considerable 
time  bare-headed  in  the  rain,  on  the  spot 
where  my  father’s  stall  used  to  stand.  In 
contrition  I stood,  and  I hope  the  penance 
was  expiatory  3.” 

to  Samuel  Johnson,  Doctor  of  Laws,  of  the  en- 
croachments at  his  house,  for  the  term  of  ninety- 
nine  years,  at  the  old  rent,  which  was  five  shil- 
lings: of  which,  as  town-clerk,  Mr.  Simpson  had 
the  honour  and  pleasure  of  informing  him,  and 
that  he  was  desired  to  accept  it  without  paying 
any  fine  on  the  occasion;  which  lease  was  after- 
wards granted,  and  the  Doctor  died  possessed  of 
this  property.” — Boswell. 

1 See  vol.  i.  p.  12. — Boswell. 

2 [Sacrist  and  one  of  the  vicars  of  Lichfield 
Cathedral,  1831. — Makkland.] 

3 [The  following  account  of  this  affair  was 
communicated  in  MS.  to  the  Editor,  but  he  finds 
it  is  a transcript  from  Mr.  Warner’s  “ Tour  through 
the  Northern  Counties  of  England,”  published  in 
1802,  and  has  been  quoted  by  Mr.  Chalmers  in 
his  edition: — “ During  the  last  visit  which  the 
Doctor  made  to  Lichfield,  the  friends  with  whom 
he  was  staying  missed  him  one  morning  at  the 
breakfast-table.  On  inquiring  after  him  of  the 
servants,  they  understood  he  had  set  off  from 
Lichfield  at  a very  early  hour,  without  mentioning 
to  any  of  the  family  whither  he  was  going.  The 
day  passed  without  the  return  of  the  illustrious 
guest,  and  the  party  began  to  be  very  uneasy  on 
his  account,  when,  just  before  the  supper-hour, 
the  door  opened,  and  the  Doctor  stalked  into  the 
room.  A solemn  silence  of  a few  minutes  ensued, 
nobody  daring  to  inquire  the  cause  of  his  absence, 
which  was  at  length  relieved  by  Johnson  address- 
ing the  lady  of  the  house  in  the  following  manner: 

« Madam,  I beg  your  pardon  for  the  abruptness 
of  my  departure  from  your  house  this  morning, 
but  I was  constrained  to  it  by  my  conscience. 
Fifty  years  ago,  madam,  on  this  day,  I committed 
a breach  of  filial  piety,  which  has  ever  since  lain 
heavy  on  my  mind,  and  has  not  till  this  day  been 
expiated.  My  father,  you  recollect,  was  a book- 
seller, and  had  long  been  in  the  habit  of  attending 

market,  and  opening  a stall  for  the  sale 

of  his  books  during  that  day.  Confined  to  his  bed  by 
indisposition,  he  requested  me,  this  time  fifty  years 
ago,  to  visit  the  market,  and  attend  the  stall  in 
his  place.  But,  madam,  my  pride  prevented  me 
from  doing  my  duty,  and  I gave  my  father  a refu- 


“ I told  him,”  says  Miss  Sewaid,  “ in  one 
of  my  latest  visits  to  him,  of  a wonderfu* 
learned  pig  which  I had  seen  at  Notting- 
ham; and  which  did  all  that  we  have  ob- 
served exhibited  by  dogs  and  horses.  The 
subject  amused  him.  { Then,’  said  he, { the 
pigs  are  a race  unjustly  calumniated.  Pig 
has,  it  seems,  not  been  wanting  to  man 
but  man  to  pig.  We  do  not  allow  time 
for  his  education;  we  kill  him  at  a year  old.* 
Mr.  Henry  White,  who  was  present,  ob- 
served that  if  this  instance  had  happened  in 
or  before  Pope’s  time,  he  would  not  have 
been  justified  in  instancing  the  swine  as  the 
lowest  degree  of  grovelling  instinct.  Dr 
Johnson  seemed  pleased  with  the  observa- 
tion, while  the  person  who  made  it  proceed- 
ed to  remark,  that  great  torture  must  have 
been  employed,  ere  the  indocility  of  the  an- 
imal could  have  been  subdued. — ‘ Certainly,’ 
said  the  Doctor;  4 but,’  turning  to  me, c how 
old  is  your  pig?’  I told  him,  three  years 
old.  ‘ Then,’  said  he,  c the  pig  has  no 
cause  to  complain;  he  would  have  been 
killed  the  first  year  if  he  had  not  been  edu- 
cated, and  protracted  existence  is  a good 
recompense  for  very  considerable  degrees 
of  torture.’  ” 

[<cTO  DR.  HEBERDEN,  LONDON  1. 

“ Lichfield,  13th  October,  1784. 

cc  Dear  sir, — Though  I doubt  not 
but  Dr.  Brocklesby  would  communicate 
to  you  any  incident  in  the  variation  of  my 
health  which  appeared  either  curious  or  im- 
portant, yet  I think  it  time  to  give  you  some 
account  of  myself. 

“ Not  long  after  the  first  great  efflux  of 
the  water,  I attained  so  much  vigour  of 
limbs  and  freedom  of  breath,  that  withou’ 
rest  or  intermission,  I went  with  Dr.  Brock 
lesby  to  the  top  of  the  painter’s  Academy 
This  was  the  greatest  degree  of  health  tha 
I have  obtained,  and  this,  if  it  could  con 
tinue,  were  perhaps  sufficient;  but  my 
breath  soon  failed,  and  my  body  grew 
weak. 


sal.  To  do  away  the  sin  of  this  disobedience,  1 

this  day  went  in  a post-chaise  to , and  going 

into  the  market  at  the  time  of  high  buisness,  un- 
covered my  head,  and  stood  with  it  bare  an  hour 
before  the  stall  which  my  father  had  formerly 
used,  exposed  to  the  sneers  of  the  standers-by  and 
the  inclemency  of  the  weather;  a penance  by 
which  I trust  I have  propitiated  Heaven  for  this 
only  instance,  I believe,  of  contumacy  toward  my 
father.’  ” — Ed.] 

1 [Communicated  to  the  Editor  by  Dr.  Heber- 
den,  junior,  through  their  common  friend,  Mr. 
Edward  Hawke  Locker. — Ed.]  [“  Dr.  Johnson 
being  asked  in  his  last  illness  what  physician  he 
had  sent  for — ‘ Dr.  Heberden,’  replied  he,  * ulti- 
mus  Romanorttm — the  last  of  our  learned  phy 
sicians.’  ” — Nichols’ s Ante.  vol.  vi.  598. — 
Marklaxd.] 


1784. — iETAT.  75 


425 


“At  Oxford  (in  June)  I was  much  dis- 
tressed by  shortness  of  breath,  so  much  that 
I never  attempted  to  scale  the  library:  the 
water  gained  upon  me,  but  by  the  use  of 
squills  was  in  a great  measure  driven  away. 

“ In  July  I went  to  Lichfield,  and  per- 
formed the  journey  with  very  little  fatigue 
in  the  common  vehicle,  but  found  no  help 
from  my  native  air.  I then  removed  to 
Ashbourne,  in  Derbyshire,  where  for  some 
time  I was  oppressed  very  heavily  by  the 
asthma;  and  the  dropsy  had  advanced  so 
far,  that  I could  not  without  great  difficulty 
button  me  at  my  knees. 

(Here  are  omitted  some  minute  medical 
details.) 

“ No  hvdropical  humour  has  been  lately 
visible.  The  relaxation  of  my  breath  has 
not  continued  as  it  was  at  first,  but  neither 
do  I breathe,  with  the  same  angustice  and 
distress  as  before  the  remission.  The  sum- 
mary of  my  state  is  this: 

‘ I am  deprived,  by  weakness  and  the 
asthma,  of  the  power  of  walking  beyond  a 
very  short  space. 

“ I draw  my  breath  with  difficulty  upon 
the  least  effort,  but  not  with  suffocation  or 
pain. 

“ The  dropsy  still  threatens,  but  gives 
way  to  medicine. 

“ The  summer  has  passed  without  giv- 
ing me  any  strength. 

“ My  appetite  is,  I think,  less  keen  than 
it  was,  but  not  so  abated  as  that  its  decline 
can  be  observed  by  any  but  myself. 

“ Be  pleased  to  think  on  me  sometimes. 
I am,  sir,  your  most  obliged  and  most 
humble  servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.55] 

[From  Lichfield  he  also  wrote  sev- 
D*  eral  letters  to  Sir  J.  Hawkins,  in  a 
tone  which  announced  serious  danger. 
The  concluding  paragraph  of  the  last  of 
them  was  as  follows : 

“7th  November,  1784. 

“ I am  relapsing  into  the  dropsy 
^*576 " very  fasL  and  shall  make  such  haste 
p‘  ' to  town  that  it  will  be  useless  to 
write  to  me;  but  when  I come,  let  me  have 
the  benefit  of  your  advice,  and  the  consola- 
tion of  your  company.55] 

As  Johnson  had  now  very  faint  hopes  of  re- 
covery, and  as  Mrs.Thrale  was  no  longer  de- 
voted to  him,  it  might  have  been  supposed  1 


1  [Why  ? Miss  Porter  respected  Dr.  Johnson, 
but  could  have  felt  for  hi rn  nothing  like  filial  de- 
votion. She  was  nearly  as  old  almost  as  infirm, 
and  more  helpless  than  Johnson,  and  it  is  scarcely 
possible  to  imagine  any  arrangement  less  “natu- 
ral ” or  less  likely  to  be  agreeable  to  either  of 
the  parties,  and  especially  t.  Dr  Johnson,  than 
von.  ii.  54 


that  he  would  naturally  have  chosen  to  re- 
main in  the  comfortable  house  of  his  belov 
ed  wife’s  daughter,  and  end  his  life  where 
he  began  it.  But  there  was  in  him  an  ani- 
mated and  lofty  spirit2 3,  and  however  com- 
plicated diseases  might  depress  ordinary 
mortals,  all  who  saw  him  beheld  and  ac- 
knowledged the  invictur.i  Cato - 

nis's.  Such  was  his  intellectual  ardour 
even  at  this  time,  that  he  said  to  one  friend, 
“Sir,  I look  upon  every  day  to  be  lost  in 
which  I do  not  make  a new  acquaintance; 55 
and  to  another,  when  talking  of  his  ill- 
ness, “ I will  be  conquered;  I will  not  capit- 
ulate.” And  such  was  his  love  of  London, 
so  high  a relish  had  he  of  its  magnificent 
extent  and  variety  of  intellectual  entertain- 
ment, that  he  languished  when  absent  from 
it,  his  mind  having  become  quite  luxurious 
from  the  long  habit  of  enjoying  the  metropo- 
lis; and,  therefore  although  at  Lichfield,  sur- 
rounded with  friends  who  loved  and  revered 
him,  and  for  whom  he  had  a very  sincere 
affection,  he  still  found  that  such  conversa- 
tion as  London  affords  could  be  found  no- 
where else.  These  feelings,  joined  proba- 
bly to  some  flattering  hopes  of  aid  from  the 
eminent  physicians  and  surgeons  in  London, 
who  kindly  and  generously  attended  him 
without  accepting  fees,  made  him  resolve  to 
return  to  the  capital. 

From  Lichfield  he  came  to  Birmingham, 
where  he  passed  a few  days  with  his  wor- 
thy old  school-fellow,  Mr.  Hector,  who  thus 
writes  to  me:  “He  was  very  solicitous 
with  me  to  recollect  some  of  our  most  ear- 
ly transactions,  and  transmit  them  to  him, 
for  I perceived  nothing  gave  him  greater 
pleasure  than  calling  to  mind  those  days  of 
our  innocence.  I complied  with  his  request, 
and  he  only  received  them  a few  days  be- 
fore his  death.  I have  transcribed  for  your 
inspection  exactly  the  minutes  I wrote  to 
him.”  This  paper  having  been  found  in 
his  repositories  after  his  death,  Sir  John 
Hawkins  has  inserted  it  entire,  and  I have 
made  occasional  use  >f  it  and  other  com- 
munications from  Mr.  Hector  4 in  the  course 

that  partnership  in  disease  which  Mr.  Boswell 
suggests. — Ed.] 

2 Mr.  Burke  suggested  to  me,  as  applicable  to 
Johnson,  what  Cicero,  in  his  “ Cato  Major,”  says 
of  Appius:  “ Intentum  enim  animum,  tanquam 
arcurn,  habebat,  nec  languescens  succurnbebat 
senectuti;”  repeating,  at  the  same  time,  the 
following  noble  words  in  the  same  passage:  “ Ita 
enim  seneclus  honesta  est,  si  seipsa  defendit,  si  jus 
suum  retinet,  si  nemini  emancipata  est,  si  usque 
ad  extremum  vitae  spiritum  vindicet  jus  suum.” — 
Boswf.ll. 

3 Jltrocem  animum  Catonis  are  Horace’s  words, 
and  it  may  be  doubted  whether  atrox  is  used  by 
any  other  original  writer  in  the  same  sense. 
Stubborn  is  perhaps  the  most  correct  translation 
of  this  epithet. — Malone. 

| 4 It  is  a most  agreeable  circumstance  attending 


426 


784. — /ETAT.  75. 


of  this  work.  I have  both  visited  and  cor- 
responded with  him  since  Dr.  Johnson’s 
death,  and  by  my  inquiries  concerning-  a great 
variety  of  particulars  have  obtained  addi- 
tional information.  I followed  the  same 
mode  with  the  Reverend  Dr.  Taylor,  in 
whose  presence  I wrote  down  a good  deal 
of  what  he  could  tell;  and  he,  at  my  request, 
signed  his  name,  to  give  it  authenticity.  It 
is  very  rare  to  find  any  person  who  is  able 
to  give  a distinct  account  of  the  life  even 
of  one  whom  he  has  known  intimately, 
without  questions  being  put  to  them.  My 
friend  Dr.  Kippis  has  told  me,  that  on  this 
account  it  is  a practice  with  him  to  draw 
out  a biographical  catechism. 

Johnson  then  proceeded  to  Oxford,  where 
he  was  again  kindly  received  by  Dr.  Adams  *, 
who  was  pleased  to  give  me  the  following 
account  in  one  of  his  letters,  (Feb.  17th, 
1785) : ‘ His  last  visit  was,  I believe,  to  my 
house,  which  he  left,  after  a stay  of  four  or 
five  days.  We  had  much  serious  talk  to- 
gether, for  which  I ought  to  be  the  better 
as  long  as  I live.  You  will  remember  some 

the  publication  of  this  work,  that  Mr.  Hector  has 
survived  his  illustrious  school-fellow  so  many 
years;  that  he  still  retains  his  health  and  spirits; 
and  has  gratified  me  with  the  following  acknow- 
ledgment: “ I thank  you,  most  sincerely  thank 
you,  for  the  great  and  long-continued  entertainment 
your  life  of  Dr.  Johnson  has  afforded  me,  and 
others  of  my  particular  friends.”  Mr.  Hector, 
besides  setting  me  right  as  to  the  verses  on'a  Sprig 
of  Myrtle,  (see  vol.  i.  p.  33,  note)  has  favoured 
me  with  two  English  odes,  written  by  Dr.  John- 
son at  an  early  period  of  his  life,  which  will  ap- 
pear in  my  edition  of  his  poems. — Boswell. 
This  early  and  worthy  friend  of  Johnson  died  at 
Birmingham,  2d  September,  1794. — Malone. 

1 This  amiable  and  excellent  man  survived  Dr. 
Johnson  about  four  years,  having  died  in  January, 
1789,  at  Gloucester,  where  a monument  is  erected 
to  his  memory  with  the  following  inscription: — 

Sacred  to  the  memory  of  William  Adams, 
D.  D.  Master  of  Pembroke  College,  Oxford,  Pre- 
bendary of  this  Cathedral,  and  Archdeacon  of 
Llandaff.  Ingenious,  learned,  eloquent,  he  ably 
defended  the  truth  of  Christianity;  pious,  benevo- 
lent, and  charitable,  he  suscessfully  inculcated  its 
sacred  precepts.  Pure,  and  undeviating  in  his 
own  conduct,  he  was  tender  and  compassionate 
to  the  failings  of  others.  Ever  anxious  for  the 
welfare  and  happiness  of  mankind,  he  was  on  all 
occasions  forward  to  encourage  works  of  public 
utility  and  extensive  beneficence.  In  the  govern- 
ment of  the  college  over  which  he  presided,  his 
vigilant  attention  was  uniformly  exerted  to  pro- 
mote the  important  objects  of  the  institution: 
whilst  the  mild  dignity  of  his  deportment,  his 
gentleness  of  disposition  and  urbanity  of  manners, 
inspired  esteem,  gratitude,  and  affection.  Full  of 
days,  and  matured  in  virtue,  he  died  Jan.  13th, 
1789,  aged  82. 

A very  just  character  of  Dr.  Adams  may  also 
be  found  in  “The  Gentleman’s  Magazine  ” for 
1789,  vol.  lix.  p.  214.  —Malone. 


discourse  which  we  had  in  the  summer  up- 
on the  subject  of  prayer,  and  the  difficulty 
of  this  sort  of  composition.  He  reminded 
me  of  this,  and  of  my  having  wished  him  to 
try  his  hand,  and  to  give  us  a specimen  of 
the  style  and  manner  that  he  approved. 
He  added  that  he  was  now  in  a right  frame 
of  mind,  and  as  he  could  not  possibly  em- 
ploy his  time  better,  he  would  in  earnest  set 
about  it.  But  I find  upon  inquiry,  that  no 
papers  of  this  sort  were  left  behind  him,  ex- 
cept a few  short  ejaculatory  forms  suitable 
to  his  present  situation.” 

Dr.  Adams  had  not  then  received  accu- 
rate information  on  this  subject:  for  [in 
the  interval  between  these  two  visits  D‘ 
to  Oxford,  and  indeed,  within  a very  few 
days  of  the  last,  Dr.  Johnson  appears  to 
have  put  to  paper  some  preparatory  notes 
on  this  subject.  In  Mr.  Anderdon’s  MSS. 
is  the  following  paper: 

££  Preces. 

££ Against  the  incursion  of  evil  And. 

thoughts.  wss* 

“ Repentance  and  pardon — Laud. 

u In  disease. 

££ On  the  loss  of  friends — by  death; 

by  his  own  fault  or  friend’s. 

££ On  the  unexpected  notice  of  the 

death  of  others. 


<c  Prayer  generally  recommendatory; 

££  To  understand  their  prayers; 
cc  Under  dread  of  death; 

“ Prayer  commonly  considered  as  a stated 
and  temporary  duty — performed  and 
forgotten — without  any  effect  on  the 
following  day. 
cc  Prayer — a vow. — Taylor. 

“ Scepticism  caused  by 

“ 1.  Indifference  about  opinions. 

C£  2.  Supposition  that  things  disputed  are 
disputable. 

££  3.  Demand  of  unsuitable  evidence. 

££  4.  False  judgment  of  evidence. 

££  5.  Complaint  of  the  obscurity  of  Scrip- 
ture. 

££  6.  Contempt  of  fathers  and  of  authority. 

££  7.  Absurd  method  of  learning  objections 
first. 

££  8.  Study  not  for  truth,  but  vanity. 

££  9.  Sensuality  and  a vicious  life. 

££  10.  False  honour,  false  shame. 
tc  11.  Omission  of  prayer  and  religious  ex 
ercises. — Oct.  31,  1784.” 

The  first  part  of  these  notes  seems  £d 
to  be  a classification  of  prayers;  the  D‘ 
two  latter,  hints  for  the  discourse  on  pray- 
er which  he  intended  to  prefix.] 

It  has  since  appeared  that  various  pray- 
ers had  been  composed  by  him  at  different 


1784. — yETAT.  75. 


427 


periods,  whion,  intermingled  with  pious  res- 
olutions and  some  short  notes  of  his  life, 
were  entitled  by  him  “ Prayers  and  Medi- 
tations,” and  have,  in  pursuance  of  his  ear- 
nest requisition,  in  the  hopes  of  doing  good, 
been  published,  with  a judicious  well-writ- 
ten preface,  by  the  Reverend  Mr.  Strahan, 
to  whom  he  delivered  them.  This  admira- 
ble collection,  to  which  I have  frequently 
referred  in  the  course  of  this  work,  evinces, 
beyond  all  his  compositions  for  the  publick, 
and  all  the  eulogies  of  his  friends  and  admi- 
rers, the  sincere  virtue  and  piety  of  John- 
son. It  proves  with  unquestionable  au- 
thenticity that,  amidst  all  his  constitutional 
infirmities,  his  earnestness  to  conform  his 
practice  to  the  precepts  of  Christianity  was 
unceasing,  and  that  he  habitually  endeav- 
oured to  refer  every  transaction  of  his  life 
to  the  will  of  the  Supreme  Being  h 

He  arrived  in  London  on  the  16th  of 
November,  and  next  day  sent  to  Dr.  Bur- 
ney the  following  note,  which  I insert  as 
the  last  token  of  his  remembrance  of  that 
ingenious  and  amiable  man,  and  as  another 
of  the  many  proofs  of  the  tenderness  and 
benignity  of  his  heart: 

“ Dr.  Johnson,  who  came  home  last 
night,  sends  his  respects  to  dear  Dr.  Bur- 
ney and  all  the  dear  Burneys,  little  and 
great.” 

1  [There  are  some  errors  in  the  foregoing  state- 
ment relative  to  the  Prayers  and  Meditations, 
which,  considering  the  effect  of  that  publication 
on  Dr.  Johnson’s  character,  and  Mr.  Boswell’s 
zealous  claims  to  accuracy  in  all  such  matters, 
are  rather  strange.  Indeed  it  seems  as  if  Mr. 
Boswell  had  read  either  too  hastily  or  not  at  all 
the  preface  of  Dr.  Strahan's  book.  In  the  first 
place,  as  has  been  already  stated  {ante,  preface 
and  vol.  i.  p.  97),  this  collection  was  not,  as 
Mr.  Boswell  seems  to  suppose,  made  by  Dr. 
Johnson  himself ; nor  did  he  give  it  the  designa- 
tion of  “Prayers  and  Meditations  ; ' ’ nor  do 
the  original  papers  bear  any  appearance  of  having 
been  intended  for  the  press — quite  the  contrary! 
Dr.  Strahan’s  preface  indeed  is  not  so  clear  on 
this  point  as  it  ought  to  have  been;  but  even  from 
it  we  learn  that  whatever  Johnson’s  intentions 
were  as  to  revising  and  collecting  for  publication 
his  scattered  prayers,  he  in  fact  did  nothing  but 
place  a confused  mass  of  papers  in  Dr.  Strahan’s 
hands,  and  from  the  inspection  of  the  papers 
themselves  it  is  quite  evident  that  Dr.  Strahan 
thought  proper  to  weave  into  one  work  materials 
that  were  never  intended  to  come  together.  This 
consideration  is  important,  because,  as  has  been 
before  observed  but  cannot  be  too  often  repeated, 
the  prayers  are  mixed  up  with  notices  and  memo- 
randa of  Dr.  Johnson’s  conduct  and  thoughts 
(called  by  Dr.  Strahan,  “ Meditations ”), 
which,  affecting  and  edifying  as  they  may  be 
when  read  as  the  secret  effusions  of  a good  man’s 
conscience,  would  have  a very  different  character 
if  they  could  be  supposed  to  be  left  behind  him 
ostentatiously  prepared  for  publication. — Ed.] 


{tTO  MR.  HECTOR,  IN  BIRMINGHAM. 

“London,  17th  Nov.  1784. 

“Dear  sir, — I did  not  reach  Oxford 
until  Friday  morning,  and  then  I sent 
Francis  to  see  the  balloon  fly,  but  could  not 
go  myself.  I staid  at  Oxford  till  Tuesday, 
and  then  came  in  the  common  vehicle  easily 
to  London.  I am  as  I was,  and  having  seen 
Dr.  Brocklesby,  am  to  ply  the  squills;  but, 
whatever  be  their  efficacy,  this  world  must 
soon  pass  away.  Let  us  think  seriously  on 
our  duty.  I send  my.  kindest  respects  to 
dear  Mrs.  Careless:  let  me  have  the  pray 
ers  of  both.  We  have  all  lived  long,  and 
must  soon  part.  God  have  mercy  on  us 
for  the  sake  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
Amen.  I am,  &c.  “ Sam.  Johnson. 

His  correspondence  with  me,  after  his  let 
ter  on  the  subject  of  my  settling  in  London, 
shall  now,  so  far  as  is  proper,  be  produced 
in  one  series. 

July  26  he  wrote  to  me  from  Ashbourne 

“ On  the  14th  I came  to  Lichfield,  and 
found  every  body  glad  enough  to  see  me. 
On  the  20th  I came  hither,  and  found  a 
house  half-built,  of  very  uncomfortable  ap- 
pearance; but  my  own  room  has  not  been 
altered.  That  a man  worn  with  diseases, 
in  his  seventy-second  or  third  year,  should 
condemn  part  of  his  remaining  life  to  pass 
among  ruins  and  rubbish,  and  that  no  in- 
considerable part,  appears  to  me  very 
strange.  I know  that  your  kindness  makes 
you  impatient  to  know  the  state  of  my 
health,  in  which  I cannot  boast  of  much 
improvement.  1 came  through  the  journey 
without  much  inconvenience,  but  when  I 
attempt  self-motion  I find  my  legs  weak, 
and  my  breath  very  short:  this  day  I have 
been  much  disordered.  I have  no  company; 
the  doctor2  is  busy  in  his  fields,  and  goes 
to  bed  at  nine,  and  his  whole  system  is  so 
different  from  mine,  that  we  seem  formed 
for  different  elements;  I have,  therefore, 
all  my  amusement  to  seek  within  myself.” 

Having  written  to  him  in  bad  spirits  a 
letter  filled  with  dejection  and  fretfulness3, 

2 The  Reverend  Dr.  Taylor. — Boswell. 

3 [Dr.  Johnson  and  others  of  Mr.  Boswe.-’s 
friends  used  to  disbelieve  and  therefore  ridicule 
his  mental  inquietudes — that  “Jemmy  Boswell  ” 
should  be  afflicted  with  melancholy  was  what 
none  of  his  acquaintance  could  imagine,  and  as  he 
seemed  sometimes  to  make  a parade  of  these 
miseries,  they  thought  he  was  aping  Dr.  Johnson, 
who  was  admitted  to  be  really  a sufferer,  though 
he  endeavoured  to  conceal  it.  But  after  all,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Boswell  was  liable  to 
great  inequalities  of  spirits,  which  will  account  for 
many  of  the  peculiarities  of  his  character,  and 
should  induce  us  to  pity  what  his  cotemporaries 
laughed  at. — Ed.] 


428 


1784. — A2TAT.  75. 


and  at  the  same  time  expressing  anxious 
apprehensions  concerning  him,  on  account 
of  a dream  which  had  disturbed  me;  his 
answer  was  chiefly  in  terms  of  reproach, 
for  a supposed  charge  of  “ affecting  discon- 
tent, and  indulging  the  vanity  of  complaint.” 
It,  however,  proceeded, 

“ W rite  to  me  often,  and  write  like  a man. 
I consider  your  fidelity  and  tenderness  as  a 
great  part  of  the  comforts  which  are  yet  left 
me,  and  sincerely  wish  we  could  be  nearer 
to  each  other.  *#**#**.  My  dear 
friend,  life  is  very  short  and  very  uncertain  ; 
let  us  spend  it  as  well  as  we  can.  My  wor- 
thy neighbour,  Allen,  is  dead.  Love  me 
as  well  as  you  can.  Pay  my  respects  to 
dear  Mrs.  Boswell.  Nothing  ailed  me  at 
that  time;  let  your  superstition  at  last  have 
an  end.” 

Feeling  very  soon  that  the  manner  in 
which  he  had  written  might  hurt  me,  he, 
two  days  afterwards,  wrote  to  me  again, 
grdng  me  an  account  of  his  sufferings;  af- 
trr  which  he  thus  proceeds  : 

“ 28th  July. 

“ Before  this  letter  you  will  have  had  one 
which  I hope  you  will  not  take  amiss;  for 
n contains  only  truth,  and  that  truth  kindly 
Intended.  *******  Spartam  quam  nactus 
es  orna ; make  the  most  and  best  of  your 
lot,  and  compare  yourself  not  with  the  few 
’hat  are  above  you,  but  with  the  multitudes 
which  are  below  you.  ******,  Go 
steadily  forwards  with  lawful  business  or 
nonest  diversions.  £ Be,’  as  Temple  says 
of  the  Dutchmen,  ' well  when  you  are  not 
ill,  and  pleased  when  you  are  not  angry.’ 
*****,  This  may  seem  but  an  ill  return 
for  your  tenderness;  but  I mean  it  well,  for 
I love  you  with  great  ardour  and  sincerity. 
Tay  my  respects  to  dear  Mrs.  Boswell,  and 
teach  the  young  ones  to  love  me.” 

I unfortunately  was  so  much  indisposed 
during  a considerable  part  of  the  year,  that 
it  was  not,  or  at  least  I thought  it  was  not 
in  my  power  to  write  to  my  illustrious  friend 
as  formerly,  or  without  expressing  such 
complaints  as  offended  him.  Having  con- 
iured  him  not  to  do  me  the  injustice  of 
charging  me  with  affectation,  I was  with 
much  regret  long  silent.  Hia  la?t  letter  tc 
me  then  came,  and  affected  me  very  tev 
derly : 

“ TO  JAMES  BOSWELL,  ESQ,. 

“ Lichfield,  5th  November,  17*4. 

Dear  sir, — I have  this  summer  some- 
times amended,  and  sometimes  relapsed, 
but,  upon  the  whole,  have  lost  ground  very 
much.  My  legs  are  extremely  weak,  and 
my  breath  very  short,  and  the  water  is  now 


increasing  upon  me.  In  this  uncomforta- 
ble state  your  letters  used  to  relieve:  what 
is  the  reason  that  I have  them  no  longer? 
Are  you  sick,  or  are  you  sullen  ? Whatev- 
er be  the  reason,  if  it  be  less  than  necessity, 
drive  it  away;  and  of  the  short  life  that  we 
have,  make  the  best  use  for  yourself  and 
for  your  friends.  ******.  I am  some- 
times afraid  that  your  omission  to  write 
has  some  real  cause,  and  shall  be  glad  to 
know  that  you  are  jiot  sick,  and  that  noth 
ing  ill  has  befallen  dear  Mrs.  Boswell,  or 
any  of  your  family.  I am,  sir,  your,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

Yet  it  was  not  a little  painful  to  me  to 
find,  that  in  a paragraph  of  this  letter, 
which  I have  omitted,  he  still  persevered  in 
arraigning  me  as  before,  which  was  strange 
in  him  who  had  so  much  experience  of 
what  I suffered.  I,  however,  wrote  to  him 
two  as  kind  letters  as  I could;  the  last  of 
which  came  too  late  to  be  read  by  him,  foi 
his  illness  increased  more  rapidly  upon  him 
than  I had  apprehended;  but  I had  the 
consolation  of  being  informed  that  he  spoke 
of  me  on  his  death-bed  with  affection,  and 
I look  forward  with  humble  hope  of  renew- 
ing our  friendship  in  a better  world. 

I now  relieve  the  readers  of  this  work  from 
any  farther  personal  notice  of  its  authour; 
who,  if  he  should  be  thought  to  have  obtru- 
ded himself  too  much  upon  their  attention, 
requests  them  to  consider  the  peculiar  plan 
of  his  biographical  undertaking. 

Soon  after  Johnson’s  return  to  the  me- 
tropolis, both  the  asthma  and  dropsy  became 
more  violent  and  distressful.  He  had  for 
some  time  kept  a journal  in  Latin  of  the 
state  of  his  illness,  and  the  remedies  which 
he  used,  under  the  title  of  JEgri  Ephemeris, 
which  he  began  on  the  6th  of  July,  but  con- 
tinued it  no  longer  than  the  8th  of  Novem- 
ber; finding,  I suppose,  that  it  was  a 
mournful  and  unavailing  register.  It  is  in 
my  possession ; and  is  written  with  great 
care  and  accuracy. 

Still  his  love  of  literature  1 did  not  fail. 
A very  few  days  before  his  death  he  trans- 

1 It  is  truly  wonderful  to  consider  the  extent 
and  constancy  of  Johnson’s  literary  ardour,  not- 
withstanding the  melancholy  which  clouded  and 
embittered  his  existence.  Besides  the  numerous 
and  various  works  which  he  executed,  he  had,  at 
different  times,  formed  schemes  of  a great  many 
more,  of  which  the  following  catalogue  was  given 
by  him  to  Mr.  Langton,  and  by  that  gentleman 
presented  to  his  Majesty. — Boswell.  [This 
catalogue,  as  Mr.  Boswell  calls  it,  is,  by  Dr. 
Johnson  himself,  intitled  “ Designs,”  and  is 
written  in  a few  pages  of  a small  duodecimo  note- 
book bound  in  rough  calf.  It  seems  from  the 
hand,  tha;  it  was  written  early  in  life:  from  the 
marginal  dates  if  appears  that  some  portions 
were  added  in  17^2  and  I75S.  L the  6*st  '♦age 


1784. — jETAT  75 


429 


mitted  to  nis  friend,  Mr.  John  Nichols,  a 
list  of  the  authours  of  the  Universal  Histo- 
ry, mentioning  their  several  shares  in  that 
work.  It  has,  according  to  his  direction, 
been  deposited  in  the  British  Museum,  and 
is  printed  in  the  Gentleman’s  Magazine  for 
December,  1784  1 


of  this  little  volume,  his  late  Majesty  King  George 
III.  wrote  ivith  his  own  hand: 

“Original  Manuscripts 
of  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson, 
presented  by  his  friend , 

Langton,  Esq. 

April  16  th,  1785 
G.  R ” 

ll  nas  neen  thought  more  convenient  to  transfer 
this  catalogue  to  the  appendix. — Ed.] 

1 As  the  letter  accompanying  this  list  (which 
fully  supports  the  observation  in  the  text)  was 
written  but  a week  before  Dr.  Johnson’s  death, 
the  reader  may  not  be  displeased  to  find  it  here 
preserved : 


“ TO  MR.  NICHOLS. 

“ 6th  December,  1784. 

“ The  late  learned  Mr.  Swinton,  having  one 
day  remarked  that  one  man,  meaning,  I suppose, 
no  man  but  himself,  could  assign  all  the  parts  of 
the  Ancient  Universal  History  to  their  proper 
authours,  at  the  request  of  Sir  Robert  Chambers, 
or  of  myself,  gave  the  account  which  I now 
transmit  to  you  in  his  own  hand;  being  willing 
that  of  so  great  a work  the  history  should  be 
known,  and  that  each  writer  should  receive  his 
due  proportion  of  praise  from  posterity. 

t£  1 recommend  to  you  to  preserve  this  scrap  of 
literary  intelligence  in  Mr.  Swinton ’s  own  hand, 
or  to  deposit  it  in  the  Museum,  that  the  veracity 
of  this  account  may  never  be  doubted.  I am,  sir, 
your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

Mr.  S n. 


7 — e History  of  the 

Carthaginians. 

Numidians. 

Mauritanians. 

Gaetulians. 


Nigritae. 

Cyrenaica. 

Marmarica. 

Regio  Syrtica. 

Turks,  Tartars, 

and  Moguls. 


Garamanthes.  Indians. 

Melano  Gaetulians.  Chinese. 

Dissertation  on  the  peopling  of  America. 

independency  of  the  Arabs. 

The  Cosmogony,  and  a small  part  of  the 

History  immediately  following;  by  Mr.  Sale. 

To  the  birth  of  Abraham ; chiefly  by  Mr.  Shel- 
vock. 

History  of  the  Jews,  Gauls,  and  Spaniards;  by 
Mr.  Psalm anazar. 

Xenophon’s  Retreat;  by  the  same. 

History  of  the  Persians  and  the  Constantinopol- 
tan  Empire;  by  Dr.  Campbell. 

History  of  the  Romans;  by  Mr.  Bower. — Bos- 
well. [Bishop  Warburton,  in  a letter  to  Jortin, 
in  1749,  speaks  with  great  contempt  of  this  work 
as  “ miserable  trash,”  and  “ the  infamous  rhap- 
sody called  the  Universal  History.”  JSTich.  Anec. 


During  his  sleepless  nights,  he  amused 
himself  by  translating  into  Latin  verse, 
from  the  Greek,  many  of  the  epigrams  in 
the  cc  Anthologia.”  These  translations., 
with  some  other  poems  by  him  in  Latin,  h< 
gave  to  his  friend  Mr.  Langton,  who,  hav 
ing  added  a few  notes,  sold  them  to  the 
booksellers  for  a small  sum  to  be  given  to 
some  of  Johnson’s  relation^,  which  was  ac- 
cordingly done;  and  they  are  printed  in  the 
collection  of  his  works. 

A very  erroneous  notion  has  circulated 
as  to  Johnson’s  deficiency  in  the  knowledge 
of  the  Greek  language,  partly  owing  to  the 
modesty2  with  which,  from  knowing  how 
much  there  was  to  be  learnt,  he  used  to 
mention  his  own  comparative  acquisitions. 
When  Mr.  Cumberland3  talked  to  him  of 


vol.  ii.  p.  173.  But  Mr.  Gibbon’s  more  favoura- 
ble opinion  of  this  work  will,  as  Mr.  Markland 
observes,  claim  as  much  attention  as  the  “ de- 
crees” of  Warburton,  who  has  not  improperly 
been  termed  by  the  former  “ the  dictator  and 
tyrant  of  the  world  of  literature.”  Gibbon  speaks 
of  the  “ excellence  of  the  first  part  of  the  Univer- 
sal History  as  generally  admitted.”  The  History 
of  the  Macedonians,  he  also  observes,  “ is  execu- 
ted with  much  erudition,  taste,  and  judgment. 
This  history  would  be  invaluable  were  all  its  parts 
of  the  same  merit.” — Miscel.  Works , v.  411, 
428.  Some  curious  facts  relating  to  this  work, 
and  especially  those  parts  of  it  committed  to  him- 
self, will  be  found  in  Psalmanazar’s  Memoirs,  p. 
291.— Ed.] 

[On  the  subject  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  skill  in 
Greek,  the  Editor  has  great  pleasure  in  quoting 
an  anecdote  told  by  his  dear  and  lamented  friend 
the  late  Mr.  Gifford,  in  his  Life  of  Ford:  “ My 
friend  the  late  Lord  Grosvenor  had  a house  at 
Salt-hill,  where  I usually  spent  a part  of  the 
summer,  and  thus  became  acquainted  with  that 
great  and  good  man  Jacob  Bryant.  Here  the  con- 
versation turned  one  morning  on  a Greek  criticism 
by  Dr.  Johnson  in  some  volume  lying  on  the 
table,  which  I ventured  {for  I was  then  young) 
to  deem  incorrect,  and  pointed  it  out  to  him.  I 
could  not  help  thinking  that  he  was  something  of 
my  opinion,  but  he  was  cautious  and  reserved. 
‘ But,  sir,’  said  I,  willing  to  overcome  his 
scruples,  ‘ Dr.  Johnson  himself  admitted  tout  he 
was  not  a good  Greek  scholar.’  ‘ Sir,’  he  replied 
with  a serious  and  impressive  air,  ‘ it  is  not  easy 
for  us  to  say  what  such  a man  as  Johnson  would 
call  a good  Greek  scholar.  ’ I hope  that  I profited 
by  that  lesson — certainly  I never  forgot  it.  ” Gif- 
ford’s Works  of  Ford,  vol.  i.  p.  lxii. — Ed.] 

3 Mr.  Cumberland  assures  me,  that  he  was 
always  treated  with  great  courtesy  by  Dr.  John- 
son, who,  in  his  “ Letters  to  Mrs.  Thrale,”  vol. 
ii.  p.  68,  thus  speaks  of  that  learned,  ingenious, 
and  accomplished  gentleman:  “ The  want  of 
company  is  a ninconvenience,  but  Mr.  Cumber- 
land is  a million.” — Boswell.  [The  following 
is  Mr.  Cumberland’s  own  evidence  on  the  points 
alluded  to  by  Mr.  Boswell:  “ In  quickness  of  in- 
tellect few  ever  equalled  him;  in  profundity  of 


430 


1784.-  .ETAT.  75. 


the  Greek  fragments  which  are  so  well  il- 
lustrated in  “ The  Observer,”  and  of  the 
Greek  dramatists  in  general,  he  candidly 
acknowledged  his  insufficiency  in  that  par- 
ticular branch  of  Greek  literature.  Yet  it 
may  be  said,  that  though  not  a great,  he 
was  a good  Greek  scholar.  Dr.  Charles 
Burney,  the  younger,  who  is  universally 
acknowledged  by  the  best  judges  to  be  one 
of  the  few  men  of  this  age  who  are  very 
eminent  for  their  skill  in  that  noble  lan- 
guage, has  assured  me,  that  Johnson  could 
give  a Greek  word  for  almost  every  Eng- 
lish one;  and  that  although  not  sufficiently 
conversant  in  the  niceties  of  the  language, 
he,  upon  some  occasions,  discovered,  even 
in  these,  a considerable  degree  of  critical 
acumen.  Mr.  Dalzel,  professor  of  Greek 
at  Edinburgh,  whose  skill  is  unquestiona- 
ble, mentioned  to  me  in  very  liberal  terms, 
the  impression  which  was  made  upon  him 
by  Johnson,  in  a conversation  which  they 
had  in  London  concerning  that  language. 
As  Johnson,  therefore,  was  undoubtedly 
one  of  the  first  Latin  scholars  in  modern 
times,  let  us  not  deny  to  his  fame  some  ad- 
ditional splendour  from  Greek  L 

[Even  Mrs.  Piozzi  used  to  think 
Piorzi,  j)r>  Johnson  more  free  than  prudent 
p'  ' in  professing  so  loudly  his  little  skill 
in  the  Greek  language:  for  though  he  con- 
sidered it  as  a proof  of  a narrow  mind  to  be 
too  careful  of  literary  reputation  2,  yet  no 
man  could  be  more  enraged  than  he,  if  an 
enemy,  taking  advantage  of  this  confes- 
sion, twitted  him  with  his  ignorance. 
When  the  King  of  Denmark  was  in  Eng- 
land 3,  one  of  his  noblemen  was  brought  by 

erudition  many  have  surpassed  him.  I do  not 
think  he  had  a pure  and  classical  taste,  nor  was 
apt  to  be  best  pleased  with  the  best  authours,  but 
as  a general  scholar  he  ranks  very  high.  When  I 
would  have  consulted  him  upon  certain  points  of 
literature,  whilst  I was  making  my  collections 
from  the  Greek  dramatists  for  my  essays  in  the 
Observer,  he  candidly  acknowledged  that  his 
studies  had  not  lain  amongst  them;  and  certain  it 
is  there  is  very  little  show  of  literature  in  his 
Ramblers;  and  in  the  passage  where  he  quotes 
Aristotle  he  has  not  correctly  given  the  meaning 
of  the  original:  but  this  was  merely  the  result  of 
haste  and  inattention.  Neither  is  he  so  to  be 
measured,  for  he  had  so  many  parts  and  properties 
of  scholarship  about  him,  that  you  can  only  fairly 
review  him  as  a man  of  general  knowledge.” — 
Cumberland' s Memoirs,  vol.  i.  p.  361. — Ed.] 

1 [Tn  this  place  Mr.  Boswell  had  introduced 
extracts  from  cotemporary  writers  whom  he  sup- 
posed to  have  imitated  Johnson’s  style,  which  it 
has  been  thought  convenient  to  transpose  to  the 
end  of  the  Life. — Ed.] 

[Mrs.  Piozzi  would  probably  have  expressed 
Johnson’s  sentiments  more  correctly  if  she  had 
6aid,  “ He  considered  it  a proof  of  a narrow  mind 
to  pretend  to  learning  which  one  did  not  really 
possess.”  — Ed.] 

1 Tin  1768.— Ed.] 


Mr.  Colman  to  see  Dr.  Johnson  at  Mr. 
Thrale’s  country-house;  and  having  heard, 
he  said,  that  he  was  not  famous  for  Greek 
literature,  attacked  him  on  the  weak  side; 
politely  adding,  that  he  chose  that  conver- 
sation on  purpose  to  favour  himself.  Dr. 
Johnson,  however,  displayed  so  copious  a 
knowledge  of  authours,  books,  and  every 
branch  of  learning  in  that  language,  that 
the  gentleman  appeared  astonished.  When 
he  was  gone,  Johnson  said,  “ Now  for  all 
this  triumph  I may  thank  Thrale’s  Xeno- 
phon here,  as,  I think,  excepting  that  one, 
I have  not  looked  in  a Greek  book  these  ten 
years;  but  see  what  haste  my  dear  friends 
were  all  in,”  continued  he,  “ to  tell  this  poor 
innocent  foreigner  that  I knew  nothing  of 
Greek!  Oh  no!  he  knows  nothing  of 
Greek!  ” with  a loud  burst  of  laughing  4.] 

Johnson’s  affection  for  his  departed  re- 
lations seemed  to  grow  warmer  as  he  ap 
proached  nearer  to  the  time  when  he  might 
hope  to  see  them  again.  It  probably  ap- 
peared to  him  that  he  should  upbraid  himself 
with  unkind  inattention,  were  he  to  leave 
the  world  without  having  paid  a tribute  of 
respect  to  their  memory. 

lc  TO  MR.  GREEN,  APOTHECARY,  AT 
LICHFIELD  5. 

“ 2nd  December,  17S4. 

“Dear  str, — I have  enclosed  the  epi- 
taph for  my  father,  mother,  and  brother,  to 
be  all  engraved  on  the  large  size,  and  laid 
in  the  middle  aisle  in  St.  Michael’s  church, 
which  I request  the  clergyman  and  church- 
wardens to  permit. 

“ The  first  care  must  be  to  find  the  exact 
place  of  interment,  that  the  stone  may  pro- 
tect the  bodies.  Then  let  the  stone  be 
deep,  massy,  and  hard  ; and  do  not  let  the 
difference  of  ten  pounds,  or  more,  defeat  our 
purpose. 

“ I have  enclosed  ten  pounds,  and  Mrs. 
Porter  will  pay  you  ten  more,  which  I gave 
her  for  the  same  purpose.  What  more  is 
wanted  shall  be  sent ; and  I beg  that  all 
possible  haste  may  be  made,  for  I wish  to 
have  it  done  while  I am  yet  alive.  Let  me 
know,  dear  sir,  that  you  receive  this.  1 
am,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  MRS.  LUCY  PORTER,  IN  LICH- 
FIELD 6. 

“ 2d  December,  1784. 

“ Dear  madam, — I am  very  ill,  and  de- 
sire your  prayers.  I have  sent  Mr.  Green 

4 [It  has  been  aaid  that  Dr.  Johnson  never 
exerted  such  steady  application  as  he  did  for  the 
last  ten  years  of  his  life  in  the  study  of  Greek. — 
Ed.] 

5 [A  relation  of  Dr.  Johnson].  Ante. , p.  44 
— Boswell. 

6 This  lady,  whose  name  so  frequently  occurs 


1784.— iETAT.  75. 


431 


the  epitaph,  and  a power  to  call  on  you  for 
ten  pounds. 

;t  I laid  this  summer  a stone  over  Tetty, 
in  the  chapel  of  Bromley  in  Kent.  The 
inscription  is  in  Latin*  l,  of  which  this  is  the 
English.  (Here  a translation.) 

“ That  this  is  done,  I thought  it  fit  that 
you  should  know.  What  care  will  be  taken 
of  us,  who  can  tell?  May  God  pardon  and 
bless  us,  for  Jesus  Christ’s  sake.  I am,  &c. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

My  readers  are  now,  at  last,  to  behold 
Samuel  Johnson  preparing  himself  for 
that  doom,  from  which  the  most  exalted 
powers  afford  no  exemption  to  man.  Death 
had  always  been  to  him  an  object  of  ter- 
rour;  so  that,  though  by  no  means  happy, 
he  still  clung  to  life  with  an  eagerness  at 
which  many  have  wondered.  At  any  time 
when  he  was  ill,  he  was  very  much  pleased 
to  be  told  that  he  looked  better.  An  in- 
genious member  of  the  Eumelian  Club 2 
informs  me,  that  upon  one  occasion,  when 
he  said  to  him  that  he  saw  health  returning 
to  his  cheek,  Johnson  seized  him  by  the  hand 
and  exclaimed,  “ Sir,  you  are  one  of  the 
kindest  friends  I ever  had.” 

His  own  statement  of  his  views  of  futuri- 
ty will  appear  truly  rational;  and  may,  per- 
haps, impress  the  unthinking  with  serious- 
ness. 

Letters,  cc  You  know,”  says  he  3 to  Mrs. 
»ei.  ii.  Thrale,  “I  never  thought  confi- 
p’  3*  dence  with  respect  to  futurity  any 
part  of  the  character  of  a brave,  a wise,  or 
a good  man.  Bravery  has  no  place  where 
it  can  avail  nothing  ; wisdom  impresses 
strongly  the  consciousness  of  those  faults, 
of  w hich  it  is,  perhaps,  itself  an  aggrava- 
tion; and  goodness,  always  wishing  to  be 
better,  and  imputing  every  deficience  to 
criminal  negligence,  and  every  fault  to  vol- 
untary corruption,  never  dares  to  suppose 
the  condition  of  forgiveness  fulfilled,  nor 
what  is  wanting  in  the  crime  supplied  by 
penitence. 

“This  is  the  state  of  the  best;  but  what 
must  be  the  condition  of  him  whose  heart 
will  not  suffer  him  to  rank  himself  among 

in  the  course  of  this  work,  survived  Dr.  Johnson 
just  thirteen  months.  She  died  at  Lichfield,  in  her 
71st  year,  January  13,  1786,  and  bequeathed  the 
principal  part  of  her  fortune  to  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Pearson,  of  Lichfield. — Malone. 

1 [See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  100. — Ed.] 

2 A club  in  London,  founded  by  the  learned 
and  ingenious  physician,  Dr.  Ash,  in  honour  of 
whose  name  it  was  called  Eumelian  [literally, 
well-ashed ],  from  the  Greek  Eu^ex/*? : though  it 
was  warmly  contended,  and  even  put  to  a vote,  that 
it  should  have  the  more  obvious  appellation  of 
Fraxinean,  from  the  Latin. — Boswell. 

3 Mrs.  Thrale’s  Collection,  10th  March,  1784. 

— Boswell. 


the  best,  or  among  the  good?  Such  must 
be  his  dread  of  the  approaching  trial,  as 
will  leave  him  little  attention  to  the  opinion 
of  those  whom  he  is  leaving  for  ever;  and 
the  serenity  that  is  not  felt,  it  can  be  no 
virtue  to  feign. 

His  great  fear  of  death  4,  and  the  strange 
dark  manner  in  which  Sir  John  Hawkins  5 
imparts  the  uneasiness  which  he  expressed 
on  account  of  offences  with  which  ne 
charged  himself,  may  give  occasion  to  inju- 
rious suspicions,  as  if  there  had  been  some- 
thing of  more  than  ordinary  criminality 
weighing  upon  his  conscience.  On  that 
account,  therefore,  as  well  as  from  the  re- 
gard to  truth  which  he  inculcated  6,  I am  to 
mention  (with  all  possible  respect  and  deli- 
cacy, however),  that  his  conduct,  after  he 
came  to  London,  and  had  associated  with 
Savage  and  others,  was  not  so  strictly  vir 
tuous,  in  one  respect,  as  when  he  was  a 
younger  man.  It  was  well  known  that  his 
amorous  inclinations  were  uncommonly 
strong  and  impetuous.  He  owned  to  many 
of  his  friends,  that  he  used  to  take  women 
of  the  town  to  taverns,  and  hear  them  re- 
late their  history. — In  short,  it  must  not  be 


4  Mrs.  Carter,  in  one  of  her  letters  to  Mrs. 
Montague,  says,  “ I see  by  the  papers,  that  Dr. 
Johnson  is  dead.  In  extent  of  learning,  and  ex- 
quisite purity  of  moral  writing,  he  has  left  no 
superiour,  and  I fear  very  few  equals.  Llis  virtues 
and  his  piety  were  founded  on  the  steadiest  of 
Christian  principles  and  faith.  His  faults,  I firmly 
believe,  arose  from  the  irritations  of  a most  suffer- 
ing state  of  nervous  constitution,  which  scarcely 
ever  allowed  him  a moment’s  ease.” — Boswell. 
[She  adds,  “ You  wonder  ‘ that  an  undoubted 
believer  and  a man  of  piety  should  be  afraid  of 
death;’  but  it  is  such  characters  who  have  ever 
the  deepest  sense  of  their  imperfections  and  de- 
viations from  the  rule  of  duty,  of  which  the  very 
best  must  be  conscious;  and  such  a temper  of 
mind  as  is  struck  with  awe  and  humility  at  the 
prospect  of  the  last  solemn  sentence  appears  much 
better  suited  to  the  wretched  deficiencies  of  the 
best  human  performances  than  the  thoughtless 
security  that  rushes  undisturbed  into  eternity.” — 
Miss  Carter’s  Life , vol.  ii.  p.  166. 

To  this  passage  the  editor  of  Mrs.  Carter’s 
Letters  subjoins: 

‘ { Mrs.  Carter  told  the  editor,  that  in  one  of  the 
last  conversations  which  she  had  with  this  eminent 
moralist,  she  told  him  that  she  had  never  known 
him  say  any  thing  contrary  to  the  principles  of  the 
Christian  religion.  He  seized  her  hand  with  great 
emotion,  exclaiming,  ‘ You  know  this,  and  bear 
witness  to  it  when  I am  gone!’  ” — Mrs.  Carter’s 
Letters  to  Mrs.  Montague,  vol.  iii.  p.  234  — 
Ed.] 

0 [Again  the  Editor  is  obliged  to  say,  that  li6 
can  see  nothing  more  strange  or  dark  in  Haw 
kins’s  expressions  than  in  Mr.  Boswell’s — nay, 
than  in  Dr.  Johnson’s  own. — Ed.] 

6 See  what  he  said  to  Mr.  Malone,  ante,  p 
274 — Boswell. 


432 


1784— ^TAT.  75. 


concealed,  that  like  many  other  good  and 
pious  men,  among  whom  we  may  place  the 
apostle  Paul  upon  his  own  authority,  John- 
son was  not  free  from  propensities  which 
were  ever  “ warring  against  the  law  of  his 
mind,” — and  that  in  his  combats  with  them, 
he  was  sometimes  overcome 1. 

Here  let  the  profane  and  licentious  pause; 
let  them  not  thoughtlessly  say  that  Johnson 
was  an  hypocrite , or  that  his  principles 
were  not  firm,  because  his  practice  was  not 
uniformly  conformable  to  what  he  professed. 

Let  the  question  be  considered  independ- 
ent of  moral  and  religious  associations;  and 
no  man  will  deny  that  thousands,  in  many 
instances,  act  against  conviction.  Is  a pro- 
digal, for  example,  an  hypocrite , when  he 
owns  he  is  satisfied  that  his  extravagance 
will  bring  him  to  ruin  and  misery?  We 
are  sure  he  believes  it;  hut  immediate  in- 
clination, strengthened  by  indulgence,  pre- 
vails over  that  belief  in  influencing  his  con- 
duct. Why  then  shall  credit  be  refused  to 
the  sincerity  of  those  who  acknowledge 
their  persuasion  of  moral  and  religious  duty, 

et  sometimes  fail  of  living  as  it  requires? 

heard  Dr.  Johnson  once  observe,  “ There 
is  something  noble  in  publishing  truth, 
though  it  condemns  one’s  self2.”  And  one 
who  said  in  his  presence,  “ he  had  no  no- 
tion of  people  being  in  earnest  in  their  good 

rofessions,  whose  practice  was  not  suita- 

le  to  them,”  was  thus  reprimanded  by 
him: — “ Sir,  are  you  so  gro^iy  ignorant  of 
numan  nature  as  not  to  know  that  a may  be 
rery  sincere  in  good  principles,  without 
having  good  practice3?  ” 

1 [Surely  Mr.  Boswell  might  have  been  forgiven 
f he  had  not  revived  these  stories,  which,  whether 
true  or  false  originally,  were  near  fifty  years  old. 
He  had  already  said  {ante,  vol.  i.  p.  66)  quite 
enough,  and  perhaps  more  than  he  was  author- 
ized to  say,  on  this  topic.  The  reader  will  recol- 
lect that  it  has  been  shown  {ante,  vol.  i.  pp.  47. 
65  and  66,  n.)  that  the  duration,  and  probably 
the  intensity,  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  intimacy  with 
Savage  have  been  greatly  exaggerated,  and  so,  no 
doubt,  have  been  the  supposed  consequences  of 
that  intimacy.  The  Editor  does  not  wish  to  enter 
into  more  detail  on  this  disagreeable  subject,  but 
his  “ regard  for  truth  ” obliges  him  to  declare 
his  opinion,  that  Mr.  Boswell’s  introduction  of  this 
topic,  his  pretended  candour,  and  hollow  defence, 
were  unwarranted  by  any  evidence,  and  are  the 
most,  indeed  almost  the  only,  discreditable  points 
of  his  whole  work. — Ed.] 

2 Journal  of  a Tour  to  the  Hebrides,  vol.  i.  p. 
391.  On  the  same  subject,  in  his  letter  to  Mrs. 
Thrale,  dated  November  29,  1783,  he  makes  the 
following  just  observation:  “Life,  to  be  worthy 
of  a rational  being,  must  be  always  in  progression; 
we  must  always  purpose  to  do  more  or  better  than 

hi  time  past.  The  mind  is  enlarged  and  elevated 
by  mere  purposes,  though  they  end  as  they  began, 
by  airy  contemplation.  We  compare  and  judge, 
though  we  do  not  practise  ” Boswell. 

2 Ibid,  v0;  ' o 247 


But  let  no  man  encourage  or  soothe  him 
self  in  “ presumptuous  sin,”  from  knowing 
that  Johnson  was  sometimes  hurried  into 
indulgences  which  he  thought  criminal.  1 
have  exhibited  this  circumstance  as  a shade 
in  so  great  a character,  both  from  my  sa 
cred  love  of  truth,  and  to  show  that  he  was 
not  so  weakly  scrupulous  4 as  he  has  been 
represented  by  those  who  imagine  that  the 
sins,  of  which  a deep  sense  was  upon  his 
mind,  were  merely  such  little  venial  trifles 
as  pouring  milk  into  his  tea  on  Good-Fri- 
day.  His  understanding  will  be  defended 
by  my  statement,  if  his  consistency  of  con- 
duct be  in  some  degree  impaired.  But  what 
wise  man  would,  for  momentary  gratifica- 
tions, deliberately  subject  himself  to  suffer 
such  uneasiness  as  we  find  was  experienced 
by  Johnson,  in  reviewing  his  conduct  as 
compared  with  his  notion  of  the  ethicks  of 
the  gospel  ? Let  the  following  passages  be 
kept  in  emembrance: 

“01  vd,  giver  and  preserver  of 
all  life,  b^  whose  power  I was  ere- 
ated,  and  by  whose  providence  I 
am  sustained,  look  down  upon  me  with  ten- 
derness and  mercy;  grant  that  I may  not 
have  been  created  to  be  finally  destroyed ; 
that  I may  not  be  preserved  to  add  wicked- 
ness to  wickedness.” 

“ O Lord,  let  me  not  sink  into  total  de- 
pravity; look  down  upon  me,  and  rescue 
me  at  last  from  the  captivity  of  sin.” 

“ Almighty  and  most  merciful  Father, 
who  hath  continued  my  life  from  year  to 
year,  grant  that  by  longer  life  I may  become 
less  desirous  of  sinful  pleasures,  and  more 
careful  of  eternal  happiness.” 

“ Let  not  my  years  be  multiplied  to  in- 
crease my  guilt;  but  as  my  age  advances, 
let  me  become  more  pure  in  my  thoughts, 
more  regular  in  my  desires,  and  more  obe- 
dient to  thy  laws.” 

“ Forgive,  O merciful  Lord,  whatever  I 
have  done  contrary  to  thy  laws.  Give  me 
such  a sense  of  my  wickedness  as  may  pro- 

4 [In  one  of  the  manuscripts  communicated  by 
Mr.  Anderdon  there  is  a note,  dated  in  1784,  by 
which  it  appears  that  Johnson  was  aware  that  he 
was  sometimes  over  scrupulous,  for  it  records  a 
resolution  “ to  endeavour  to  conquer  scruples .” 
These  scruples,  which  have  been  so  unfeelingly 
exposed  to  the  world,  ought  at  least  to  have  re- 
lieved him  from  these  imputations  which  Mr. 
Boswell  alone  has  raised  against  him.  He  can- 
not be  supposed  to  have  been  minutely  scrupulous 
about  trifles  while  habitually  guilty  of  crimes . 
and  the  Editor  must  repeat,  that  the  conscient.  us 
sincerity  of  Johnson’s  self-confessions,  and  t e 
long  period  over  whicji  they  extend,  ought  aloL 
to  have  suffirea  to  repe  su.7  insinuations.  Am 
it  ought  to  be  recollected,  tna.  Mr.  Boswell,  wh^ 
revives  this  antiquated  scandal  was  yet  very  in 
dignant  with  Mrs.  Ptozzi  for  e.ung  an  unfavoura 
ble  story  of  a momentary  rudeness  to  Mr  Choi 
mondeley  See  ante,  p.  410,  n. — Kp 


1784—  ^ETAT  75. 


433 


duce  true  contrition  and  effectual  repent- 
ance: so  that  when  I shall  be  called  into 
another  state,  I may  be  received  among  the 
sinners  to  whom  sorrow  and  reformation 
have  obtained  pardon,  for  Jesus  Christ’s 
sake.  Amen.” 

Such  was  the  distress  of  mind,  such  the 
penitence  of  Johnson,  in  his  hours  of  pri- 
vacy, and  in  his  devout  approaches  to  his 
Maker.  His  sincerity , therefore,  must  ap- 
pear to  every  candid  mind  unquestionable. 

It  is  of  essential  consequence  to  keep  in 
view,  that  there  was  in  this  excellent  man’s 
conduct  no  false  principle  of  commutation , 
no  deliberate  indulgence  in  sin,  in  consider- 
ation of  a counterbalance  of  duty.  His  of- 
fending and  his  repenting  were  distinct  and 
separate  1 : and  when  we  consider  his  almost 
unexampled  attention  to  truth,  his  inflexi- 
ble integrity,  his  constant  piety,  who  will 
dare  to  “casta  stone  at  him?”  Besides, 
let  it  never  be  forgotten  that  he  cannot  be 
charged  with  any  offence  indicating  badness 
of  heart , any  thing  dishonest,  base,  or  ma- 
lignant; but  that,  on  the  contrary,  he  was 
charitable  in  an  extraordinary  degree:  so 
that  even  in  one  of  his  own  rigid  judgments 
of  himself  (Easter-eve,  1781),  while  he 
says,  “ I have  corrected  no  external  habits;  ” 
he  is  obliged  to  own,  “ I hope  that  since  my 
last  communion  I have  advanced,  by  pious 
reflections,  in  my  submission  to  God,  and 
my  benevolence  to  man.” 

I am  conscious  that  this  is  the  most  diffi- 
cult and  dangerous  part  of  my  biographical 
work,  and  I cannot  but  be  very  anxious 
concerning  it.  I trust  that  I have  got 
through  it,  preserving  at  once  my  regard  to 
truth, — to  my  friend, — and  to  the  interests 
of  virtue  and  religion.  Nor  can  I appre- 
hend that  more  harm  can  ensue  from  the 
knowledge  of  the  irregularities  of  Johnson, 
guarded  as  I have  stated  it,  than  from  know- 
ing that  Addison  and  Parnell  were  intem- 
perate in  the  use  of  wine;  which  he  himself, 
in  his  Lives  of  those  celebrated  writers  and 
pious  men,  has  not  forborne  to  record  2. 


1 Dr.  Johnson  related,  with  veiy  earnest  ap- 
probation, a story  of  a gentleman,  who,  in  an  im- 
pulse of  passion,  overcame  the  virtue  of  a young 
woman.  When  she  said  to  him,  “ I am  afraid 
we  have  done  wrong ! ” he  answered,  “ Yes,  we 
have  done  wrong; — for  I would  not  debauch  her 
mind.” — Boswell. 

2 [Mr.  Boswell  makes  here  a poor  and  disin- 
genuous defence  f<  r a very  grievous  error.  It  is 
one  thing  to  repeat — as  Dr.  Johnson  did,  histori- 
cally, what  all  the  world  knew,  and  few  were 
inclined  to  blame  seriously — that  Parnell  and 
Addison  loved  a cheerful  glass — 

“ Narratur  et  prisci  Catonis 
Saepe  mero  caluisse  virtus.” 

But  it  is  quite  another  thins;  to  insinuate  oneself 
into  a man’s  confidence,  to  follow  him  for  twenty 
years  like  his  shadow,  to  note  his  words  and  ac- 

vol.  ii  55 


It  is  not  my  intention  to  give  a very  mi 
nute  detail  of  the  particulars  of  Johnson’a 
remaining  days3,  of  whom  it  was  now  evi- 
dent, that  the  crisis  was  fast  approaching 
when  he  must  “ die  like  men , and 
fall  like  one  of  the  princes.”  Yet  it  ®2^Ps' 
will  be  instructive,  as  well  as  grati- 
fying to  the  curiosity  of  my  readers,  to  re- 
cord a few  circumstances,  on  the  authenti- 
city of  which  they  may  perfectly  rely,  as  I 
have  been  at  the  utmost  pains  to  obtain  an 
accurate  account  of  his  last  illness,  from  the 
best  authority. 

Dr.  Heberden,  Dr.  Brocklesby,  Dr.  War- 
ren, and  Dr.  Butter,  physicians,  generously 
attended  him,  without  accepting  any  fees, 
as  did  Mr.  Cruikshank,  surgeon;  and  all 
that  could  be  done  from  professional  skill  and 
ability  was  tried,  to  prolong  a life  so  truly 
valuable.  He  himself,  indeed,  having,  on 
account  of  his  very  bad  constitution,  been 
perpetually  applying  himself  to  .V'edical  in 
quiries,  united  his  own  efforts  with  those 
of  the  gentlemen  who  attended  him;  and 
imagining  that  the  dropsical  collection  of 
water  which  oppressed  him  might  be  drawn 
off  by  making  incisions  in  his  body,  he, 
with  his  usual  resolute  defiance  of  pain, 
cut  deep,  when  he  thought  that  his  surgeon 
had  done  it  too  tenderly  4. 

About  eight  or  ten  days  before  his  death, 
when  Dr.  Brocklesby  paid  him  his  morning 


tions  like  a spy,  to  ransack  his  most  secret  papers, 
and  scrutinize  even  his  conscientious  confessions, 
and  then,  with  all  the  sinister  authority  which 
such  a show  of  friendship  must  confer,  to  accuse 
him  of  low  and  filthy  guilt  supposed  to  have  been 
committed  a quarter  of  a century  before  the  inform- 
er and  his  calumniated  friend  had  ever  met,  and 
which,  consequently,  Mr.  Boswell  could  only 
have  had  from  hearsay  or  from  guess,  and  which 
all  personal  testimony  and  all  the  documentary 
evidence  seem  to  disprove.  Surely  Mr.  Boswell's 
good  sense,  good  taste,  and  good  feeling,  must 

have,  on  this  occasion,  given  way  under  some 
powerful  self-delusion. — Ed.] 

3 [The  particulars  which  Mr.  Boswell’s  absence, 
and  the  jealousy  between  him  and  some  of  John- 
son’s other  friends,  prevented  his  being  able  to 
give,  the  Editor  is  now  at  liberty  to  supply  from 
Hawkins’s  work,  as  well  as  from  an  interesting 
journal  of  Mr.  Windham’s. — Ed.] 

4 This  bold  experiment  Sir  John  Hawkins  has 
related  in  such  a manner  as  to  suggest  a charge 
against  Johnson  of  intentionally  hastening  his  end 
a charge  so  very  inconsistent  with  his  character 
in  every  respect,  that  it  is  injurious  even  to  refute 
it,  as  Sir  John  has  thought  it  necessary  to  do.  It 
is  evident,  that  what  Johnson  did  in  hopes  of  re- 
lief indicated  an  extraordinary  eagerness  to  retard 
his  dissolution. — Boswell.  [If  Sir  J.  Hawkins, 
whose  account  the  reader  will  presently  see  ( post 
p.  446),  makes  rather  too  much  of  this  singub.. 
incident,  surely  Mr.  Boswell  treats  too  U$htl\  ihe 
morbid  impatience  which  induced  t>»\  Johnsoi 
take  the  lancet  into  hi*  own  hatttls. — Ed.] 


434 


1784. — iETAT.  75. 


visit,  he  seemed  very  low  and  desponding, 
and  said,  “ I have  been  as  a dying  man  all 
night.”  He  then  emphatically  broke  out 
in  the  words  of  Shakspeare, 

“ Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a mind  diseased; 
Pluck  from  the  memory  a rooted  sorrow; 

Raze  out  the  itten  troubles  of  the  brain; 

And,  with  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote. 
Cleanse  the  stuff’d  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff, 
Which  weighs  upon  the  heart  ? ” 

Macb.  act  v.  sc.  3. 

To  which  Dr.  Brocklesby  readily  answered 
from  the  same  great  poet: 

«* Therein  the  patient 

Must  minister  to  himself.” 

Johnson  expressed  himself  much  satisfied 
With  the  application. 

On  another  day  after  this,, when  talking 
on  the  subject  of  prayer.  Dr.  Brocklesby 
repeated  from  Juvenal, 

“ Orandum  est,  ut  sit  mens  sana  in  corpore  sano,” 
Sat.  x.  v.  356. 

and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  tenth  satire;  but 
in  running  it  quickly  over,  he  happened,  in 
the  line, 

“ Q,ui  spatium  vitae  extremum  inter  munera 
ponat  V’ 

to  pronounce  supremum  for  extremum;  at 
which  Johnson’s  critical  ear  instantly  took 
offence,  and  discoursing  vehemently  on  the 
unmetrical  effect  of  sucli  a lapse,  he  showed 
himself  as  full  as  ever  of  the  spirit  of  the 
grammarian. 

Having  no  other  relations1 2,  it  had  been 

1 [Mr.  Boswell  has  omitted  to  notice  the  line, 
for  the  sake  of  which  Dr.  Brocklesby  probably  in- 
troduced the  quotation, 

“ Fortem  posce  animum  et  mortis  terror e carentem  /” 

2 The  authour  in  a former  page  has  shown  the 
injustice  of  Sir  John  Hawkins’s  charge  against 
Johnson,  with  respect  to  a person  of  the  name  of 
Heely,  whom  he  has  inaccurately  represented  as 
a relation  of  Johnson’s.  See  p.  423.  That 
Johnson  was  anxious  to  discover  whether  any  of 
his  relations  were  living,  is  evinced  by  the  fol- 
lowing letter,  written  not  long  before  he  made  his 
will: 

“ TO  THE  REV.  DR.  VYSE,  IN  LAMBETH. 

“Sir, — “I  am  desirous  to  know  whether 
Charles  Scrimshaw7,  of  Woodsease  (I  think),  in 
your  father’s  neighbourhood,  be  now  living;  what 
is  his  condition,  and  where  he  may  be  found.  If 
you  can  conveniently  make  any  inquiry  about 
him,  and  can  do  it  without  delay,  it  will  be  an  act 
of  great  kindness  to  me,  he  being  very  nearly  re- 
lated to  me.  I beg  [you]  to  pardon  this  trouble. 
“ I am,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

•Bolt-court,  Fleet-street, 

Nov.  29,  1784.” 

In  conformity  to  the  wish  expressed  in  the  pre- 


for  some  time  Johnson’s  intention  to  make 
a liberal  provision  for  }.>  faithful  servant, 
Mr.  F rancis  Barber,  whom  he  looked  upon 
as  particularly  under  his  protection,  and 
whom  he  had  all  along  treated  truly  as  an 
humble  friend.  Having  asked  Dr.  Brock- 
lesby what  would  be  a proper  annuity  to  a 
favourite  servant,  and  being  answered  that 
it  must  depend  on  the  circumstances  of  the 
master;  and  that  in  the  case  of  a nobleman 
fifty  pounds  a year  was  considered  as  an 
adequate  reward  for  many  years’  faithful 
service; — “ Then,”  said  Johnson,  “ shall  I 
be  nobilissimus,  for  I mean  to  leave  F rank 
seventy  pounds  a year,  and  I desire  you  to 
tell  him  so.”  It  is  strange,  however,  to 
think,  that  Johnson  was  not  free  from  that 
general  weakness  of  being  averse  to  execute 
a will,  so  that  he  delayed  it  from  time  to 
time;  and  had  it  not  been  for  Sir  John 
Hawkins’s  repeatedly  urging  it,  I think  it  is 
probable  that  his  kind  resolution  would  not 
have  been  fulfilled  3 * * *. 

[“After  the  declaration  he  had 
made  of  his  intention  to  provide  for 
his  servant  Frank,”  says  Sir  J.  Haw- 
kins, “ and  before  his  going  into  the  coun- 
try, I had  frequently  pressed  him  to  make  a 
will,  and  had  gone  so  far  as  to  make  a draft 
of  one,  with  blanks  for  the  names  of  the  ex- 
ecutors and  residuary  legatee,  and  directing 
in  what  manner  it  was  to  be  executed  and 
attested;  but  he  was  exceedingly  averse  to 
this  business;  and,  while  he  was  in  Derby- 
shire, I repeated  my  solicitations,  for  this 
purpose,  by  letters.  When  Dr.  Johnson 
arrived  in  town,  he  had  done  nothing  in  it, 
and,  to  what  I formerly  said,  I now  added, 
that  he  had  never  mentioned  the  disposal  of 
the  residue  of  his  estate,  which,  after  the 
purchase  of  an  annuity  for  Frank,  would  be 
something  considerable,  and  that  he  would 
do  well  to  bequeath  it  to  his  relations.  His 
answer  was,  c I care  not  what  becomes  of 
the  residue.’  A few  days  after,  it  appeared 
that  he  had  executed  the  draft,  the  blanks 
remaining,  with  all  the  solemnities  of  a real 

ceding  letter,  an  inquiry  was  made,  but  no  de- 
scendants of  Charles  Scrimshaw  or  of  his  sisters, 
were  discovered  to  be  living.  Dr.  Vyse  informs 
me,  that  Dr.  Johnson  told  him,  “ he  was  disap- 
pointed in  the  inquiries  he  had  made  after  his  re- 
lations.” There  is  therefore  no  ground  whatso- 
ever for  supposing  that  he  was  unmindful  of 
them,  or  neglected  them. — Malone.  [Surely 
Mr.  Malone’s  conclusion  is  rather  too  strong,  when 
his  premises  show  that  Dr.  Johnson  had  so  long 
and  so  utterly  neglected  these  relatives,  that  when, 
within  a month  of  his  death,  he  set  about  inquir- 
ing after  them,  all  traces  of  their  existence  had 
vanished. — Ed.] 

3  [Here  followed  in  a note  Dr.  Johnson’s 
will,  which,  as  well  as  some  subsequent  para- 
graphs of  Mr.  Boswell’s  work,  the  Editor  has 
transposed,  for  the  sake  of  what  seems  to  him  a 
better  order. — Ed.] 


1784. — A2TAT.  75. 


436 


will.  I could  get  him  no  farther,  and  thus, 
for  some  time,  the  matter  rested. 

“ His  complaints  still  increasing,  I con- 
tinued pressing  him  to  make  a will;  but  he 
'still  procrastinated  that  business.  On  the 
57th  of  November,  in  the  morning,  I went 
to  his  house,  with  a purpose  still  farther  to 
urge  him  not  to  give  occasion,  by  dying  in- 
testate, for  litigation  among  his  relations; 
but  finding  that  he  was  gone  to  pass  the 
iay  with  the  Rev.  Mr.  Strahan,  at  Isling- 
ton, I followed  him  thither,  and  found  there 
our  old  frieiid  Mr.  Ryland,  and  Mr.  Hoole. 
Upon  my  sitting  aown,  he  said,  that  the 
prospect  of  the  change  ue  was  about  to  un- 
dergo, and  the  thought  of  meeting  his  Sa- 
viour, troubled  him,  but  that  he  had  hope 
that  he  would  not  reject  him.  I then  be- 
gan to  discourse  with  him  about  his  will, 
and  the  provision  for  Frank,  till  he  gx'ew  | 
angry.  He  told  me  that  he  had  signed  and 
sealed  the  paper  I left  him;  but  that,  said  I, 
had  blanks  in  it,  which,  as  it  seems,  you 
have  not  filled  up  with  the  names  of  the  ex- 
ecutors. ‘ You  should  have  filled  them  up 
yourself,’  answered  he.  I replied  that  such 
an  act  would  have  looked  as  if  I meant  to 
prevent  his  choice  of  a fitter  person.  c Sir,’ 
said  he,  c these  minor  virtues  are  not  to  be 
exercised  in  matters  of  such  importance  as 
this.’  At  length,  he  said,  that  on  his  re- 
turn home  he  would  send  for  a clerk,  and 
dictate  a will  to  him.  You  will  then,  said  I, 
be  inops  consilii ; rather  do  it  now.  With 
Mr.  Strahan’s  permission  I will  be  his  guest 
at  dinner;  and,  if  Mr.  Hoole  will  please  to 
hold  the  pen,  I will,  in  a few  words,  make 
such  a disposition  of  your  estate  as  you 
shall  direct.’  To  this  he  assented;  but 
such  a paroxysm  of  the  asthma  seized 
him  as  prevented  our  going  on.  As 
the  fireburned  up  he  found  himself  relieved, 
and  grew  cheerful.  ‘ The  fit,’  said  he  c was 
very  sharp;  but  I am  now  easy.’  After  I 
had  dictated  a few  lines,  I told  him  that  the 
ancient  form  of  wills  contained  a profession 
of  the  faith  of  the  testator;  and  that  he  be- 
ing a man  of  eminence  for  learning  and 
parts,  it  would  afford  an  illustrious  example, 
and  well  become  him,  to  make  such  an  ex- 
plicit declaration  of  his  belief  as  might  obvi- 
ate all  suspicions  that  he  was  any  other 
than  a Christian.  He  thanked  me  for  the 
hint,  and,  calling  for  paper,  wrote  on  a slip, 
that  I had  in  my  hand  and  gave  him,  the 
following  words: — ‘ I humbly  commit  to  the 
infinite  and  eternal  goodness  of  Almigh- 
ty God  my  sou  1 polluted  with  many  sins ; but, 
as  I hope,  purified  by  repentance,  and  re- 
deemed, as  l trust,  by  the  death  of  Jesus 
Christ1  ;’  and,  returning  it  to  me,  said, 

1 This  I commit  to  your  custody.’ 


1 [The  will  of  the  other  great  luminary  of  that 
tge,  Mr.  Burke,  is  throughout  strikingly  charac- 


“ Upon  my  calling  on  him  for  directions 
to  proceed,  he  told  me  that  his  father,  in 
the  course  of  his  trade  of  a bookseller,  had 
become  bankrupt,  and  that  Mr.  Wil.iam 
Innys  had  assisted  him  with  money  or  cred- 
it to  continue  his  business — ‘ This,’  said  he, 

‘ I consider  as  an  obligation  on  me  to  be 
grateful  to  his  descendants,  and  I therefore 
mean  to  give  200/.  to  his  representative.’ 
He  then  meditated  a devise  of  his  house  at 
Lichfield  to  the  corporation  of  that  city  for 
a charitable  use;  but,  it  being  freehold,  he 
said,  c I cannot  live  a twelvemonth,  and  the 
last  statute  of  mortmain  stands  in  the  way: 
I must,  therefore,  think  of  some  other  dis 
position  of  it.’  His  next  consideration  was  a 
provision  for  Frank,  concerning  the  amount 
whereof  I found  he  had  been  consulting  Dr. 
Brocklesby,  to  whom  he  had  put  this  ques- 
, tion,  ‘ What  would  be  a proper  annuity  to 
bequeath  to  a favourite  servant?  ’ The 
doctoi  answered  that  the  circumstances  of 
the  messtex  were  the  truest  measure,  and 
that,  in  the  cas>e  of  a nobleman,  50/.  a year 
was  deemed  an  adtquate  reward  for  many 
years’  faithful  service.  ‘ Then  shall  I,’  said 
Johnson,  cbe  nobilissiJius , ror  I mean  to 
leave  Frank  701.  a year,  ana  I desire  you  to 
tell  him  so.’  And  now,  at  me  making  of  the 
will,  a devise,  equivalent  to  such  a provi- 
sion, was  therein  inserted.  The  residue  of 
his  estate  and  effects,  which  took  in,  though 
he  intended  it  not,  the  house  at  Lichfield, 
he  bequeathed  to  his  executors,  in  trust 
for  a religious  association,  which  it  is  need 
less  to  describe. 

“ Having  executed  the  will  with  the  ne 
cessary  formalities,  he  would  have  come 
home,  but  being  pressed  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Strahan  to  stay,  he  consented,  and  we  ail 
dined  together.  Towards  the  evening  he 
grew  cheerful,  and  I having  promised  to 
take  him  in  my  coach,  Mr.  Strahan  and  Mr. 
Ryland  would  accompany  him  home.  In 
the  way  thither  he  appeared  much  at  ease, 
and  told  stories.  At  eight  I set  him  down, 
and  Mr.  Strahan  and  Mr.  Ryland  betook 
themselves  to  their  respective  homes.”] 

The  consideration  of  numerous  papers 
of  which  he  was  possessed  seems  to  havt 
struck  Johnson’s  mind  with  a sudden  anxi 
ety,  and  as  they  were  in  great  confusion,  it 
is  much  to  be  lamented  that  he  had  not  in- 
trusted some  faithful  and  discreet  person 
with  the  care  and  selection  of  them;  instead 
of  which  he,  in  a precipitate  manner,  burnt 

teristick,  and  was  no  doubt  chiefly  drawn  up  by 
himself.  Those  who  revere  his  memory  will 
read  with  satisfaction  the  opening  declaration. 
“ First,  according  to  the  ancient,  good,  and  laud- 
able custom,  of  which  my  heart  and  under- 
standing recognize  the  propriety , I bequeath 
my  soul  to  God,  hoping  for  his  mercy  through  the 
only  merits  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Chtist  ’* 
— Mahkiand.] 


436 


1784.— ^ETAT.  75. 


large  masses  of  them,  with  little  regard,  as  I 
apprehend,  to  discrimination.  Not  that  I 
suppose  we  have  thus  been  deprived  of  any 
compositions  which  he  had  ever  intended 
for  the  publick  eye;  but  from  what  escaped 
the  flames  I judge  that  many  curious  circum- 
stances, relating  both  to  himself  and  other 
literary  characters,  have  perished. 

Two  very  valuable  articles,  I am  sure,  we 
have  lost,  which  were  two  quarto  volumes 1, 
containing  a full,  fair,  and  most  particular 
account  of  his  own  life,  from  his  earliest  re- 
collection. I owned  to  him,  that  having 
accidentally  seen  them,  I had  read  a great 
deal  in  them;  and  apologising  for  the  liber- 
ty I had  taken,  asked  him  if  I could  help  it. 
He  placidly  answered,  “ Why,  sir,  I do  not 
think  you  could  have  helped  it.”  I said  that 
I had,  for  once  in  my  life,  felt  half  an  incli- 
nation to  commit  theft.  It  had  come  into 
my  mind  to  carry  off  those  two  volumes, 
and  never  see  him  more.  Upon  my  inquir- 
ing how  this  would  have  affected  him, 
“ Sir,”  said  he,  “ I believe  I should  have 
gone  mad2.” 

1 [There  can  be  little  doubt  that  these  two 
quarto  volumes  were  of  the  same  kind  as,  if  they 
were  not  actually  transcripts  of,  the  various  little 
diaries  which  fell  into  the  hands  of  Dr.  Strahan 
and  others;  the  strong  expression,  that  he  would 
have  “ gone  mad  ” had  they  been  purloined,  con- 
firms the  Editor’s  belief,  that  Dr.  Johnson  never 
could  have  intended  that  these  diaries  should  have 
been  published.  The  Editor  is  confident  that  they 
were  given  to  Dr.  Strahan  inadvertently,  Johnson 
meaning  to  give  the  prayers  alone,  and  he  sus- 
pects that  it  was  by  accident  only  they  escaped 
destruction  on  the  1st  December. — Ed.] 

- One  of  these  volumes,  Sir  John  Hawkins  in- 
forms us,  he  put  into  his  pocket;  for  which  the 
excuse  he  states  is,  that  he  meant  to  preserve  it 
from  falling  into  the  hands  of  a person  whom  he 
describes  so  as  to  make  it  sufficiently  clear  who  is 
meant  [Mr.  George  Steevens]:  “ having  strong 
reasons,”  said  he,  “ to  suspect  that  this  man  might 
find  and  make  an  ill  use  of  the  book.”  Why  Sir 
John  should  suppose  that  the  gentleman  alluded 
to  would  act  in  this  manner,  he  has  not  thought 
fit  to  explain.  But  what  he  did  was  not  approved 
of  by  Johnson;  who,  upon  being  acquainted  of  it 
without  delay  by  a friend,  expressed  great  indig- 
nation, and  warmly  insisted  on  the  book  being  de- 
livered up;  and,  afterwards,  in  the  supposition  of 
his  missing  it,  without  knowing  by  whom  it  had 
been  taken,  he  said,  “ Sir,  I should  have  gone 
out  of  the  world  distrusting  half  mankind.”  Sir 
John  next  day  wrote  a letter  to  Johnson,  assign- 
ing reasons  for  his  conduct;  upon  which  Johnson 
observed  to  Mr.  Langton,  “ Bishop  Sanderson 
could  not  have  dictated  a better  letter.  I could 
almost  say,  Melius  est  sic  penituisse  quam 
non  errdsse.,>  The  agitation  into  which  Johnson 
wag  thrown  by  this  incident  probably  made  him 
hastily  burn  those  precious  records  which  must 
ever  be  regretted. — Boswell.  [VVe  shall  see 
presently,  m Hawkins’s  diary  (1st  and  5th  De- 
cember), mote  on  the  subject:  but  it  is  not  cer- 


During  his  last  illness  Johnson  experi- 
enced the  steady  and  kind  attachment  of 
his  numerous  friends.  Mr.  Hoole  has  drawn 
up  a narrative  3 of  what  passed  in  the  visits 
which  he  paid  him  during  that  time,  from 
the  10th  of  November  to  the  13th  of  De- 
cember, the  day  of  his  death,  inclusive,  and 
has  favoured  me  with  a perusal  of  it,  with 
permission  to  make  extracts,  which  I have 
done. 

Nobody  was  more  attentive  to  him  than 
Mr.  Langton  4,  to  whom  he  tenderly  said, 
Te  teneam  moriens  dejiciente  vnanu.  And 
I think  it  highly  to  the  honour  of  Mr.  Wind- 
ham, that  his  important  occupations  as  an 
active  statesman  did  not  prevent  him  from 
paying  assiduous  respect  to  the  dying  sag-e 
whom  he  revered. 

Mr.  Langton  informs  me,  that  “ one  day 
he  found  Mr.  Burke  and  four  or  five  more 
friends  sitting  with  Johnson.  Mr.  Burke 
said  to  him,  c I am  afraid,  sir,  such  a num- 
ber of  us  may  be  oppressive  to  you.’ — ‘ No, 
sir,’  said  Johnson,  c it  is  not  so;  and  I must 
be  in  a wretched  state  indeed  when  your 
company  would  not  be  a delight  to  me.’ 
Mr.  Burke,  in  a tremulous  voice,  expressive 
of  being  very  tenderly  affected,  replied, 
f My  dear  sir,  you  have  always  been  too 
good  to  me.’  Immediately  afterwards  he 
went  away.  This  was  the  last  circumstance 
in  the  acquaintance  of  these  two  eminent 
men5.” 


tain  that  the  volume  which  Hawkins  took  was 

one  of  these  two  quartos;  and  it  is  certain  that  a 
destruction  of  papers  took  place  a day  or  two  be- 
fore that  event.  Johnson  had  really  some  reason 
for  “ distrusting  mankind,”  when,  of  two  dear 
friends,  he  found  one  half-inclined  to  commit 
a theft,  and  another  more  than  half-committing  it 
Bishop  Sanderson  is  referred  to,  because  he  was 
an  eminent  casuist,  and  treated  of  cases  of  con 
science. — Ed.] 

3 [This  journal  has  been  since  printed  at  length  . 
in  the  European  Magazine  for  September,  1799 
As  it  could  not  be  introduced  in  this  place  without 
dislocating  Mr.  Boswell’s  extracts  and  wholly  de- 
ranging his  narrative,  the  Editor  has  thought  it  bet- 
ter to  reserve  it  for  the  Appendix.  It  will  be  read 
with  interest. — Ed.] 

4 Mr.  Langton,  whose  name  so  often  occurs  in 
these  volumes,  survived  Johnson  several  years. 
He  died  at  Southampton,  December  18,  1801, 
aged  sixty-five. — Malone. 

5 [About  the  same  time,  death  withdrew  from 
the  world  Mr.  Burke’s  old  acquaintance.  Dr. 
Johnson,  from  whom,  in  the  vicissitudes  of  twen- 
ty-seven years,  no  estrangement  occurred  to  inter- 
cept their  mutual  admiration  and  regard.  He 
followed  Dr.  Johnson  to  the  grave  as  a mourner, 
and  in  contemplating  his  character,  applied  to  it  a 
fine  passage  from  Cicero,  which  might  equally 
suit  his  own:  “ Intentum  enim  animurn  quasi  ar- 
cum  habebat,  nec  languescens  succumbebat  sen- 
ectuti.”  When  some  one  censured  Johnson’s 
general  rudeness  ui  society,  he  replied  with  equa 


1784. — AST  AT.  75. 


437 


The  following  particu  ars  of  his  conversa- 
tion within  a few  days  of  his  death  I give 
on  the  authority  of  Mr.  John  Nichols: 

“ He  said,  that  the  Parliamentary 

1C  ° 3'  Debates  were  the  only  part  of  his 
writings  which  then  gave  him  any  compunc- 
tion: but  that  at  the  time  he  wrote  them  he 
had  no  conception  he  was  imposing  upon 
the  world,  though  they  were  frequently 
written  from  very  slender  materials,  and  of- 
ten from  none  at  all, — the  mere  coinage  of 
his  own  imagination.  He  never  wrote  any 
part  of  his  works  with  equal  velocity. 
Three  columns  of  the  magazine  in  an  hour 
was  no  uncommon  effort,  which  was  faster 
than  most  persons  could  have  transcribed 
that  quantity. 

“ Of  his  friend  Cave  he  always  spoke  with 
great  affection.  c Yet,’  said  he,  ‘ Cave  (who 
never  looked  out  of  his  window  but  with  a 
view  to  the  Gentleman’s  Magazine)  was  a 
penurious  paymaster;  he  would  contract  for 
lines  by  the  hundred,  and  expect  the  long 
hundred;  but  he  was  a good  man,  and  al- 
ways delighted  to  have  his  friends  at  his 
table.’ 

“ When  talking  of  a regular  edition  of 
his  own  works,  he  said,  that  he  had  power 
(from  the  booksellers)  to  print  such  an  edi- 
tion, if  his  health  admitted  it;  but  had  no 
power  to  assign  over  any  edition,  unless  he 
could  add  notes,  and  so  alter  them  as  to 
make  them  new  works;  which  his  state  of 
health  forbade  him  to  think  of.  £ I may 
possibly  live,’  said  he,  ‘ or  rather  breathe, 
three  days,  or  perhaps  three  weeks;  but 
find  myself  daily  and  gradually  weaker.’ 

u He  said  at  another  time,  three  or  four 
days  only  before  his  death,  speaking  of  the 
little  fear  he  had  of  undergoing  a chirurgi- 
cal  operation,  c I would  give  one  of  these 
legs  for  a year  more  of  life,  I mean  of  com- 
fortable life,  not  such  as  that  which  I now 
suffer;  ’ — and  lamented  much  his  inability 
to  read  during  his  hours  of  restlessness.  ‘ I 
used  formerly,’  he  added,  £ when  sleepless 
n bed,  to  read  like  a Turk .’ 

“ Whilst  confined  by  his  last  illness,  it 
was  his  regular  practice  to  have  the  church 
service  read  to  him  by  some  attentive  and 
friendly  divine.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Hoole  per- 
formed this  kind  office  in  my  presence  for 
the  last  time,  when,  by  his  own  desire,  no 
more  than  the  litany  was  read;  in  which  his 
responses  were  in  the  deep  and  sonorous 
voice  which  Mr.  Boswell  has  occasionally 

consideration  and  truth,  “ It  is  well,  when  a man 
comes  to  die,  if  he  has  nothing  worse  to  accuse 
himself  of  than  some  harshness  in  conversation.” 
He  often  remarked,  that  Johnson  was  greater  in 
discourse  than  even  in  writing,  and  that  Boswell’s 
Life  was  the  best  record  of  his  powers.  In  1790 
he  was  one  of  the  committee  formed  to  erect  a 
statue  to  his  memory. — Prior’s  Life  of  Burke, 
fol.  i.  p.  454. — Ed.] 


noticed,  and  with  the  most  profound  devo- 
tion that  can  be  imagined.  His  hearing 
not  being  quite  perfect,  he  more  than  once 
interrupted  Mr.  Hoole  with,  ‘ Louder,  my 
dear  sir,  louder,  I entreat  you,  or  you  pray 
in  vain ! ’ — and,  when  the  service  was  end- 
ed, he,  with  great  earnestness,  turned  round 
to  an  excellent  lady  who  was  present,  say- 
ing, c I thank  you,  madam,  very  heartily, 
for  your  kindness  in  joining  me  in  this  sol- 
emn exercise.  Live  well,  I conjure  you; 
and  you  will  not  feel  the  compunction  at 
the  last  which  I now  feel  V So  truly  hum- 
ble were  the  thoughts  which  this  great  and 
good  man  entertained  of  his  own  approaches 
to  religious  perfection. 

“ He  was  earnestly  invited  to  publish  a 
volume  of  Devotional  Exercises ; but  this 
(though  he  listened  to  the  proposal  with 
much  complacency,  and  a large  sum  of  mon- 
ey was  offered  for  it)  he  declined,  from  mo- 
tives of  the  sincerest  modesty. 

“ He  seriously  entertained  the  thought  of 
translating  Thuanus.  He  often  talked  to 
me  on  the  subject;  and  once,  in  particular, 
when  I was  rather  wishing  that  he  would 
favour  the  world,  and  gratify  his  sovereign, 
by  a Life  of  Spencer  (which  he  said  that  he 
would  readily  have  done  had  he  been  able 
to  obtain  any  new  materials  for  the  pur- 
pose), he  added,  c I have  been  thinking 
again,  sir,  of  Thuanus:  it  would  not  be  the 
laborious  task  which  you  have  supposed  it. 
I should  have  no  trouble  but  that  of  dicta- 
tion, which  would  be  performed  as  speedily 
as  an  amanuensis  could  write.’  ” 

On  the  same  undoubted  authority1 2  I give 
a fetv  articles  which  should  have  been  in- 
serted in  chronological  order,  but  which, 
now  that  they  are  before  me,  I should  be 
sorry  to  omit: 

“ Among  the  early  associates  of  Johnson, 
at  St.  John’s  Gate,  was  Samuel  Boyse,  well 
known  by  his  ingenious  productions;  and 
not  less  noted  for  his  imprudence  3.  It  was 


1 [There  is  a slight  error  in  Mr.  Nichols’s  ac- 
count, as  appears  by  the  following  communication 
from  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hoole  himself,  now  rector  of 
Poplar:  “ My  mother  was  with  us  when  I read 
prayers  to  Dr.  Johnson,  on  Wednesday,  Decem- 
ber 8th;  but  not  for  the  last  time,  as  is  stated  by 
Mr.  Nichols,  for  I attended  him  again  on  Friday, 
the  10th.  I must  here  mention  an  incident  which 
shows  how  ready  Johnson  was  to  make  amends 
for  any  little  incivility.  When  I called  upon  him, 
the  morning  after  he  had  pressed  me  rather  rough- 
ly to  read  louder , he  said,  ‘ I was  peevish  yes- 
terday; you  must  forgive  me:  when  you  are  as 
old  and  as  sick  as  I am,  perhaps  you  may  be  peev 
ish  too.”  I have  heard  him  make  many  apolo 
gies  of  this  kind.” — Ed.] 

2 [This,  and  the  few  next  paragraphs,  were  n 
a note  in  former  editions. — Ed.] 

3 [See  ante,  p.  336.  Sir.!.  Hawkins  has  pre 
served  the  following  ragi-comic  petition,  address 


438 


1784. — iETAT.  7& 


not  unusual  for  Boyse  toYta  customer  to 
the  pawnbroker.  On  one  of  these  occa- 
sions, Dr.  Johnson  collected  a sum  of  mon- 
ey to  redeem  his  friend’s  clothes,  which  in 
two  days  after  were  pawned  again.  c The 
sum,’  said  Johnson,  ‘ was  collected  by  six- 
pences, at  a time  when  to  me  sixpence  was 
a serious  consideration.’ 

“ Speaking  one  day  of  a person*  1 for 
whom  he  had  a real  friendship,  but  in  whom 
vanity  was  somewhat  too  predominant,  he 
observed,  that  ‘ Kelly  was  so  fond  of  dis- 
playing on  his  sideboard  the  plate  which  he 
possessed,  that  he  added  to  it  his  spurs. 
For  my  part,’  said  he,  c I never  was  master 
of  a pair  of  spurs,  but  once;  and  they  are 
now  at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean.  By  the 
carelessness  of  Boswell’s  servant,  they  were 
dropped  from  the  end  of  the  boat,  on  our 
return  from  the  Isle  of  Sky2.”’ 

The  late  Reverend  Mr.  Samuel  Babcock  3 * 
having  been  introduced  to  Dr.  Johnson  by 
Mr.  Nichols,  some  years  before  his  death, 
thus  expressed  himself  in  a letter  to  that 
gentleman: 

“ How  much  I am  obliged  to  you  for  the 
favour  you  did  me  in  introducing  me  to  Dr. 
Johnson!  Tantum  vidi  Virgilium.  But 
to  have  seen  him,  and  to  have  received  a 
testimony  of  respect  from  him,  was  enough. 
I recollect  all  the  conversation-,  and  shall 


sed  by  Boyse,  from  a sponging-house,  to  Cave, 
the  printer,  in  1742. 

“ INSCRIPTION  FOR  ST.  LAZARUS’S  CAVE. 

“ Hodie,  teste  ccelo  summo, 

Sine  pane,  sine  numrao ; 

Sorte  positus  infeste, 

Scribo  tibi  dolens  mceste. 

Fame,  bile,  tumet  jecur : 

Urbane,  mitte  opem,  precor; 

Tibi  enim  cor  humanum 
Non  a malis  alien  urn  : 

Mihi  mens  nec  male  grato, 

Pro  a te  favore  dato. 

•*  Ex  gehenna  debitoria,  “ Alcaeus.” 

“Vulgo,  domo  spongiatoria.” 

When  Boyse’s  wife  died,  this  strange  man  put 
his  lap-dog  into  mourning  by  tying  a black  riband 
round  his  neck,  and  so  carried  the  dog  about  in 
his  arms  to  show  his  taste  and  sensibility.  See 
Hawkins,  p.  159. — Ed.] 

1 [Hugh  Kelly,  the  dramatic  authour,  who  died 
in  Gough-square  in  1777,  set.  38.  Kelly’s  first 
introduction  to  Johnson  was  not  likely  to  have 
pleased  a person  of  “ predominant  vanity.”  Af- 
ter having  sat  a short  time,  he  got  up  to  take  his 
leave,  saying,  that  he  feared  a longer  visit  might 
be  troublesome.  “ Not  in  the  least,  sir.”  John- 
son is  said  to  have  replied,  “ I had  forgotten  that 
you  were  in  the  room.” — Ed.] 

2 [Ante,  vol.  i.  p.  377.— Ed.] 

3 [Chiefly  known  as  a Monthly  Reviewer,  and 
for  a controversy  with  Dr.  Priestley,  whose  friend 

and  admirer  he  had  previously  been.  He  had  been 

bred  a dissenter,  but  conformed  to  the  established 
church,  ic.rl  was  ordained  in  1787.  He  died  soon 
after,  ir  May,  1788,  set.  41.— El  ] 


never  forge.  :me  of  his  expressions  Speak- 
ing of  Dr.  P******  4}  (whose  writings,  I saw, 
he  estimated  at  a low  rate,)  he  said,  ‘ You 
have  proved  him  as  deficient  in  probity  as 
he  is  in  learning.’  I called  him  an  ‘ Index- 
Scholar  ; ’ but  he  was  not  willing  to  allow 
him  a claim  even  to  that  merit.  He  said 
c that  he  borrowed  from  those  who  had 
been  borrowers  themselves,  and  did  not 
know  that  the  mistakes  he  adopted  had  been 
answered  by  others.’  I often  think  of  our 
short,  but  precious  visit,  to  this  great  man. 
I shall  consider  it  as  a kind  of  an  cera  in  my 
life.” 

It  is  to  the  mutual  credit  of  Johnson  and 
divines  of  different  communions,  that  al- 
though he  was  a steady  church  of  England 
man,  there  was,  nevertheless,  much  agree- 
able intercourse  between  him  and  them. 
Let  me  particularly  name  the  late  Mr.  La 
Trobe  5,  and  Mr.  Hutton,  of  the  Moravian 


4 [Priestley. — Ed.] 

5 [The  son  of  Mr.  La  Trobe  has  published  (In 
the  Christian  Observer  for  January,  1828),  “in 
order,”  as  he  says,  “ that  the  tradition  may  not 
be  lost,”  a corroboration  of  some  remarks,  which 
appeared  in  that  work  for  the  October  and  No- 
vember preceding,  on  the  last  days  of  Dr.  John- 
son. Mr.  La  Trobe’s  statement  tends,  as  far  as 
it  goes,  to  confirm  the  opinion  already,  it  is  hoped, 
universally  entertained,  that  Johnson’s  death  was 
truly  Christian.  But  Mr.  La  Trobe  had  little  to 
tell,  and  of  that  little  unfortunately  the  promi- 
nent facts  are  indisputably  erroneous.  Mr.  La 
Trobe  states  that  “ Dr.  Johnson  had  during  his 
last  illness  sent  every  day  to  know  when  his  fa- 
ther, who  was  then  out  of  town,  would  come  back. 
The  moment  he  arrived  he  went  to  the  Doctor’s 
house,  but  found  him  speechless,  though  sensible. 
Mr.  La  Trobe  addressed  to  him  some  religious 
exhortation,  which  Johnson  showed  by  pressing 
his  hand  and  other  signs,  that  he  understood  and 
was  thankful  for.  He  expired  the  next  morning, 
and  Mr.  La  Trobe  always  regretted  not  having 
been  able  to  attend  Dr.  Johnson  sooner,  according 
to  his  wish.”  The  reader  will  see  that  the  infer- 
ence suggested  by  this  statement  is,  that  Dr. 
Johnson  wished  for  the  spiritual  assistance  of  Mr 
La  Trobe,  in  addition  (or  it  might  even  be  infer- 
red, in  preference)  to  that  of  his  near  and  dear 
friends,  Mr.  Iloole  and  Dr.  Strahan,  clergymen  of 
the  established  church.  Now  the  facts  of  the 
case  essentially  contradict  Mr.  La  Trobe’s  account, 
and  any  inferences  which  might  be  deducible 
from  it.  Doctor  Johnson,  as  will  be  seen  in  the 
Diaries  of  Sir  J.  Hawkins  and  Mr.  Windham, 
was  not  speechless  the  day  before  his  death,  nor 
did  he  die  next  morning  (which  seems  mentioned 
as  the  reason  why  Mr.  La  Trobe’s  visit  was  not 
repeated),  but  in  the  evening.  And,  which  is 
quite  conclusive,  it  appears  from  Mr.  Hoole’s  Di- 
ary, that  Mr.  La  Trobe’s  visit  to  Dr.  Johnson’s 
residence  (and  his  son  admits  there  was  but  one ) 
took  place  about  eleven  o’clock  in  the  forenoon 
of  the  10th,  three  days  before  Dr.  Johnson’s 

| death;  lh.it  Mr.  I. a Trobe  did  not  even  see  him, 
and  that  it  was  in  the  course  of  that  very  day  that 


17S4. — iETAT.  75. 


439 


profession.  His  intimacy  with  the  English 
Benedictines  at  Paris  has  been  mentioned; 
and  as  an  additional  proof  of  the  charity  in 
which  he  lived  with  good  men  of  the  Rom- 
ish church,  I am  happy  in  this  opportunity 
of  recording  his  friendship  with  the  Rever- 
end Thomas  Hussey,  D.  D.  his  catholick 
majesty’s  chaplain  of  embassy  at  the  court 
of  London,  that  very  respectable  man,  emi- 
nent not  only  for  his  powerful  eloquence  as 
a preacher,  but  for  his  various  abilities  and 
acquisitions.  Nay,  though  Johnson  loved 
a Presbyterian  the  least  of  all,  this  did  not 
prevent  his  having  a long  and  uninterrupted 
socia.  connexion  with  the  Reverend  Dr. 
James  Fordyce,  who,  since  his  death,  hath 
gratefully  celebrated  him  in  a warm  strain 
of  devotional  composition. 

Amidst  the  melancholy  clouds  which 
hung  over  the  dying  Johnson,  his  charac- 
teristical  manner  showed  itself  on  different 
occasions. 

When  Dr.  Warren,  in  his  usual  style, 
hoped  that  he  was  better,  his  answer  was, 
“No,  sir;  you  cannot  conceive  with  what 
acceleration  I advance  towards  death.” 

A man  whom  he  had  never  seen  before 
was  employed  one  night  to  sit  up  with  him. 
Being  asked  next  morning  how  he  liked  his 
attendant,  his  answer  was,  “ Not  at  all,  sir: 
the  fellow ’s  an  idiot;  he  is  as  awkward  as  a 
turnspit  when  first  put  into  the  wheel,  and 
as  sleepy  as  a dormouse.” 

He  repeated  with  great  spirit  a poem, 
consisting  of  several  stanzas,  in  four  lines, 
tn  alternate  rhyme,  which  he  said  he  had 
composed  some  years  before * 1  2,  on  occasion 
of  a rich,  extravagant  young  gentleman’s 
coming  of  age3:  saying  he  had  never  re- 
eated  it  but  once  since  he  composed  it,  and 
ad  given  but  one  copy  of  it.  That  copy 
was  given  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  now  Piozzi,  who 
has  published  it  in  a book  which  she  enti- 
tles “ British  Synonyma”  but  which  is  tru- 


Mr.  Hoole  read  prayers  to  him  and  a small  con- 
gregation cf  friends.  So  little  can  anecdotes  at 
second  hand  be  trusted. — Ed.] 

1 [No  doubt  the  gentleman  who  is  so  conspic- 
uous in  Mr.  Cumberland’s  Memoirs.  He  was 
subsequently  first  master  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
college  at  Maynooth,  and  titular  bishop  of  Wa- 
terford, in  Ireland,  in  which  latter  capacity  he 
published,  in  1797,  a pastoral  charge,  which  ex- 
cited a good  deal  of  observation. — Ed.] 

2 In  1780.  See  his  letter  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  dated 
August  8 th,  1780.  “You  have  heard  in  the  pa- 
pers how  [Lade]  is  come  to  age  : I have  enclo- 
sed a sliort  song  of  congratulation,  which  you 
nust  not  show  to  any  body.  It  is  odd  that  it 
should  come  into  any  body’s  head.  I hope  you 
will  read  it  with  candour;  it  is,  I believe,  one  of 
the  authour’s  first  essays  in  that  way  of  writing, 
and  a beginner  is  always  to  be  treated  with  ten- 
derness.”— Malone. 

3 [Sir  John  Lade.  See  ante,  p.  119. — Ed.] 


ly  a collection  of  entertaining  remarks  and 
stories,  no  matter  whether  acc  irate  or  not. 
Being  a piece  of  exquisite  satire,  conveyed 
in  a strain  of  pointed  vivacity  and  humour, 
and  in  a manner  of  which  no  other  instance 
is  to  be  found  in  Johnson’s  writings,  I shall 
here  insert  it. 

“ Long-expected  one-and  twenty, 

Ling ’ring  year,  at  length  is  flown 
Pride  and  pleasure,  pomp  and  plenty, 
Great  [Sir  John],  are  now  your  own 

“ Loosen’d  from  the  minor’s  tether, 

Free  to  mortgage  or  to  sell, 

Wild  as  wind,  and  light  as  feather, 

Bid  the  sons  of  thrift  farewell. 

“ Call  the  Betseys,  Kates,  and  Jennies, 

All  the  names  that  banish  care; 

Lavish  of  your  grandsire’s  guineas, 

Show  the  spirit  of  an  heir. 

“ All  that  prey  on  vice  and  folly 
Joy  to  see  their  quarry  fly: 

There  the  gamester,  light  and  jolly, 

There  the  lender,  grave  and  sly. 

“ Wealth,  my  lad,  was  made  to  wander, 

Let  it  wander  as  it  will; 

Call  the  jockey,  call  the  pander, 

Bid  them  come  and  take  their  fill 

“ When  the  bonny  blade  carouses, 

Pockets  full,  and  spirits  high — 

What  are  acres  ? what  are  houses  * 

Only  dirt,  or  wet  or  dry. 

“ Should  the  guardian  friend  or  mother 
Tell  the  woes  of  wilful  waste: 

Scorn  their  counsels,  scorn  then  pother, 
You  can  hang  or  drown  at  last.” 

As  he  opened  a note  which  his  servant 
brought  to  him,  he  said,  “ An  odd  thought 
strikes  me: — we  shall  receive  no  letters  in 
the  grave  4.” 

He  requested  three  things  of  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds: — To  forgive  him  thirty  pounds 
which  he  had  borrowed  of  him; — to  read 
the  Bible; — and  never  to  use  his  pencil  on  a 
Sunday.  Sir  Joshua  readily  acquiesced. 

Indeed  he  showed  the  greatest  anxiety  for 
the  religious  improvement  of  his  friends,  to 
whom  he  discoursed  of  its  infinite  conse- 
quence. He  begged  of  Mr.  Hoole  to  think 
of  what  he  had  said,  and  to  commit  it  to 
writing;  and,  upon  being  afterwards  assured 
that  this  was  done,  pressed  his  hands,  and 
in  an  earnest  tone  thanked  him.  Dr. 
Brocklesby  having  attended  him  with  the 
utmost  assiduity  and  kindness  as  his  physi- 

4  [Thoughts  of  the  same  class  had  already 
struck  Jeremy  Taylor: — “ What  servants  shall  we 
have  to  wait  on  us  in  the  grave  ? What  friends  to 
visit  us  ? What  officious  people  to  cleanse  away 
the  moist  and  unwholesome  cloud  reflected  on 
our  faces  from  the  sides  of  the  weeping  vaults, 
which  are  the  longest  weepers  at  our  funeral  ! 
Holy  Hying,  chap.  i.  § 2. — Ed.] 


140 


1784. — yETAT  75. 


cian  and  friend,  he  was  peculiarly  desirous 
that  this  gentleman  should  not  entertain  any 
loose  speculative  notions,  but  he  confirmed 
in  the  truths  of  Christianity  and  insisted 
on  his  writing  down  in  his  presence,  as 
nearly  as  he  could  collect  it,  the  import  of 
what  passed  on  the  subject:  and  Dr.  Brock- 
lesby  having  complied  with  the  request,  he 
made  him  sign  the  paper,  and  urged  him  to 
keep  it  in  his  own  custody  as  long  as  he 
lived. 

Johnson,  with  that  native  fortitude,  which, 
amidst  all  his  bodily  distress  and  mental 
sufferings,  never  forsook  him,  asked  Dr. 
Brocklesby,  as  a man  in  whom  he  had  con- 
fidence, to  tell  him  plainly  whether  he  could 
recover.  “Give  me,”  said  he,  “ a direct 
answer.”  The  doctor  having  first  asked 
him  if  he  could  bear  the  whole  truth,  which 
way  soever  it  might  lead,  and  being  an- 
swered that  he  could,  declared  that,  in  his 
opinion,  he  could  not  recover  without  a 
miracle.  “ Then,”  said  Johnson,  “ I will 
take  no  more  physick,  not  even  my  opiates; 
for  I have  prayed  that  I may  render  up  my 
soul  to  God  unclouded  h”  In  this  resolu- 
tion he  persevered,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
used  only  the  weakest  kinds  of  sustenance. 
Being  pressed  by  Mr.  Windham  to  take 
somewhat  more  generous  nourishment,  lest 
too  low  a diet  should  have  the  very  effect 
which  he  dreaded,  by  debilitating  his  mind, 
he  said,  “ I will  take  any  thing  but  inebriat- 
ing sustenance.” 

Mr.  Windham  having  placed  a pillow 
conveniently  to  support  him,  he  thanked 
him  for  his  kindness,  and  said,  “ That  will 
do, — all  that  a pillow  can  do.” 

[The  following  extract2 * 4  from  a private 

1 [The  following  is  an  instance  of  a similar 
spirit: — “ Maria  Theresa,  queen  of  Hungary  and 
Bohemia,  who  died  about  1780,  was  a woman 
of  great  strength  of  mind,  united  with  other  esti- 
mable qualities.  A short  time  before  her  death, 
one  of  the  ladies  near  her  person,  in  reply  to  an 
inquiry  made  respecting  the  state  of  the  empress, 
answered,  that  her  majesty  seemed  to  be  asleep. 

‘ No,’  replied  she,  ‘ I could  sleep  if  I would  in- 
dulge repose,  but  I am  sensible  of  the  near  ap- 
proach of  death,  and  I will  not  allow  myself  to 
be  surprised  by  him  in  my  sleep.  I wish  to  meet 
my  dissolution  awake.'  There  is  nothing  trans- 

mitted to  us  by  antiquity  finer  than  this  answer, 
which  Is  divested  of  all  ostentation.” — WraxaU's 
Historical  Memoirs  of  his  own  Time , vol.  i. 
p.  365. — Markland.] 

4 [Understanding  that  a journal  kept  by  the 
late  Mr.  Windham  contained  some  particulars 
relative  to  Dr.  Johnson,  the  Editor  applied  to  his 
friend,  Admiral  Windham,  that  gentleman’s  neph- 
ew and  heir,  for  permission  to  see  the  journal, 
which  the  admiral  most  readily  granted;  but  a 
gentleman  to  whose  care  the  papers  had  been  pre- 
viously consigned  with  a view  to  his  writing  a life 
of  Mr.  Windham,  declined  to  favour  the  Editor 
with  the  desii  ed  information.  From  another  quar- 


journal  kept  by  Mr.  Windham  will  be  read 
with  interest. . 

“Tuesday,  December  7,  1734. 

Ten  minutes  past  2,  P.  M 

“ After  waiting  some  short  time 
in  the  adjoining  room,  I was  admit-  mss*1' 
ted  to  Dr.  Johnson  in  his  bed-cham-  1 
ber,  where,  after  placing  me  next  him  in  the 
chair  (he  sitting  in  his  usual  place,  on  the 
east  side  of  the  room,  and  I on  his  right 
hand),  he  put  into  my  hands  two  small  vol- 
umes (an  edition  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament, as  he  afterwards  told  me),  EC!fg;hi 
saying,  c Extremum  hoc  munus  ' v 
morientis  habeto.’ 

“ He  then  proceeded  to  observe  that  I 
was  entering  upon  a life  which  would  lead 
me  deeply  into  all  the  business  of  the  world  : 
that  he  did  not  condemn  civil  employment, 
but  that  it  was  a state  of  great  danger,  and 
that  he  had  therefore  one  piece  of  advice 
earnestly  to  impress  upon  me,  that  I would 
set  apart  every  seventh  day  for  the  care  of 
my  soul.  That  one  day,  the  seventh,  should 
be  employed  in  repenting  what  was  amiss 
in  the  six  preceding,  and  fortifying  my  vir- 
tue for  the  six  to  come.  That  such  a por- 
tion of  time  was  surely  little  enough  for  the 
meditation  of  eternity. 

“ He  then  told  me  that  he  had  a request 
to  make  to  me,  namely,  that  I would  allow 
his  servant  Frank  to  look  up  to  me  as  his 
friend,  adviser,  and  protector,  in  all  diffi- 
culties which  his  own  weakness  and  impru- 
dence, or  the  force  or  fraud  of  others,  might 
bring  him  into.  He  said  that  he  had  left 
him  what  he  considered  an  ample  provision, 
viz.  seventy  pounds  per  annum;  but  that 
even  that  sum  might  not  place  him  above 
the  want  of  a protector,  and  to  me,  there- 
fore, he  recommended  him  as  to  one  who 
had  will,  and  power,  and  activity  to  protect 
him.  Having  obtained  my  assent  to  this, 
he  proposed  that  Frank  should  be  called  in; 
and  desiring  me  to  take  him  by  the  hand  in 
token  of  the  promise,  repeated  before  him 
the  recommendation  he  had  just  made  of 
him,  and  the  promise  I had  given  to  attend 
to  it. 

“ I then  took  occasion  to  say  how  much 
I felt — what  I had  long  foreseen  that  I 
should  feel — regret  at  having  spent  so  little 
of  my  life  in  his  company.  I stated  this  as 
an  instance  where  resolutions  are  deferred 
till  the  occasions  are  past.  For  some  time 
past  I had  determined  that  such  an  occasion 
of  self-reproach  should  not  subsist,  and  had 
built  upon  the  hope  of  passing  in  his  socie 
ty  the  chief  part  of  my  time,  at  the  moment 
when  it  was  to  be  apprehended  we  were 
about  to  lose  him  for  ever. 

ter,  however,  he  is  enabled  to  present  the  reade 
with  this  extract  made  from  the  original  journa. 
before  it  had  received  its  present  destination  — 
Ed.] 


1784.— vETAT.  75 


“ I had  no  difficulty  in  speaking  to  him 
thus  of  my  apprehensions.  I could  not  help, 
on  the  other  hand,  entertaining  hopes,  hut 
witk  these  I did  not  like  to  trouble  him,  lest 
he  should  conceive  that  I thought  it  neces- 
sary to  flatter  him:  he  answered  hastily, 
that  he  was  sure  I would  not;  and  proceed- 
ed to  make  a compliment  to  the  manliness 
of  my  mind,  which,  whether  deserved  or 
not,  ought  to  be  remembered,  that  it  may 
be  deserved. 

“ I then  stated,  that  among  other  neglects 
was  the  omission  of  introducing  of  all  topics 
the  most  important,  the  consequence  of 
which  particularly  filled  my  mind  at  that 
moment,  and  in  which  I had  often  been 
desirous  to  know  his  opinions;  the  subjects 
I meant  were,  I said,  natural  and  revealed 
religion.  The  wish  thus  generally  stated 
was  in  part  gratified  on  the  instant.  For 
revealed  religion,  he  said,  there  was  such 
historical  evidence,  as  upon  any  subject  not 
religious  would  have  left  no  doubt.  Had 
the  facts  recorded  in  the  New  Testament 
been  mere  civil  occurrences,  no  one  would 
have  called  in  question  the  testimony  by 
which  they  are  established;  but  the  impor- 
tance annexed  to  them,  amounting  to  no- 
thing less  than  the  salvation  of  mankind, 
raised  a cloud  in  our  minds,  and  created 
doubts  unknown  upon  any  other  subject. 
Of  proofs  to  be  derived  from  history,  one  of 
the  most  cogent,  he  seemed  to  think,  was 
the  opinion  so  well  authenticated,  and  so 
long  entertained,  of  a deliverer  that  was  to 
appear  about  that  time.  Among  the  typi- 
cal representations,  the  sacrifice  of  the  Pas- 
chal Lamb,  in  which  no  bone  was  to  be 
broken,  had  early  struck  his  mind.  F or  the 
immediate  life  and  miracles  of  Christ,  such 
attestation  as  that  of  the  apostles,  who  all, 
except  St.  John,  confirmed  their  testimony 
with  their  blood — such  belief  as  these  wit- 
nesses procured  from  a people  best  furnish- 
ed with  the  means  of  judging,  and  least  dis- 
posed to  judge  favourably — such  an  exten- 
sion afterwards  of  that  belief  over  all  the 
nations  of  the  earth,  though  originating 
from  a nation  of  all  others  most  despised, 
would  leave  no  doubt  that  the  things  wit- 
nessed were  true,  and  were  of  a nature  more 
than  human.  With  respect  to  evidence,  Dr. 
Johnson  observed,  that  we  had  not  such  evi- 
dence that  Caesar  died  in  the  Capitol,  as 
that  Christ  died  in  the  manner  related. 

“ December  1 1th. — Went  with  Sir  Josh- 
ua, whom  I took  up  by  the  way,  to  see  Dr. 
Johnson.  Strahan  and  Langt.on  there. 
No  hopes;  though  a great  discharge  had 
taken  place  from  the  legs. 

“December  12th. — At  about  half-past 
seven,  P.  M.  went  to  Dr.  Johnson’s,  where 
I stayed,  chiefly  in  the  outer  room,  till  past 
eleven.  Strahan  there  during  the  whole 
time;  during  part  Mr.  Hoole;  and  latterly 

voi . n.  56 


*4i 

Mr.  Cruikshanks  and  the  apL-lif.^ca<  v.  I 
only  went  in  twice,  for  a few  minutes  each 
time:  the  first  time  I hinted  only  what  they 
had  before  been  urging,  namely,  that  he 
would  be  prevailed  upon  to  take  some  sus- 
tenance, and  desisted  upon  his  exclaiming, 
* ’Tis  all  very  childish;  let  us  hear  no  more 
of  it.’  The  second  time  I came  in,  in  con- 
sequence of  a consultation  with  Mr.  Cruik- 
shanks and  the  apothecary,  and  addressed 
him  formally,  after  premising,  that  I con- 
sidered what  I was  going  to  say  as  matter  of 
duty:  I said  that  I hoped  he  would  not  sus- 
pect me  of  the  weakness  of  importuning 
him  to  take  nourishment  for  the  purpose  of 
prolonging  his  life  for  a few  hours  or  days. 
I then  stated  what  the  reason  was.  It  was 
to  secure  that  which  I was  persuaded  that 
he  was  most  anxious  about,  namely,  that  he 
might  preserve  his  faculties  entire  to  the 
last  moment.  Before  I had  quite  stated 
my  meaning,  he  interrupted  me  by  saying, 
that  he  had  refused  no  sustenance  but  in- 
ebriating sustenance;  and  proceeded  to  give 
instances  where,  in  compliance  with  the 
wishes  of  his  physician,  he  had  taken  even 
a small  quantity  of  wine.  I readily  assent- 
ed to  any  objections  he  might  have  to  nour- 
ishment of  that  kind,  and  observing  that 
milk  was  the  only  nourishment  I intended, 
flattered  myself  that  I had  succeeded  in  my 
endeavours,  when  he  recurred  to  his  gener- 
al refusal,  and  c begged  that  there  might  be 
an  end  of  it.’  I then  said,  that  I hoped  he 
would  forgive  my  earnestness,  or  something 
to  that  effect,  when  he  replied  eagerly,  that 
from  me  nothing  could  be  necessary  by  way 
of  apology  ; adding,  with  great  fervour,  in 
words  which  I shall,  I hope,  never  forget, 
‘ God  bless  you,  my  dear  Windham,  through 
Jesus  Christ; 5 and  concluding  with  a wish 
‘ that  we  might  [share]  in  some  humble 
portion  of  that  happiness  which  God  might 
finally  vouchsafe  to  repentant  sinners.5 
These  were  the  last  words  lever  heard  him 
speak.  I hurried  out  of  the  room  with  tears 
in  my  eyes,  and  more  affected  than  1 had 
been  on  any  former  occasion. 

“ December  1 Sth. — In  the  morning  meant 
to  have  met  Mr.  Cruikshanks  in  Bolt-Court, 
but  while  I was  deliberating  about  going, 
was  sent  for  by  Mr.  Burke.  Went  to  Bolt- 
Court  about  half-past  three,  found  that  Dr. 
Johnson  had  been  almost  constantly  asleep 
since  nine  in  the  morning,  and  heard  from 
Mr.  Desmoulins  what  passed  in  the  night. 
He  had  compelled  Frank  to  give  him  a lan- 
cet, and  had  besides  concealed  in  the  bed  a 
pair  of  scissors,  and,  with  one  or  the  other 
of  them,  had  scarified  himself  in  three 
places,  two  of  them  in  the  leg.  On  Mr. 
Desmoulins  making  a difficulty  in  giving 
him  the  lancet,  he  said,  ‘ Don’t,  if  you  have 
any  scruple;  but  I will  comp*.?  Frank:’ 
and  on  Mr.  Desmoulins  attempting  after 


442 


1784. — /ETAT.  75.  • 


wards  to  prevent  Frank  from  giving  it  to 
lim,  and  at  last  to  restrain  his  hand,  he 
grew  very  outrageous,  so  as  to  call  Frank 
scoundrel,  and  to  threaten  Mr.  Desmoulins 
that  he  would  stab  him 1 ; he  then  made 
the  three  incisions  above  mentioned,  two  of 
which  -were  not  unskilfully  made;  but  one 
of  those  in  the  leg  was  a deep  and  ugly 
wound,  from  which  they  suppose  him  to 
nave  lost  at  least  eight  ounces  of  blood. 

“ Upon  Dr.  Heberden  expressing  his 
fears  about  the  scarification,  Dr.  Johnson 
told  him  he  was  timidorum  timidissimus. 
A few  days  before  his  death,  talking  with 
Dr.  Brocklesby,  he  said,  £ Now  will  you  as- 
cribe my  death  to  my  having  taken  eight 
grains  of  squills  when  you  recommended 
only  three?  Dr.  Heberden,  to  my  having 
opened  my  left  foot  when  nature  was  point- 
ing out  the  discharge  in  the  right?’  The 
conversation  was  introduced  by  his  quoting 
some  lines,  to  the  same  purpose,  from 
Swift’s  verses  on  his  own  death2. 

“ It  was  within  the  same  period,  if  I un- 
derstood Dr.  Brocklesby  right,  that  he  en- 
joined him,  as  an  honest  man  and  a physi- 
cian, to  inform  him  how  long  he  thought 
he  had  to  live.  Dr.  Brocklesby  inquired, 
in  return,  whether  he  had  firmness  to  bear 
the  answer.  Upon  his  replying  that  he  had, 
and  Dr.  Brocklesby  limiting  the  time  to  a 
few  weeks,  he  said,  c that  he  then  would 
trouble  himself  no  more  with  medicine  or 
medical  advice : ’ and  to  this  resolution  he 
pretty  much  adhered. 

“ In  a conversation  about  what  was  prac- 
ticable in  medicine  or  surgery,  he  quoted, 
to  the  surprise  of  his  physicians,  the  opin- 
ion of  Marchetti  for  an  operation  of  extract- 


1 [See  ante,  p.  433.  The  reader  will  judge 
whether  Boswell’s  or  Hawkins’s  account  of  this 
transaction  is  the  juster;  hut  that  more  importance 
may  not  be  given  to  it  than  it  deserves,  it  must 
be  recollected,  that  Johnson  fancied  that  his 
attendants  were  treating  him  with  a timid  lenien- 
cy, merely  to  spare  him  pain,  a notion  which  irri- 
tated, at  once,  his  love  of  life,  his  animal  courage, 
and  his  high  moral  principle.  We  have  already 
seen  {ante,  p.  398)  that  when  in  health  he  had 
said,  whoever  is  afraid  of  anything  is  a scoun- 
drel, and  now  in  the  same  feeling,  and  the  same 
words,  he  censures  the  cowardly,  as  he  thought 
them,  apprehensions  of  his  attendants.  It  might 
be  wished,  that  in  such  circumstances  he  had 
spoken  and  acted  with  less  impatience;  but  let  us 
not  forget  the  excuses  which  may  be  drawn  from 
die  natural  infirmity  of  his  temper,  exasperated  by 
he  peevishness  of  a long  and  painful  disease. — 

Sp.j 

2 [u  The  doctors,  tender  of  their  fame, 

Wisely  on  one  lay  all  the  blame : 

1 We  must  confess  his  case  was  nice, 

But  he  would  never  take  advice; 

Had  he  been  ruled,  for  aught  appears, 

He  mi^ht  have  lived  these  twenty  years; 

For  when  we  rpan’d  him,  we  found 
That  all  his  vital  parts  were  sound.”’ — Ed.] 


ing  (I  think)  part  of  the  kidney.  He  re- 
commended, for  an  account  of  China,  Sir 
John  Mandeville’s  Travels.  Halliday’s 
Notes  on  Juvenal  he  thought  so  highly  of 
as  to  have  employed  himself  for  some  time 
in  translating  them  into  Latin. 

“ He  insisted  on  the  doctrine  of  an  expi- 
atory sacrifice  as  the  condition  without 
which  there  was  no  Christianity3;  and 
urged  in  support  the  belief  entertained  in 
all  ages,  and  by  all  nations,  barbarous  as 
well  as  polite.  He  recommended  to  Dr. 
Brocklesby,  also,  Clarke’s  Sermons,  and  re- 
peated to  him  the  passage  which  he  had 
spoken  of  to  me. 

“ While  airing  one  day  with  Dr.  Brock- 
lesby, in  passing  and  returning  by  St.  Pan- 
eras  church,  he  fell  into  prayer,  and  men- 
tioned, upon  Dr.  Brocklesby ’s  inquiring, 
why  the  Catholics  chose  that  for  their 
burying-place,  that  some  Catholics,  in 
Queen  Elizabeth’s  time,  had  been  burnt 
there4.  Upon  Dr.  Brocklesby’s  asking 
him  whether  he  did  not  feel  the  warmth  of 
the  sun,  he  quoted  from  Juvenal, 

‘ Praeterea  minimus  gelido  jam  in  corpore  sanguis 
Feb  re  cal  et  sola5.’ 

“ December  13th. — Forty-five  minutes 
past  ten,  P.  M.  While  writing  the  preced- 
ing articles,  I received  the  fatal  account,  so 
long  dreaded,  that  Dr.  Johnson  was  no 
more ! 

“ May  those  prayers  which  he  incessant- 
ly poured  from  a heart  fraught  with  the 
deepest  devotion  find  their  acceptance  with 
Him  to  whom  they  were  addressed;  which 
piety,  so  humble  and  so  fervent,  may  seem 
to  promise ! ”] 

[The  following  Journal,  by  Sir  J.  Ep 
Hawkins,  of  the  last  fortnight  of  Dr.  D* 
Johnson’s  life,  though  it  must  necessarily 
repeat  some  facts  already  stated,  cannot  be 
either  omitted  or  curtailed. 

“ Sunday,  28th.  I saw  him  about 
noon;  he  was  dozing;  butwaking, 
he  found  himself  in  a circle  of  his 
friends.  Upon  opening  his  eyes,  he  said 
that  the  prospect  of  his  dissolution  was  very 
terrible  to  him,  and  addressed  himself  to 
us  all,  in  nearly  these  words:  c You  see  the 
state  in  which  I am;  conflicting  with  bodily 
pain  and  mental  distraction : while  you  are 
in  health  and  strength,  labour  to  do  good. 

3 [This  confirms  the  Editor’s  opinion,  ante,  p. 
127.— Ed.] 

4 [The  reader  will  be  aware  that  other  causes 
have  been  assigned  for  this  preference,  but  I learn, 
from  unquestionable  authority,  that  it  rests  upon  no 
foundation,  and  that  mere  prejudice  exists  amongst 
the  Roman  Catholics  in  favour  of  this  church, 
as  is  the  case  with  respect  to  other  places  of 
burial  in  various  parts  of  the  kingdom. — Mark 
land.] 

5 [Jlntc,  p.  416. — Ed  ] 


1784.— riETAT.  75. 


443 


and  avoid  evil,  if  ever  you  hope  to  escape 
the  distress  that  now  oppresses  me.5  A lit- 
tle while  after,  4 1 had  very  early  in  my  life 
the  seeds  of  goodness  in  me : I had  a love 
of  virtue,  and  a re  verence  for  religion;  and 
these,  1 trust,  have  brought  forth  in  me 
fruits  meet  for  repentance *  *;  and  if  I have 
repented  as  I ought,  I am  forgiven.  I have, 
at  times,  entertained  a loathing  of  sin  and 
of  myself,  particularly  at  the  beginning  of 
this  year,  when  I had  the  prospect  of  death 
before  me;  and  this  has  not  abated  when 
my  fears  of  death  have  been  less;  and,  at 
these  times,  I have  had  such  rays  of  hope 
shot  into  my  soul,  as  have  almost  persuaded 
me  that  I am  in  a state  of  reconciliation 
with  God.5 

“ 29th.  Mr.  Langton,  who  had  spent 
the  evening  with  him,  reported,  that  his 
hopes  were  increased,  and  that  he  was  much 
cheered  upon  being  reminded  of  the  general 
tendency  of  his  writings,  and  of  his  example. 

“ 30th.  I saw  him  in  the  evening,  and 
found  him  cheerful.  Was  informed  that  he 
had,  for  his  dinner,  eaten  heartily  qf  a 
French  duck  pie  and  a pheasant. 

“Dec.  1.  He  was  busied  in  destroying 
papers.  Gave  to  Mr.  Langton  and  another 
person  2,  to  fair  copy,  some  translations  of 
the  Greek  epigrams,  which  he  had  made  in 
the  preceding  nights,  and  transcribed  the 
next  morning,  and  they  began  to  work  on 
them. 

“ 3d.  Finding  his  legs  continue  to  swell, 
he  signified  to  his  physicians  a strong  desire 
to  have  them  scarified,  but  they,  unwilling 
to  put  him  to  pain,  and  fearing  a mortifica- 
tion, declined  advising  it.  He  afterwards 
consulted  his  surgeon,  and  he  performed  the 
operation  on  one  leg. 

“4th.  I visited  him:  the  scarification 
made  yesterday  in  his  leg  appeared  to  have 
had  little  effect.  He  said  to  me,  that  he 
was  easier  in  his  mind,  and  as  fit  to  die  at 
that  instant  as  he  could  be  a year  hence. 
He  requested  me  to  receive  the  sacrament 
with  him  on  Sunday,  the  next  day.  Com- 
plained of  great  weakness,  and  of  phantoms 
that  haunted  his  imagination. 

“ 5th.  Being  Sunday,  I communicated 
with  him  and  Mr.  Langton,  and  other  of 
his  friends,  as  many  as  nearly  filled  the  room. 
Mr.  Strahan,  who  was  constant  in  his  at- 
dance  on  him  throughout  his  illness,  per- 
formed the  office.  Previous  to  reading  the 
exhortation,  Johnson  knelt,  and,  with  a de- 
gree of  fervour  that  I had  never  been  wit- 
ness to  before,  uttered  the  following  most 
eloquent  and  energetic  prayer: 

“ 4 Almighty  and  most  merciful  Father,  I 
am  now,  as  to  human  eyes  it  seems,  about 
to  commemorate,  for  the  last  time,  the  death 

1 [“  Bring  forth,  therefore,  fruits  worthy  of 
repentance.” — St.  Luke , chap.  iii.  v.  8. — Ed.] 

• [Young  Mr.  Desmoulins. — Ed.] 


of  thy  son  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour  and 
Redeemer.  Grant,  O Lord,  that  my  whole 
hope  and  confidence  may  be  in  his  merits 
and  in  thy  mercy:  forgive  and  accept  my 
late  conversion;  enforce  and  accept  my  im- 
perfect repentance;  make  this  commemora- 
tion of  him  available  to  the  confirmation  of 
my  faith,  the  establishment  of  my  hope,  and 
the  enlargement  of  my  charity;  and  make 
the  death  of  thy  son  Jesus  effectual  to  my  re- 
demption. Have  mercy  upon  me,  and  par- 
don the  multitude  of  my  offences.  Bless 
my  friends,  have  mercy  upon  all  men.  Sup- 
port me  by  the  grace  of  thy  holy  spirit  in 
the  days  of  weakness,  and  at  the  hour  of 
death,  and  receive  me,  at  my  death,  to  ever- 
lasting happiness,  for  the  sake  of  Jesus 
Christ. — Amen  3.5 

“ Upon  rising  from  his  knees,  after  the 
office  was  concluded,  he  said,  that  he  dread- 
ed to  meet  God  in  a state  of  idiocy,  or  with 
opium  in  his  head;  and  that  having  now 
communicated  with  the  effects  of  a dose 
upon  him,  he  doubted  if  his  exertions  were 
the  genuine  operations  of  his  mind,  and  re- 
peated from  bishop  Taylor  this  sentiment, 
‘ That  little  that  has  been  omitted  in  health 
can  be  done  to  any  purpose  in  sickness.5 

“ He  very  much  admired,  and  often  in 
the  course  of  his  illness  recited,  from  the 
conclusion  of  old  Isaac  Walton’s  Life  of 
Bishop  Sanderson,  the  following  pathetick 
request:  ‘Thus  this  pattern  of  meekness 
and  primitive  innocence  changed  this  for  a 
better  life: — 5t is  now  too  late  to  wish  that 
mine  may  be  like  his;  for  I am  in  the  eigh 
ty-fifth  year  of  my  age,  and  God  knows  it 
hath  not;  but,  I most  humbly  beseech  Al- 
mighty God,  that  my  death  may;  and  I do  as 
earnestly  beg,  that  if  any  reader  shall  re- 
ceive any  satisfaction  from  this  very  plain, 
and,  as  true  relation,  he  will  be  so  charita- 
ble as  to  say,  Amen.5 

“ While  he  was  dressing  and  preparing 

3 [Mr.  Boswell  in  quoting  this  prayer,  which 
was  preserved  by  Mr.  Strahan  and  inserted  in  his 
publication,  introduces  it  with  the  following  words: 
“ Johnson  having  thus  in  his  mind  the  true  Chris- 
tian scheme,  at  once  rational  and  consolatory, 
uniting  justice  and  mercy  in  the  Divinity,  and  the 
improvement  of  human  nature,  previous  to  his 
receiving  the  Holy  Sacrament  in  his  apartment, 
composed  and  fervently  uttered  this  prayer; 5 5 and 
follows  it  with  an  account  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  disso- 
lution, which,  to  prevent  tautology  in  the  text  and 
yet  to  preserve  every  word  of  Mr.  Boswell’s  work, 
the  Editor  subjoins  here.  “ Having,  as  has  been 
already  mentioned,  made  his  will  on  the  8th  and 
9th  of  December,  and  settled  all  his  worldly  af- 
fairs, he  languished  till  Monday,  the  13th  of  that 
month,  when  he  expired,  about  seven  o’clock  in 
the  evening,  with  so  little  apparent  pain,  that  his 
attendants  hardly  perceived  when  his  dissolution 
took  place.”  These  two  passages  and  the  prayer 
occupy  the  space  in  the  original  edition  which 
in  this  is  taken  up  with  Hawkins’s  diary  — Ed.] 


444 


1784.-  -/ET AT.  75 


for  this  solemnity,  an  accident  happened 
which  went  very  near  to  disarrange  his 
mind.  He  had  mislaid,  and  was  very  anx- 
ious to  find  a paper  that  contained  private 
instructions  to  his  executors;  and  myself, 
Mr.  Strahan,  Mr.  Langton,  Mr.  Hoole, 
Frank,  and  I believe  some  others  that  were 
about  him,  went  into  his  bed-chamber  to 
seek  it.  In  our  search,  I laid  my  hands  on 
a parchment-covered  book,  into  which  I im- 
agined it  might  have  been  slipped.  Upon 
opening  the  book,  I found  it  to  be  medita- 
tions and  reflections,  in  Johnson’s  own 
hand-writing;  and  having  been  told  a day 
or  two  before  by  Frank,  that  a person  1 for- 
merly intimately  connected  with  his  master, 
a joint  proprietor  of  a newspaper,  well 
known  among  the  booksellers,  and  of  whom 
M rs.  Williams  once  told  me  she  had  often 
cautioned  him  to  beware;  I say,  having 
been  told  that  this  person  had  lately  been 
very  importunate  to  get  access  to  him,  in- 
deed to  such  a degree  as  that,  when  he  was 
told  that  the  Doctor  was  not  to  be  seen,  he 
would  push  his  way  up  stairs;  and  having 
stronger  reasons  than  I need  here  mention 
to  suspect  that  this  man  might  find  and 
make  an  ill  use  of  the  book,  I put  it,  and  a 
less  of  the  same  kind,  into  my  pocket;  at 
the  same  time  telling  those  around  me,  and 
particularly  Mr.  Langton  and  Mr.  Strahan, 
that  I had  got  both,  with  my  reasons  for 
thus  securing  them.  After  the  ceremony 
was  over,  Johnson  took  me  aside,  and  told 
me  that  I had  a book  of  his  in  my  pocket;  I 
answered  that  I had  two,  and  that  to  pre- 
vent their  falling  into  the  hands  of  a person 
who  had  attempted  to  force  his  way  into 
the  house,  I had  done  as  I conceived  a 
friendly  act,  but  not  without  telling  his 
friends  of  it,  and  also  my  reasons.  He  then 
asked  me  what  ground  I had  for  my  suspi- 
cion of  the  man  I mentioned:  I told  him  his 
great  importunity  to  get  admittance;  and 
farther,  that  immediately  after  a visit  which 
he  made  me,  in  the  year  1775,  I missed  a 
paper  of  a public  nature,  and  of  great  impor- 
tance; and  that  a day  or  two  after,  and  be- 
fore it  could  be  put  to  its  intended  use,  I 
saw  it  in  the  newspapers  2. 


1 [Mr.  George  Steevens.  See  ante , p.  436. 

Ed.] 

2 “As  I take  no  pleasure  in  the  disgrace  of 

others,  I regret  the  necessity  I am  under  of  men- 
tioning these  particulars:  my  reason  for  it  is,  that 
the  transaction  which  so  distuibed  him  may  possi- 
bly be  better  known  than  the  motives  that  actua- 
ted me  at  the  time.” — Hawkins.  [Miss  Haw- 

kins’s Memoirs,  vol.  i.  p.  264,  tells  this  story  in 
the  same  way,  supplies  Steevens’s  name,  and  in- 
sists on  the  same  justification,  which  would  be 
quite  inconclusive,  even  if  the  fact  on  which  the 
suspicion  against  Steevens  was  grounded  were 
true,  for  the  purloined  paper  was  only  a copy  of 
an  address  from  the  Middlesex  magistrates  to  the 


“ At  the  mention  of  this  circumstance, 
Johnson  paused;  but  recovering  himself, 
said,  ‘ You  should  not  have  laid  hands  on  the 
book;  for  had  I missed  it,  and  not  known 
you  had  it,  I should  have  roared  for  my 
book,  as  Othello  did  for  his  handkerchief, 
and  probably  have  run  mad.’ 

“ I gave  him  time,  till  the  next  day,  to 
compose  himself,  and  then  wrote  him  a let- 
ter, apologizing,  and  assigning  at  large  the 
reasons  for  my  conduct;  and  received  a ver- 
bal answer  by  Mr.  Langton,  which,  were  I 
to  repeat  it,  would  render  me  suspected  of 
inexcusable  vanity  3;  it  concluded  with  these 
words,  £ If  I was  not  satisfied  with  this,  I 
must  be  a savage.’ 

“7th.  I again  visited  him.  Before  my 
departure,  Dr.  Brocklesby  came  in,  and, 
taking  him  by  the  wrist,  Johnson  gave  him 
a look  of  great  contempt,  and  ridiculed  the 
judging  of  his  disorder  by  the  pulse.  He 
complained  that  the  sarcocele  had  again 
made  its  appearance,  and  asked  if  a punc 
ture  would  not  relieve  him,  as  it  had  done 
the  year  before;  the  doctor  answered  that 
it  might,  but  that  his  surgeon  was  the  best 
judge  of  the  effect  of  such  an  operation. 
Johnson,  upon  this,  said,  c How  many  men 
in  a year  die  through  the  timidity  of  those 
whom  they  consult  for  health!  I want 
length  of  life,  and  you  fear  giving  me  pain, 
which  I care  not  for.’ 

“ 8th.  I visited  him  with  Mr.  Langton, 
and  found  him  dictating  to  Mr.  Strahan  an- 
other will4,  the  former  being,  as  he  haa 
said  at  the  time  of  making  it,  a temporary 
one.  On  our  entering  the  room,  he  said, 
‘ God  bless  you  both.’  I arrived  just  time 
enough  to  direct  the  execution,  and  also 
the  attestation  of  it.  After  he  had  publish 
ed  it,  he  desired  Mr.  Strahan  to  say  the 
Lord’s  prayer,  which  he  did,  all  of  us  join- 


king  (which  was,  from  its  very  nature,  destined 
for  publication).  And  after  all,  there  was  no 
other  proof  that  Steevens  had  taken  this  paper 
than  that  it  appeared  in  the  St.  James’s  Chroni- 
cle the  day  after  Steevens  had  made  a visit  at 
Sir  John’s.  Hawkins’s  act  was  unjustifiable,  and 
the  defence  frivolous.  It  is  observable,  that  there 
was  no  allusion  to  these  circumstances  in  the  first 
edition  of  Hawkins’s  work. — Ed.] 

3 [See  ante,  p.  436,  n. — Ed.] 

4 [There  seems  something  odd  in  this  affair 
of  the  will.  Why  did  Johnson,  after  employ- 
ing Sir  J.  Hawkins,  a professional  and  in  every 
other  respect  a proper  person  to  draw  up  his  will, 
throw  it  aside,  and  dictate  another  to  a young 
clergyman  ? Had  Sir  J.  Hawkins  attempted  to 
thwart  the  testator’s  intentions,  which  he  tells  us 
he  disapproved  of:  or  was  this  change  the  result 
of  the  scene  of  the  5th  about  the  secreted  books  ? 
In  any  case,  it  may  have  tended  to  produce  that 
unfavourable  temper  towards  Dr.  Johnson  which 
tinges  the  whole,  and  certainly  discolours  some 
passages  of  Sir  J.  Hawkins’s  book  -Ed  ] 


1784. — iETAl.  /5. 


445 


mg.  Johnson,  after  it,  uttered,  extempore, 
a few  pious  ejaculations. 

££  9th.  I saw  him  in  the  evening,  and 
found  him  dictating,  to  Mr.  Strahan,  a cod- 
icil to  the  will  he  had  made  the  evening  be- 
fore. I assisted  them  in  it,  and  received 
from  the  testator  a direction,  to  insert  a de- 
vise to  his  executors  of  the  house  at  Lich- 
field, to  be  sold  for  the  benefit  of  certain  of 
his  relations,  a bequest  of  sundry  pecuniary 
and  specific  legacies,  a provision  for  the  an- 
nuity of  70/.  for  Francis,  and,  after  all,  a 
devise  of  all  the  rest,  residue,  and  remainder 
of  his  estate  and  effects,  to  his  executors, 
in  trust  for  the  said  Francis  Barber,  his  ex- 
ecutors and  administrators;  and  having  dic- 
tated accordingly,  Johnson  executed  and 
published  it  as  a codicil  to  his  will  L 

££  He  was  now  so  weak  as  to  be  unable  to 
kneel,  and  lamented  that  he  must  pray  sit- 
ting; but,  with  an  effort,  he  placed  himself 
on  his  knees,  while  Mr.  Strahan  repeated 
the  Lord’s  Prayer.  During  the  whole  of 
the  evening,  he  was  much  composed  and 
resigned.  Being  become  very  weak  and 
helpless,  it  was  thought  necessary  that  a 
man  should  watch  with  him  all  night;  and 
one  was  found  in  the  neighbourhood,  who, 


1 “ How  much  soever  I approve  of  the  practice 
of  rewarding  the  fidelity  of  servants,  I cannot  but 
think  that,  in  testamentary  dispositions  in  their 
favour,  some  discretion  ought  to  be  exercised;  and 
that  in  scarce  any  instance  they  are  to  be  prefer- 
red to  those  who  are  allied  to  the  testator  either 
in  blood  or  by  affinity.  Of  the  merits  of  this  ser- 
vant, a judgment  may  be  formed  from  what  I 
shall  hereafter  have  occasion  to  say  of  him.  It 
was  hinted  to  me  many  years  ago,  by  his  master, 
that  he  was  a loose  fellow;  and  I learned  from 
others,  that,  after  an  absence  from  his  service  of 
some  years,  he  married.  In  his  search  of  a wife, 
he  picked  up  one  of  those  creatures  with  whom, 
in  the  disposal  of  themselves,  no  contrariety  of 
colour  is  an  obstacle.  It  is  said,  that  soon  after 
his  marriage  he  became  jealous,  and,  it  may  be 
supposed,  that  he  continued  so,  till,  by  presenting 
him  with  a daughter  of  her  own  colour,  his  wife 
put  an  end  to  all  his  doubts  on  that  score.  Not- 
withstanding which,  Johnson,  in  the  excess  of  in- 
discriminating  benevolence,  about  a year  before 
his  death,  took  the  wife  and  her  two  children  into 
his  house,  and  made  them  a part  of  his  family, 
and,  by  the  codicil  to  his  will,  made  a disposition 
in  his  favour,  to  the  amount  in  value  of  near  fif- 
teen hundred  pounds.” — Hawkins.  [Several 
small  causes  contributed  to  make  Sir  J.  Hawkins 
dislike  Barber;  who,  in  the  kind  of  feud  and  ri- 
valry between  Sir  John  and  Mr.  Boswell,  sided 
with  the  latter,  and  communicated  to  him  the  pa- 
pers to  which  he,  as  residuary  legatee,  became 
entitled.  It  is  painful  to  see  in  a man  of  Sir  J. 
Hawkins’s  station,  such  rancour  as  prompted  the 
imputation  made  in  the  foregoing  note  against  the 
poor  woman,  Barber’s  wife,  whose  moral  conduct, 
wnatever  it  may  have  been,  had  surely  nothing 
o do  with  Sir  John  Hawkins’s  squabbles  with  her 
husband. — Ed.]  1 


for  half  a crown  a night,  undertook  to  sit  up 
with  and  assist  him.  When  the  man  had 
left  the  room,  he,  in  the  presence  and  hear- 
ing of  Mr.  Strahan  and  Mr.  Langton,  ask- 
ed me  where  I meant  to  bury  him.  I an- 
swered, doubtless,  in  Westminster  abbey: 
£ If,’  said  he,  ‘ my  executors  think  it  proper 
to  mark  the  spot  of  my  interment  by  a 
stone,  let  it  be  so  placed  as  to  protect  my 
body  from  injury.’  I assured  him  it  should 
be  done.  Before  my  departure,  he  desired 
Mr.  Langton  to  put  into  my  hands  money 
to  the  amount  of  upwards  of  100/.  with  a 
direction  to  keep  it  till  called  for. 

“ 10th.  This  day  at  noon  I saw  him 
again.  He  said  to  me,  that  the  male  nurse 
to  whose  care  I had  committed  him  was  un- 
fit for  the  office.  ‘ He  is,’  said  he,  £ an  idiot, 
as  awkward  as  a turnspit  just  put  into  the 
wheel,  and  as  sleepy  as  a dormouse.’  Mr. 
Cruikshanks  came  into  the  room,  and  look- 
ing on  his  scarified  leg,  saw  no  sign  of  a 
mortification. 

“11th.  At  noon,  I found  him  dozing, 
and  would  not  disturb  him. 

cc  12th.  Saw  him  again;  found  him  very 
weak,  and,  as  he  said,  unable  to  pray. 

“ 18th.  At  noon  I called  at  the  house, 
but  went  not  into  his  room,  being  told  that 
he  was  dozing.  I was  further  informed  by 
the  servants,  that  his  appetite  was  totally 
gone,  and  that  he  could  take  no  sustenance. 
At  eight  in  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  word 
was  brought  me  by  Mr.  Sastres,  to  whom, 
in  his  last  moments,  he  uttered  these  words, 
£ Jam  moriturus,’  that  at  a quarter  past  se 
ven,  he  had,  without  a groan,  or  the  least 
sign  of  pain  or  uneasiness,  yielded  his  last 
breath. 

“ At  eleven,  the  same  evening,  Mr.  Lang 
ton  came  to  me,  and,  in  an  agony  of  mind, 
gave  me  to  understand,  that  our  friend  had 
wounded  himself  in  several  parts  of  the  bo- 
dy. I was  shocked  at  the  news;  but,  upon 
being  told  that  he  had  not  touched  any  vi 
tal  part,  was  easily  able  to  account  for  an 
action,  which  would  else  have  given  us  the 
deepest  concern.  The  fact  was,  that  con- 
ceiving himself  to  be  full  of  water,  he  had 
done  that,  which  he  had  often  solicited  his 
medical  assistants  to  do,  made  two  or  three 
incisions  in  his  lower  limbs,  vainly  hoping 
for  some  relief  from  the  flux  that  might 
follow. 

“ Early  the  next  morning,  Frank  came 
to  me;  and,  being  desirous  of  knowing  all 
the  particulars  of  this  transaction,  I interro- 
gated hind  very  strictly  concerning  it,  and 
received  from  him  answers  to  the  following 
effect : 

“ That,  at  eight  in  the  morning  of  the 
preceding  day,  upon  going  into  the  bed- 
chamber, his  master,  being  in  bed,  ordered 
him  to  open  a cabinet,  and  give  him  a draw- 
er in  it;  that  he  did  so,  and  that  out  of  it 
his  master  took  a case  of  lancets,  and  choo* 


446 


1784.— ^ETAT.  75. 


mg-  one  of  them,  would  have  conveyed  it 
into  the  bed,  which  Frank  and  a young  man 
that  sat  up  with  him  seeing,  they  seized  his 
hand,  and  entreated  him  not  to  do  a rash 
action:  he  said  he  would  not;  but  drawing 
his  hand  under  the  bed-clothes,  they  saw 
his  arm  move.  Upon  this  they  turned 
down  the  clothes,  and  saw  a great  effusion 
of  blood,  which  soon  stopped;  that  soon  af- 
ter, he  got  at  a pair  of  scissors  that  lay  in  a 
drawer  by  him,  and  plunged  them  deep  in 
the  calf  of  each  leg;  that  immediately  they 
sent  for  Mr.  Cruikshanks  and  the  apotheca- 
ry, and  they,  or  one  of  them,  dressed  the 
wounds;  that  he  then  fell  into  that  dozing 
which  carried  him  off;  that  it  was  conjec- 
tured he  lost  eight  or  ten  ounces  of  blood; 
and  that  this  effusion  brought  on  the 
dozing,  though  his  pulse  continued  firm  till 
three  o’clock. 

“ That  this  act  was  not  done  to  hasten 1 * 
his  end,  but  to  discharge  the  water  that  he 
conceived  to  be  in  him,  I have  not  the  least 
doubt.  A dropsy  was  his  disease;  he  look- 
ed upon  himself  as  a bloated  carcass;  and, 
to  attain  the  power  of  easy  respiration, 
would  have  undergone  any  degree  of  tem- 
porary pain.  He  dreaded  neither  punc- 
tures nor  incisions,  and,  indeed,  defied  the 
trochar  and  the  lancet;  he  had  often  re- 
proached his  physicians  and  surgeon  with 
cowardice  : and  when  Mr.  Cruikshanks 
scarified  his  leg,  he  cried  out,  ‘ Deeper, 
deeper;  I will  abide  the  consequence:  you 
are  afraid  of  your  reputation,  but  that  is 
nothing  to  me.’  To  those  about  him  he 
said,  c You  all  pretend  to  love  me,  but  you 
do  not  love  me  so  well  as  I myself  do.’ 

“ I have  been  thus  minute  in  recording 
the  particulars  of  his  last  moments,  because 
I wished  to  attract  attention  to  the  conduct 
of  this  great  man,  under  the  most  trying 
circumstances  human  nature  is  subject  to. 
Many  persons  have  appeared  possessed  of 
more  serenity  of  mind  in  this  awful  scene; 
some  have  remained  unmoved  at  the  disso- 
lution of  the  vital  union;  and  it  may  be 
deemed  a discouragement  from  the  severe 
practice  of  religion,  that  Dr.  Johnson, 
whose  whole  life  was  a preparation  for  his 
death,  and  a conflict  with  natural  infirmity, 
was  disturbed  with  terror  at  the  prospect  of 
he  grave  K Let  not  this  relax  the  circum- 

1 [The  clumsy  solemnity  with  which  Hawkins 
thinks  it  necessary  to  defend  Dr.  Johnson  from 
the  suspicion  of  endeavouring  to  shorten  his  life 
by  an  act  manifestly,  avowedly,  and  even  passion- 
ately meant  to  prolong  it,  is  certainly  very  offen- 
sive; but  it  hardly,  the  Editor  thinks,  justifies  Mr. 
Boswell’s  suspicions  (anfe,  p.  433.  n.)  that  there 
was  some  malevolence  at  the  bottom  of  the  de- 
fence.— Ed.] 

2 [Hawkins  seems  to  confound  two  different 
periods.  At  the  first  appearance  of  danger,  Dr. 
Johnson  exhibited  great,  and  perhaps  gloomy  anx- 


spection  of  any  one.  It  is  true,  that  nature 
firmness  of  spirit,  or  the  confidence  of  hope, 
may  buoy  up  the  mind  to  the  last:,  but 
however  heroic  an  undaunted  death  may 
appear,  it  is  not  what  we  should  pray  for. 
As  Johnson  lived  the  life  of  the  righteous, 
his  end  was  that  of  a Christian;  he  strictly 
fulfilled  the  injunction  of  the  apostle,  to 
work  out  his  salvation  with  fear  and  tremb- 
ling; and  though  his  doubts  and  scruples 
were  certainly  very  distressing  to  himself, 
they  give  his  friends  a pious  hope,  that  he, 
who  added  to  almost  all  the  virtues  of  Chris- 
tianity, that  religious  humility  which  its 
great  teacher  inculcated,  will,  in  the  fulness 
of  time,  receive  the  reward  promised  to  a 
patient  continuance  in  well  doing.”] 

Of  his  last  moments,  my  brother3  Thom- 
as David  has  furnished  me  with  the  follow 
ing  particulars: 

“ The  Doctor,  from  the  time  that  he  was 
certain  his  death  was  near,  appeared  to  be 
perfectly  resigned,  was  seldom  or  never  fret- 
ful or  out  of  temper,  and  often  said  to  his 
faithful  servant,  who  gave  me  this  account, 
c Attend,  Francis,  to  the  salvation  of  your 
soul,  which  is  the  object  of  greatest  impor- 
tance: ’ he  also  explained  to  him  passages  in 
the  scripture,  and  seemed  to  have  pleasure 
in  talking  upon  religious  subjects. 

“ On  Monday,  the  13th  of  December, 
the  day  on  which  he  died,  a Miss  Morris  4, 
daughter  to  a particular  friend  of  his,  call- 
ed, and  said  to  Francis,  that  she  begged  to 
be  permitted  to  see  the  Doctor,  that  she 
might  earnestly  request  him  to  give  her  his 
blessing.  Francis  went  into  the  room,  fol- 
lowed by  the  young  lady,  and  delivered  the 
message.  The  Doctor  turned  himself  in 
the  bed,  and  said, * God  bless  you,  my  dear ! ’ 
These  were  the  last  words  he  spoke.  His 
difficulty  of  breathing  increased  till  about 
seven  o’clock  in  the  evening,  when  Mr. 
Barber  and  Mrs.  Desmoulins,  who  were 
sitting  in  the  room,  observing  that  the  noise 
he  made  in  breathing  had  ceased,  went  to 
the  bed,  and  found  he  was  dead.” 

[The  following  letter,  written  with  Ed 
an  agitated  hand,  from  the  very  cham- 
ber of  death,  by  the  amiable  Mr.  Langton, 

iety,  which,  however,  under  the  gradual  effect  of 

religious  contemplations  and  devotional  exercises, 
gave  way  to  more  comfortable  hopes  suggested 
by  a lively  faith  in  the  propitiatory  merits  of  his 
Redeemer.  In  this  tranquillizing  disposition  the 
last  days  of  his  life  seem  to  have  been  passed, 
and  in  this  Christian  confidence  it  is  believed  that 
he  died. — Ed.] 

3 [See  ante,  p.  236. — Ed.] 

4 [She  was  the  sister  of  a lady  of  the  same 
name  who  appeared  on  the  stage  at  Covent-gar- 
den  as  Juliet,  in  1768,  and  died  next  year.  She 
was  a relation  of  Mr.  Corbyn  Morris,  commission- 
er of  the  customs. — European  Magazine , Sept 
1799,  p.  158. — Ed.] 


1784.—  /ETAT  75 


and  obviously  interrupted  by  his  feelings, 
will  not  unaptly  close  the  story  of  so  long  a 
friendship.  The  letter  is  not  addressed,  but 
Mr.  Langton’s  family  believe  it  was  intend- 
ed for  Mr.  Boswell. 

My  dear  sir, — After  many  con- 
flicting hopes  and  fears  respecting 
the  event  of  this  heavy  return  of  illness 
which  has  assailed  our  honoured  friend,  Dr. 
Johnson,  since  his  arrival  from  Lichfield, 
about  four  days  ago  the  appearances  grew 
more  and  more  awful,  and  this  afternoon  at 
eight  o’clock,  when  I arrived  at  his  house 
to  see  how  he  should  be  going  on,  I was 
acquainted  at  the  door,  that  about  three 
quarters  of  an  hour  before,  he  had  breathed 
his  last.  I am  now  writing  in  the  room 
where  his  venerable  remains  exhibit  a spec- 
tacle, the  interesting  solemnity  of  which, 
difficult  as  it  would  be  in  any  sort  to  find 
terms  to  express,  so  to  you,  my  dear  sir, 
whose  own  sensations  will  paint  it  so  strong- 
ly, it  would  be  of  all  men  the  most  super- 
fluous to  attempt  to .] 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Strahan,  who  was 
the  son  of  his  friend,  and  had  been  always 
one  of  his  great  favourites,  had,  during  his 
last  illness,  the  satisfaction  of  contributing 
to  soothe  and  comfort  him.  That  gentle- 
man’s house  at  Islington,  of  which  he  is  vi- 
car, afforded  Johnson,  occasionally  and 
easily,  an  agreeable  change  of  place  and 
fresh  air;  and  he  attended  also  upon  him  in 
town  in  the  discharge  of  the  sacred  offices 
of  his  profession. 

Mr.  Strahan  has  given  me  the  agreeable 
assurance,  that  after  being  in  much  agita- 
tion, Johnson  became  quite  composed,  and 
continued  so  till  his  death. 

Dr.  Brocklesby,  who  will  not  be  suspect- 
ed of  fanaticism,  obliged  me  with  the  fol- 
lowing accounts: 

“ For  some  time  before  his  death,  all  his 
fears  were  calmed  and  absorbed  by  the  pre- 
valence of  his  faith,  and  his  trust  in  the 
merits  and  propitiation  of  Jesus  Christ. 

££  He  talked  often  to  me  about  the  neces- 
sity of  faith  in  the  sacrifice  of  Jesus,  as  ne- 
cessary beyond  all  good  works  whatever 
for  the  salvation  of  mankind. 

££  He  pressed  me  to  study  Dr.  Clarke 
and  to  read  his  sermons.  I asked  him  why 
he  pressed  Dr.  Clarke,  an  Arian1.  £ Be- 

1  The  change  of  his  sentiments  with  regard  to 
Dr.  Clarke  is  thus  mentioned  to  me  in  a letter 
from  the  late  Dr.  Adams,  master  of  Pembroke 
college,  Oxford. — “ The  Doctor’s  prejudices  were 
the  strongest,  and  certainly  in  another  sense  the 
weakest,  that  ever  possessed  a sensible  man.  You 
know  his  extreme  zeal  for  orthodoxy.  But  did 
you  ever  hear  what  he  told  me  himself?  that  he 
had  made  it  a rule  not  to  .admit  Dr.  Clarke’s  name 
in  his  Dictionary.  This,  however,  wore  off.  At 


447 

cause,’  said  he,  £ he  is  fullest  on  the  pi  opt- 
tiatory  sacrifice .’  ” 

About  two  days  after  his  death,  the  fol- 
lowing very  agreeable  account  was  commu- 
nicated to  Mr.  Malone,  in  a letter  by  the 
Honourable  John  Byng,  to  whom  I am 
much  obliged  for  granting  me  permission 
to  introduce  it  in  my  work. 

££  Dear  sir, — Since  I saw  you,  I have 
had  a long  conversation  with  Cawston2, 
who  sat  up  with  Dr.  Johnson,  from  nine 
o’clock  on  Sunday  evening,  till  ten  o’clock 
on  Monday  morning.  And,  from  what  I 
can  gather  from  him,  it  should  seem,  that 
Dr.  Johnson  was  perfectly  composed,  steady 
in  hope,  and  resigned  to  death.  At  the 
interval  of  each  hour,  they  assisted  him  to 
sit  up  in  his  bed,  and  move  his  legs,  which 
were  in  much  pain;  when  he  regularly  ad- 
dressed himself  to  fervent  prayer ; and 
though,  sometimes,  his  voice  failed  him, 
his  sense  never  did,  during  that  time.  The 
only  sustenance  he  received  was  cider  and 
water.  He  said  his  mind  was  prepared, 
and  the  time  to  his  dissolution  seemed  long. 
At  six  in  the  morning,  he  inquired  the  hour, 
and,  on  being  informed,  said,  that  all  went 
on  regularly,  and  he  felt  he  had  but  a few 
hours  to  live. 

££  At  ten  o’  clock  in  the  morning-,  he  part- 
ed from  Cawston,  saying,  £ You  should  not 
detain  Mr.  Windham’s  servant: — I thank 
you ; bear  my  remembrance  to  your  mas- 
ter.’ Cawston  says,  that  no  man  could 
appear  more  collected,  more  devout,  or  less 
terrified  at  the  thoughts  of  the  approaching 
minute. 

££  This  account,  which  is  so  much  more 
agreeable  than,  and  somewhat  different 
from,  yours,  has  given  us  the  satisfaction  of 
thinking  that  that  great  man  died  as  he 
lived,  full  of  resignation,  strengthened  in 
faith,  and  joyful  in  hope  3.” 

After  making  one  will,  which,  as  Sir 


some  distance  of  time  he  advised  with  me  what 
books  he  should  read  in  defence  of  the  Christian 
religion.  I recommended  ‘ Clarke’s  Evidences  of 
Natural  and  Revealed  Religion,’  as  the  best  of 
the  kind;  and  I find  in  what  is  called  his  ‘ Prayers 
and  Meditations,’  that  he  was  frequently  employ- 
ed in  the  latter  part  of  his  time  in  reading  Clarke’s 
Sermons.  ’ ’ — Boswell. 

2 Servant  to  the  Right  Honourable  William 
Windham. — Boswell. 

3 [The  quantity  of  evidence  now  brought  to- 
gether as  to  the  state  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  mind  with 
regard  to  religion  in  general,  and  his  own  salva- 
tion in  particular,  dispenses  the  Editor  from  ma- 
king any  observations  on  the  subject;  but  those 
who  may  wish  to  see  a commentary  on  the 
facts,  may  turn  to  the  remarks  in  the  Chris- 
tian Observer  for  October  and  November,  1827 
—Ed.] 


448 


1784-  wETAT.  75. 


John  Hawkins  informs  ns,  extended  no 
further  than  the  promised  annuity1,  John- 
son’s final  disposition  of  his  property  was  es- 
tablished by  a will  and  codicil,  of  which  cop- 
ies are  subjoined. 

“ In  the  name  of  God.  Amen.  I,  Sam- 
uel Johnson,  being  in  full  possession  of  my 
faculties,  but  fearing  this  night  may  put  an 
end  to  my  life,  do  ordain  this  my  last  will 
and  testament.  I bequeath  to  God  a soul 
olluted  by  many  sins,  but  I hope  purified 
y Jesus  Christ.  I leave  seven  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  in  the  hands  of  Bennet 
Langton,  Esq.  ; three  hundred  pounds  in 
the  hands  of  Mr.  Barclay  and  Mr.  Perkins, 
brewers;  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  in 
the  hands  of  Dr.  Percy,  bishop  of  Dro- 
more2;  one  thousand  pounds,  three  per 
cent,  annuities  in  the  publick  funds;  and 
one  hundred  pounds  now  lying  by  me  in 
ready  money:  all  these  before-mentioned 
sums  and  property  I leave,  I say,  to  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  Sir  John  Hawkins,  and 
Dr.  William  Scott,  of  Doctor’s  Commons, 
in  trust,  for  the  following  uses: — That  is 
to  say,  to  pay  to  the  representatives  of  the 
late  William  Innys,  bookseller,  in  St.  Paul’s 
Churchyard,  the  sum  of  two  hundred 
pounds:  to  Mrs.  White,  my  female  servant, 
one  hundred  pounds  stock  in  the  three  per 
cent,  annuities  aforesaid.  The  rest  of  the 
aforesaid  sums  of  money  and  property,  to- 
gether with  my  books,  plate,  and  house- 
hold furniture,  I leave  to  the  before-men- 
tioned Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Sir  John 
Hawkins,  and  Dr.  William  Scott,  also  in 
trust,  to  be  applied,  after  paying  my  debts, 
to  the  use  of  Francis  Barber,  my  man-ser- 
vant, a negro,  in  such  manner  as  they  shall 
ludge  most  fit  and  available  to  his  benefit. 
And  I appoint  the  aforesaid  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, Sir  John  Hawkins,  and  Dr.  William 
Scott,  sole  executors  of  this  my  last  will 
and  testament,  hereby  revoking  all  former 
wills  and  testaments  whatever.  In  witness 
whereof  I hereunto  subscribe  my  name, 
and  affix  my  seal,  this  eighth  day  of  De- 
cember, 1784.  “Sam.  Johnson,  (L.  S.) 

“ Signed,  sealed,  published,  declared, 
and  delivered,  by  the  said  testator, 
as  his  last  will  and  testament,  in  the 
presence  of  us,  the  word  two  being 
first  inserted  in  the  opposite  page. 

<c  George  Strahan. 
“John  Desmoulins.” 


1 [See  ante,  p.  435. — Ed.] 

2 [The  following  receipt,  all  in  Johnson’s  wri- 
ting, was  found  in  Doctor  Percy’s  papers  by  Mr. 
Shaw  Mason. 

“ Memorandum. — I have  received  one  year’s 
interest  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  lent  in 
to  Dr.  Percy.  “Sam.  Johnson  ” 

“April  26,  1782.”— Ed.] 


“ By  way  of  codicil  to  my  ast  will  and 
testament,  I,  Samuel  Johnson,  give,  devise, 
and  bequeath,  my  messuage  or  tenement 
situate  at  Lichfield,  in  the  county  of  Staf- 
ford, with  the  appurtenances  in  the  tenure 
and  occupation  of  Mrs.  Bond,  of  Lichfield; 
aforesaid,  or  of  Mr.  Hinchman,  her  under- 
tenant, to  my  executors,  in  trust,  to  sell  and 
dispose  of  the  same;  and  the  money  ari- 
sing from  such  sale  I give  and  bequeath  as 
follows,  viz.  to  Thomas  and  Benjamin,  the 
sons  of  Fisher  Johnson,  late  of  Leicester, 

and Whiting,  daughter  of  Thomas 

Johnson,  late  of  Coventry,  and  the  grand- 
daughter of  the  said  Thomas  Johnson,  one 
full  and  equal  fourth  part  each;  but  in  case 
there  shall  be  more  grand-daughters  than 
one  of  the  said  Thomas  Johnson,  living  at 
the  time  of  my  decease,  I give  and  be 
queath  the  part  or  share  of  that  one  to  and 
equally  between  such  grand-daughters.  I 
give  and  bequeath  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Rogers, 
of  Berkley,  near  Froom,  in  the  county  of 
Somerset,  the  sum  of  one  hundred  pounds 
requesting  him  to  apply  the  same  towards 
the  maintenance  of  Elizabeth  Herne,  a lu- 
natick.  I also  give  and  bequeath  to  my 
god-children,  the  son  and  daughter  of 
Mauritius  Lowe,  painter,  each  of  them  one 
hundred  pounds  of  my  stock  in  the  three 
per  cent,  consolidated  annuities,  to  be  ap- 
plied and  disposed  of  by  and  at  the  discre- 
tion of  my  executors,  in  the  education  or 
settlement  in  the  world  of  them  my  said 
legatees.  Also  I give  and  bequeath  to  Sir 
John  Hawkins,  one  of  my  executors,  the 
Annales  Ecclesiastici  of  Baronius,  and  Ho- 
linshead’s  and  Stowe’s  Chronicles,  and  also 
an  octavo  Common  Prayer-Book.  To  Ben- 
net  Langton,  Esq.  I give  and  bequeath  my 
Polyglot  Bible.  To  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 
my  great  French  Dictionary,  by  Martiniere, 
and  my  own  copy  of  my  folio  English  Dic- 
tionary, of  the  last  revision.  To  Dr.  Wil- 
liam Scott,  one  of  my  executors,  the  Die 
tionnaire  de  Commerce,  and  Lectius’s  edi- 
tion of  the  Greek  Poets  3.  To  Mr.  Wind- 
ham, Poet®  Grseci  Heroici  per  Henricum 
Stephanum.  To  the  Rev.  Mr.  Strahan, 
vicar  of  Islington,  in  Middlesex,  Mill’s 
Greek  Testament,  Beza’s  Greek  Testament, 
by  Stephens,  all  my  Latin  Bibles,  and  my 
Greek  Bible,  by  Wechelius.  To  Dr.  He- 
berden,  Dr.  Brocklesby,  Dr.  Butter,  and 
Mr.  Cruikshanks,  the  surgeon  who  attended 
me,  Mr.  Holder,  my  apothecary,  Gerard 
Hamilton,  Esq.  Mrs.  Gardiner,  of  Snow 
hill,  Mrs.  Frances  Reynolds,  Mr.  Hoole, 
and  the  Reverend  Mr.  Hoole,  his  son,  each 
a book  at  their  election,  to  keep  as  a token 
of  remembrance.  I also  give  and  bequeath 
to  Mr.  John  Desmoulins,  two  hundred 

3 [Poeta  Greci  Vcteres  enrminis  historici  Scrip- 
tores  qui  extant  omnes.  Gi  Lat.  cura  et  rccen- 
sione  jac.  Lectii.  fol.  1606  Ed.] 


1784. — AST  AT.  75. 


449 


pounds  consolidated  three  per  cent,  annui- 
ties ; and  to  Mr.  Sastres,  the  Italian  master, 
the  sum  of  five  pounds,  to  be  laid  out  in 
books  of  piety  for  his  own  use.  And 
whereas  the  said  Bennet  Langton  hath 
agreed,  in  consideration  of  the  sum  of  seven 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  mentioned  in  my 
will  to  be  in  his  hands,  to  grant  and  secure 
an  annuity  of  seventy  pounds  payable  during 
the  life  of  me  and  my  servant,  Francis  Bar- 
ber, and  the  life  of  the  survivor  of  us,  to 
Mr.  George  Stubbs,  in  trust  for  us;  my 
mind  and  will  is,  that  in  case  of  my  decease 
before  the  said  agreement  shall  be  perfected, 
the  said  sum  of  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds,  and  the  bond  for  securing  the  said 
sum,  shall  go  • to  the  said  Francis  Barber  ; 
and  I hereby  give  and  bequeath  to  him  the 
same,  in  lieu  of  the  bequest  in  his  favour, 
contained  in  my  said  will.  And  I hereby 
empower  my  executors  to  deduct  and  retain 
all  expenses  that  shall  or  may  be  incurred 
in  the  execution  of  my  said  will,  or  of  this 
codicil  thereto,  out  of  such  estate  and  effects 
as  I shall  die  possessed  of.  All  the  rest, 
residue,  and  remainder  of  my  estate  and 
effects  I give  and  bequeath  to  my  said  ex- 
ecutors, in  trust  for  the  said  Francis  Barber, 
his  executors,  and  administrators.  Witness 
my  hand  and  seal,  this  9th  day  of  Decem- 
ber, 1784. 

“ Sam.  Johnson,  (L.  S.) 

♦Signed,  sealed,  published,  declared,  and 
delivered,  by  the  said  Samuel  Johnson,  as, 
and  for  a codicil  to  his  last  will  and  testa- 
ment, in  the  presence  of  us,  who,  in  his 
presence,  and  at  his  request,  and  also  in 
the  presence  of  each  other,  have  hereto 
subscribed  our  names  as  witnesses. 

“John  Coi»ley. 
“William  Gibson. 

“Henry  Cole.” 

Upon  these  testamentary  deeds  it  is  pro- 
per to  make  a few  observations.  His  ex- 
press declaration  with  his  dying  breath  as  a 
Christian,  as  it  had  been  often  practised  in 
such  solemn  writings,  was  of  real  conse- 
quence from  this  great  man  ; for  the  convic- 
tion of  a mind  equally  acute  and  strong 
might  well  overbalance  the  doubts  of  others 
who  were  his  contemporaries.  The  ex- 
pression polluted  may,  to  some,  convey  an 
impression  of  more  than  ordinary  contami- 
nation; but  that  is  not  warranted  by  its 
genuine  meaning,  as  appears  from  “The 
Rambler,”  No.  42 1.  The  same  word  is 


i [The  quotations  from  the  scriptures,  in  John- 
son’s Dictionary  sufficiently  justify  the  use  of 
this  word  ; but  it  does  not  occur  in  No.  42  of 
the  Rambler.  In  the  Journey  to  the  Hebrides 
ne  uses  the  word  familiarly,  and  talks  of  “ pol- 
uting  the  breakfast  table  with  slices  of  cheese.” 
Mr.  Boswell  may  perhaps  have  meant  “ The 
YOL.  II.  57 


used  m the  vill  of  Dr.  Sanderson,  bishop 
of  Lincoln,  who  was  piety  itself.  His  legacy 
of  two  hundred  pounds  to  the  representa- 
tives of  Mr.  Innys,  bookseller,  in  St.  Paul’s 
Churchyard,  proceeded  from  a very  worthy 
motive.  He  told  Sir.  John  Hawkins  that 
his  father  having  become  a bankrupt,  Mr. 
Innys  had  assisted  him  with  money  or  credit 
to  continue  his  business.  « This,”  said  he, 
“ I consider  as  an  obligation  on  me  to  be 
grateful  to  his  descendants.”  The  amount  ot 
his  property  proved  to  be  considerably  more 
than  he  had  supposed  it  to  be.  Sir  John 
Hawkins  estimates  the  bequest  to  Francis 
Barber  at  a sum  little  short  of  fifteen 
hundred  pounds,  including  an  annuity  ot 
seventy  pounds  to  be  paid  to  him  by  Mr. 
Langton,  in  consideration  of  seven  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds,  which  Johnson  had  lent  to 
that  gentleman.  Sir  John  seems  not  a little 
angry  at  this  bequest,  and  mutters  “ a caveat 
against  ostentatious  bounty  and  favour  to 
negroes.”  But  surely,  when  a man  has 
money  entirely  of  his  own  acquisition,  espe- 
cially when  he  has  no  near  relations,  he 
may,  without  blame,  dispose  of  it  as  he 
pleases,  and  with  great  propriety  to  a faith- 
ful servant.  Mr.  Barber,  by  the  recommen- 
dation of  his  master,  retired  to  Lichfield, 
where  he  might  pass  the  rest  of  his  days 
in  comfort  2.  It  has  been  objected  that 
Johnson  has  omitted  many  of  his  best 
friends,  when  leaving  books  to  several  as 
tokens  of  his  last  remembrance.  The 
names  of  Dr.  Adams,  Dr.  Taylor,  Dr.  Bur- 
ney, Mr.  Hector,  Mr.  Murphy,  the  authour 
of  this  work,  and  others  who  were  intimate 
with  him,  are  not  to  be  found  in  his  will. 
This  may  be  accounted  for  by  considering, 
that  as  he  was  very  near  his  dissolution  at 
the  time,  he  probably  mentioned  such  as 
happened  to  occur  to  him ; and  that  he  may 
have  recollected,  that  he  had  formerly 
shown  others  such  proofs  of  his  regard,  that 
it  was  not  necessary  to  crowd  his  will  with 
their  names.  Mrs.  Lucy  Porter  was  much 
displeased  that  nothing  was  left  to  her; 
but  besides  what  I have  now  stated,  she 
should  have  considered  that  she  had  left 
nothing  to  Johnson  by  her  will,  which  was 


Idler,  No.  82,”  where  Johnson  added  to  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds’s  paper  the  words,  “ and  pel 
lute  his  canvas  with  deformity.”— Ed.] 

2 Francis  Barber,  Dr.  Johnson’s  principal 
legatee,  died  in  the  infirmary  at  Stafford,  after 
undergoing  a painful  operation,  February  13, 
1801. — Malone.  [In  the  Gentleman’s  Maga- 
zine for  1793,  p.  619,  there  are  some  anecdotes 
of  Barber,  in  which  it  is  said  that  he  was  then 
forty-eight  years  old.  Mr.  Chalmers  thinks  that 
he  was  about  fifty-six  when  he  died  ; but  as  he 
entered  Johnson’s  service  in  1752,  and  could 
scarcely  have  been  then  under  twelve  or  four- 
teen years  of  age,  it  is  probable  that  he  was 
somewhat  older.  See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  250.— Ea.] 


450 


1 784. — vET AT.  75. 


made  during  his  lifetime,  as  appeared  at  her 
decease.  His  enumerating  several  persons 
m one  group,  and  leaving  them  “each  a 
book  at  their  election,”  might  possibly  have 
given  occasion  to  a curious  question  as  to 
the  order  of  choice,  had  they  not  luckily 
fixed  on  different  books.  His  library,  though 
by  no  means  handsome  in  its  appearance, 
was  sold  by  Mr.  Christie  for  two  hundred 
and  forty-seven  pounds,  nine  shillings : many 
people  being  desirous  to  have  a book  which 
had  belonged  to  Johnson  i.  In  many  of 
them  he  had  written  little  notes : some- 
times tender  memorials  of  his  departed  wife ; 
as  “ This  was  dear  Tetty’s  book : ” some- 
times occasional  remarks  of  different  sorts. 
Mr.  Lysons,  of  Clifford’s-inn,  has  favoured 
me  with  the  two  following : “ In  ‘ Holy 
Rules  and  Helps  to  Devotion,  by  Bryan  Dup- 
pa,  Lord  Bishop  of  Winton,  ‘ Preces  quidam 
videlur  diligenter  tractasse;  spero  non  in- 
audilus.’  In  ‘The  Rosicrucian  infallible 
Axiomata,  by  John  Heydon,  Gent.,’  pre- 
fixed to  which  are  some  verses  addressed 
to  the  authour,  signed  Ambr.  Waters, 
A.  M.  Coll.  Ex.  Oxon. *  * These  Latin 
verses  were  written  to  Hobbes  by  Bathurst, 
upon  his  Treatise  on  Human  Nature,  and 
have  no  relation  to  the  book. — An  odd 
fraud.’  ” 

A few  days  before  his  death,  he  had 
asked  Sir  John  Hawkins,  as  one  of  his 
executors,  where  he  should  be  buried  ; and 
on  being  answered,  “ Doubtless,  in  West- 
minster-Abbey,”  seemed  to  feel  a satisfac- 
tion, very  natural  to  a poet ; and  indeed  in 
my  opinion  very  natural  to  every  man  of  any 
imagination,  who  has  no  family  sepulchre  in 
which  he  can  be  laid  with  his  fathers.  Ac- 
cordingly,  upon  Monday,  December 
p.a&64.  20,  his  remains,  [enclosed  in  a leaden 
coffin,]  were  deposited  in  that  noble 
and  renowned  edifice,  [in  the  south  transept, 
near  the  foot  of  Shakspeare’s  monument, 
and  close  to  the  coffin  of  his  friend  Garrick ;] 
and  over  his  grave  was  placed  a large  blue 
flag-stone,  with  this  inscription  : 

“Samvel  Johnson,  LL.D. 

Obiit  xiii.  die  Decembris, 

Anno  Domini 

M.  DCC.  LXXXIV. 

iEtatis  suae  lxxv." 

His  funeral  was  attended  by  a respectable 
number  of  his  friends,  particularly  such  of 
the  members  of  The  Literary  Club  as  were 
in  town ; and  was  also  honoured  with  the 
presence  of  several  of  the  Reverend  Chap- 
ter of  Westminsters.  Mr.  Burke,  Sir  Jo- 

1  [Mr.  Windham  bought  Markland’s  Statius, 
and  wrote  in  the  first  page,  “ Fnit  e libris  clar- 
issimi  Samuelis  Johnson .”  It  now,  by  the  fa- 
vour of  Mr.  Jesse,  who  bought  it  at  Mr.  Wind- 
ham’s sale,  belongs  to  the  Editor. — Ed.] 

* [“It  must  be  told,  that  a dissatisfaction  was 
expressed  in  the  public  pacers  that  he  was  not 


seph  Banks,  Mr.  Windham,  Mr.  Langton, 
Sir  Charles  Bunbury,  and  Mr.  Colman,  bore 
his  pall.  His  school-fellow,  Dr.  Taylor, 
performed  the  mournful  office  of  reading  the 
burial  service. 

I trust  I shall  not  be  accused  of  affectation, 
when  I declare,  that  I find  myself  unable  to 
express  all  that  I felt  upon  the  loss  of  such  a 
“ guide,  philosopher  and  friend  3.”  I shall, 
therefore,  not  say  one  word  of  my  own,  but 
adopt  those  of  an  eminent  friend  4,  which  he 
uttered  with  an  abrupt  felicity,  superiour  to 
all  studied  compositions  : — « He  has  made  a 
chasm,  which  not  only  nothing  can  fill  up, 
but  which  nothing  has  a tendency  to  fill  up. 
— Johnson  is  dead. — Let  us  go  to  the  next 
best : there  is  nobody  ; no  man  can  be  said 
to  put  you  in  mind  of  Johnson.” 

As  Johnson  had  abundant  homage  paid 
to  him  during  his  life  s,  so  no  writer  in  this 


buried  with  all  possible  funeral  rites  and  ho- 
nours. In  all  processions  and  solemnities  some- 
thing will  be  forgotten  or  omitted.  Here  no 
disrespect  was  intended.  The  executors  did  not 
think  themselves  justified  in  doing  more  than 
they  did  ; for  only  a little  cathedral  service,  ac- 
companied with  lights  and  music,  would  have 
raised  the  price  of  interment.  In  this  matter 
fees  ran  high  ; they  could  not  be  excused ; and 
the  expenses  were  to  be  paid  from  the  property 
of  the  deceased.  His  funeral  expenses  amount- 
ed to  more  than  two  hundred  pounds.  Future 
monumental  charges  may  be  defrayed  by  the  ge- 
nerosity of  subscription.” — Gentleman’s  Maga- 
zine, 1785,  p.  911,  probably  by  Mr.  Tyers. — Ed.] 

3 On  the  subject  of  Johnson  I may  adopt  the 
words  of  Sir  John  Harrington  concerning  his 
venerable  tutor  and  diocesan,  Dr.  John  Still, 
Bishop  of  Bath  and  Wells  : “who  hath  given 
me  some  helps,  more  hopes,  all  encouragements 
in  my  best  studies  : to  whom  I never  came  but 
I grew  more  religious ; from  whom  I never  went, 
but  I parted  better  instructed.  Of  him,  there 
fore,  my  acquaintance,  my  friend,  my  instructer, 
if  I speak  much,  it  were  not  to  be  marvelled  ; it 
I speak  frankly,  it  is  not  to  be  blamed  ; and 
though  I speak  partially,  it  were  to  be  pardon- 
ed.”— “Nugae  Antiquae,”  vol.  i.  p.  136.  There 
is  one  circumstance  in  Sir  John’s  character  ot 
Bishop  Still,  which  is  peculiarly  applicable  to 
Johnson:  “He  became  so  famous  a disputer, 
that  the  learnedest  were  even  afraid  to  dispute 
with  him ; and  he,  finding  his  own  strength, 
could  not  stick  to  warn  them  in  their  arguments 
to  take  heed  to  their  answers,  like  a perfect  fen- 
cer that  will  tell  aforehand  in  which  button  he 
will  give  the  venew,  or  like  a cunning  chess- 
player that  will  appoint  aforehand  with  which 
pawn  and  in  what  place  he  will  give  the  mate.” 
Ibid. — Boswell. 

4 The  late  Right  Honourable  William  Gerard 
Hamilton,  who  had  been  intimately  acquainted 
with  Dr.  Johnson  near  thirty  years.  He  died  in 
London,  July  16,  1796,  in  his  sixty-eighth 
year. — Malone. 

5 Beside  the  Dedications  to  him  by  Dr.  Gold- 
smith, the  Reverend  Dr.  Franklin,  and  the  Rev- 
erend Mr  Wilson,  which  I have  mentioned  ae- 


1784.— vETAT.  75. 


45 


nation  ever  had  such  an  accumulation  of  lite 
rary  honours  after  his  death.  A sermon  upon 
that  event  was  preached  in  St.  Mary’s  church, 
Oxford,  before  the  University,  by  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Agutter,  of  Magdalen  College  ».  The 
Lives,  the  Memoirs,  the  Essays,  both  in  prose 
and  verse,  which  have  been  published  con- 
cerning him,  would  make  many  volumes. 
The  numerous  attacks  too  upon  him  I con- 
sider as  part  of  his  consequence,  upon  the 
principle  "which  he  himself  so  well  knew  and 
asserted.  Many  who  trembled  at  his  pre- 
sence were  forward  in  assault,  when  they  no 
longer  apprehended  danger.  When  one  of 
his  little  pragmatical  foes  was  invidiously 
snarling  at  his  fame,  at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s 
table,  the  Reverend  Dr.  Parr  exclaimed, 
with  his  usual  bold  animation,  “Ay,  now 
that  the  old  lion  is  dead,  every  ass  thinks  he 
may  kick  at  him.” 

A monument  for  him,  in  Westminster  Ab- 
bey, was  resolved  upon  soon  after  his  death, 
and  was  supported  by  a most  respectable 
contribution  ; but  the  Dean  and  Chapter  of 
St.  Paul’s  having  come  to  a resolution  of  ad- 
mitting monuments  there,  upon  a liberal  and 
magnificent  plan,  that  cathedral  was  after- 
wards fixed  on,  as  the  place  in  which  a ceno- 
taph should  be  erected  to  his  memory  : and 
in  the  cathedral  of  his  native  city  of  Lich- 
field, a smaller  one  is  to  be  erected  2.  To 

cording  to  their  dates,  there  was  one  by  a lady, 
of  a versification  of  “Aningait  and  Ajut,”  and 
one  by  the  ingenious  Mr.  Walker,  of  his  “Rhe- 
torical Grammar.”  I have  introduced  into  this 
work  several  compliments  paid  to  him  in  the 
writings  of  his  contemporaries  ; but  the  number 
of  them  is  so  great,  that  we  may  fairly  say  that 
there  was  almost  a general  tribute.  Let  me  not 
be  forgetful  of  the  honour  done  to  him  by  Colo- 
nel Myddleton,  of  Gwaynynog,  near  Denbigh  ; 
who,  on  the  banks  of  a rivulet  in  his  park,  where 
Johnson  delighted  to  stand  and  repeat  verses, 
erected  an  urn  with  the  inscription  given  ante , 
vol.  i.  p.  490. — Boswell. 

[Here  followed  an  account  of  the  various  por- 
traits of  Dr.  Johnson,  which  is  transferred  to  the 
appendix. — Ed.] 

1 It  is  not  yet  published.  In  a letter  to  me, 
Mr.  Agutter  says,  “ My  sermon  before  the  uni- 
versity was  more  engaged  with  Dr.  Johnson’s 
moral  than  his  intellectual  character.  It  particu- 
larly examined  his  fear  of  death,  and  suggested 
several  reasons  for  the  apprehensions  of  the  good, 
and  the  indifference  of  the  infidel,  in  their  last 
hours  ; this  was  illustrated  by  contrasting  the 
death  of  Dr.  Johnson  and  Mr.  Hume : the  text 
was,  Job,  xxi.  22 — 26.” — Boswell. 

2 This  monument  has  been  since  erected.  It 
consists  of  a medallion,  with  a tablet  beneath, 
on  which  is  this  inscription : 


11  The  friends  of  Samuel  Johnson,  LL.D. 

A Native  of  Lichfield, 

Erected  this  monument, 

Asa  tribute  of  respect 

To  the  Memory  of  a man  of  extensive  learning, 

K distinguished  moral  writer,  and  a sincere  Christian. 
He  died  Dec.  13,  1784,  aged  75.”— Malone. 


compose  his  epitaph,  could  not  but  excite  the 
warmest  competition  of  genius.  If  laudari 
a laudato  viro  be  praise  which  is  highly  esti- 
mable, 1 should  not  forgive  myself  were  I to 
omit  the  following  sepulchral  verses  on  the 
authour  of  The  English  Dictionary, 
written  by  the  Right  Honourable  Henry 
Flood  3 : 

“ No  need  of  Latin  or  of  Greek  to  grace 

Our  Johnson’s  memory, or  inscribe  his  grave ; 

His  native  language  claims  this  mournful  space, 
To  pay  the  immortality  he  gave.” 

The  Reverend  Dr.  Parr,  on  being  request- 
ed to  undertake  the  inscription  for  the  monu- 
ment, thus  expressed  himself  in  a letter  to 
William  Seward,  Esq. : « I leave  this  mighty 
task  to  some  hardier  and  some  abler  writer. 
The  variety  and  splendour  of  Johnson’s  attain- 
ments, the  peculiarities  of  his  character,  his 
private  virtues,  and  his  literary  publications, 
fill  me  with  confusion  and  dismay,  when  I re- 
flect upon  the  confined  and  difficult  species  of 
composition,  in  which  alone  they  can  be  ex- 
pressed, with  propriety,  upon  his  monument.” 
But  I understand  that  this  great  scholar,  and 
warm  admirer  of  Johnson,  has  yielded  to  re- 
peated solicitations,  and  executed  the  very 
difficult  undertaking. 

[Dr.  Johnson’s  monument,  con- 
sisting  of  a colossal  figure  leaning  Mal0Qe‘ 
against  a column  (but  not  very  strongly  re- 
sembling him),  has  since  the  death  of  Mr. 
Boswell  been  placed  in  St.  Paul’s  cathedral, 
having  been  first  opened  to  publick  view, 
February  23,  1796.  The  epitaph  was  writ- 
ten by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Parr,  and  is  as  follows  : 


3  To  prevent  any  misconception  on  this  sub- 
ject, Mr.  Malone,  by  whom  these  lines  were 
obligingly  communicated,  requests  me  to  add 
the  following  remark  : 

“Injustice  to  the  late  Mr.  Flood,  now  himself 
wanting,  and  highly  meriting,  an  epitaph  from  his 
country,  to  which  his  transcendent  talents  did 
the  highest  honour,  as  well  as  the  most  impor- 
tant service,  it  should  be  observed,  that  these 
lines  were  by  no  means  intended  as  a regular 
monumental  inscription  for  Dr.  Johnson.  Had 
he  undertaken  to  write  an  appropriate  and  dis- 
criminative epitaph  for  that  excellent  and  extraor- 
dinary man,  those  who  knew  Mr.  Flood’s  vigour 
of  mind  will  have  no  doubt  that  he  would  have 
produced  one  worthy  of  his  illustrious  subject 
But  the  fact  was  merely  this:  In  December, 
1789,  after  a large  subscription  had  been  made 
for  Dr.  Johnson’s  monument,  to  which  Mr. 
Flood  liberally  contributed,  Mr.  Malone  hap- 
pened to  call  on  him  at  his  house  in  Berners 
street,  and  the  conversation  turning  on  the  pro- 
posed monument,  Mr.  Malone  maintained  that 
the  epitaph,  by  whomsoever  it  should  be  writ- 
ten, ought  to  be  in  Latin.*  Mr.  Flood  thought 
differently.  The  next  morning,  in  a postcript  to 
a note  on  another  subject,  he  mentioned  that  he 
continued  of  the  same  opinion  as  on  the  preced- 
ing day,  and  subjoined  the  lines  above  given," 
— Bo«well. 


452 


1784.— JET AT.  75. 


a a 

SAMVELI  • JOHNSON 
GRAMMATICO  • ET  • CRITICO 
SCRIPTORVM  • ANGLICORVM  • LITTER -ATE 
PERITO  • POETAE  • LVMINIBVS  • 
SENTENTIARVM  • ET  PONDERIBVS  -VERBOKUM 
ADMIRABILI  ■ MAG  ISTRO  • VIRTVTIS 
GRAVISSIMO  • HOMINI  • OPTIMO  • ET 
SINGVLARIS  • EXEMPLI 


QVI  • VIXIT  • ANN  • lx xv  • MENS  • il.  • DIEB  • xml. 
DECESSIT  • IDIB  • DECEMBR  • ANN  • CHRIST 
cla  . Iocc  • lxxxiiiI. 

SEPVLT  • IN  • AED  • SANCT  • PETR  • WESTMO- 
NASTERLENS  • xnl  • KAL  • IAN  VAR  -ANN  • CHRIST 
clo  • Iocc  • LXXXV. 

AMICI  • ET  • SOD  ALES  • LITTERARU 
PECVNIA  • CONLATA 
H • M • FACIVND  • CVRAVER. 

On  a scroll  in  his  hand  are  the  following 
words  : 

ENMAKAPESEinONaNANTAHIOSEHIAMOIBHI 

On  one  side  of  the  monument : 

Faciebat  Johannes  Bacon,  Scvlptor  Ann.  Christ, 
m.d.cc.lxxxv. 

The  subscription  for  this  monument,  which 
cost  eleven  hundred  guineas,  was  begun  by 
the  Literary  Club,  and  completed  2 by  the  aid 
of  Dr.  Johnson’s  other  friends  and  admirers.] 


1 It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  committee  for 
erecting  this  monument  did  not  adhere  to  the 
principles  of  the  Round  Robin,  on  the  sub  ject  of 
Goldsmith’s  epitaph,  (ante,  p.  80),  and  insist 
on  having  the  epitaph  to  Johnson  written  in  the 
language  to  which  he  had  been  so  great  and  so 
very  peculiar  a benefactor.  The  committee  of 
subscribers,  called  curators,  were  Lord  Stowell, 
Mr.  Burke,  Mr.  Windham,  Sir  Joseph  Banks, 
Mr.  Metcalf,  Mr.  Boswell,  and  Mr.  Malone. 
Mr.  Metcalf,  Mr.  Burke,  and  Sir  Joseph  had 
signed  the  Round  Robin  ; but  it  may  be  pre- 
sumed that  Dr.  Johnson’s  preference  of  a Latin 
epitaph,  so  positively  pronounced  on  that  occa- 
sion, operated  on  their  minds  as  an  expression 
of  what  his  wishes  would  have  been  as  to  his 
own.  It  seems,  however,  to  the  Editor  the 
height  of  bad  taste  and  absurdity  to  exhibit  Dr. 
Johnson  in  St.  Paul’s  cathedral  in  the  masque- 
rade of  a half  naked  Roman,  with  such  pedan- 
tic, and,  to  the  passing  public,  unintelligible  in- 
scriptions as  the  above.  The  following  is  a 
close  translation  : 

Alpha.  ^ Omega. 

To  Samuel  Johnson, 

A grammarian  and  critic 
Of  great  skill  in  English  literature ; 
poet  admirable  for  the  light  of  his  sentences 
And  the  weight  of  his  words ; 

A most  effective  teacher  of  virtue ; 

An  excellent  man,  and  of  singular  example, 

Who  lived  75  years,  2 months,  14  days. 

He  died  in  the  ides  of  December,  in  the  year  of  Christ, 

MDCCLXX  XIV. 

Was  buried  in  the  church  of  St.  Peter's,  Westminster, 
The  13tli  of  the  kalends  of  January,  in  the  year  of  Christ, 

MDCCLXXXIV. 

His  literary  friends  and  companions, 

By  a collection  of  money, 

Caused  this  ihonument  to  be  made. 

The  reader  will  not  of  course  attribute  to  the 
original  all  the  awkwardness  of  this  almost  literal 
version  ; but  he  will  not  fail  to  observe  the  te- 
dious and  confused  mode  of  marking  tbc  nuir.e- 


The  chai  Bicter  of  Samuel  Johnson  has, 
T trust,  been  so  developed  in  the  course  o 
this  work,  that  they  who  have  honoured  it 
with  a perusal  may  be  considered  as  well  ac- 
quainted with  him.  As  however  it  may  be 
expected  that  I should  collect  into  one  view 
the  capital  and  distinguishing  features  of  this 
extraordinary  man,  I shall  endeavour  to  ac- 
quit myself  of  that  part  of  my  biographical  un- 
dertaking 3,  however  difficult  it  may  be  to  do 
that  which  many  of  my  readers  will  do  better 
for  themselves. 

His  figure  was  large  and  well  formed,  and 
his  countenance  of  the  cast  of  an  ancient 
statue  ; yet  his  appearance  was  rendered 
strange  and  somewhat  uncouth,  by  convul- 
sive cramps,  by  the  scars  of  that  distemper 
which  it  was  once  imagined  the  royal  touch 
could  cure,  and  by  a slovenly  mode  of  dress. 
He  had  the  use  only  of  one  eye ; yet  so 
much  does  mind  govern,  and  even  supply 
the  deficiency  of  organs,  that  his  visual  per- 
ceptions, as  far  as  they  extended,  were  un- 

rals,  the  unnecessary  repetition  of  them,  and  the 
introduction  of  nones  and  ides,  all  of  which  are, 
even  on  the  principles  of  the  Lapidarian  scho- 
lars themselves,  clumsy,  and  on  the  principles 
of  common  sense,  contemptible.  Thirty-four 
letters  and  numerals  (nearly  a tenth  part  of  the 
whole  inscription)  are,  for  instance,  expended  in 
letting  posterity  know  that  Dr.  Johnson  was 
buried  in  the  same  month  of  the  same  year  in 
which  he  died. 

The  Greek  words,  so  pedantically  jumbled  to- 
gether on  the  scroll,  are  an  alteration  by  Dr.  Parr 
of  a line  of  Dionysius,  the  geographer,  with 
which  Johnson  has  closed  the  Rambler.  See 
ante,  vol.  i.  p.  93.  It  seems,  that  in  deference  to 
some  apprehensions  that  the  Dean  and  Chapter 
of  St.  Paul’s  might  think  the  A vruv  ck  paxapa** 
avrafios  tin  apoi0t—from  the  blessed  gods  may  he 
receive  his  merited  reward — somewhat  heathen- 
ish, Dr.  Parr  was  persuaded  to  convert  the  line 
into  ’Ey  paxapeuai  rovwv  avra\ios  tin  apoifin — 
may  he  receive  amongst  the  blessed  the  merited  re- 
ward of  his  labours.  The  reader  who  is  curious 
about  the  pompous  inanities  of  literature  wih 
find  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  volume  of  Dr.  Parr’s 
works,  ed.  1828,  a long  correspondence  between 
Parr,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Malone,  and  other 
friends  of  Dr.  Johnson,  on  the  subject  of  this  epi- 
taph. He  will  be  amused  at  the  burlesque  im- 
portance which  Parr  attaches  to  epitaph-writing, 
the  tenacity  with  which  he  endeavoured  to  de- 
scribe Dr.  Johnson,  with  reference  to  his  poeti- 
cal character  as  poeta  probabilis,  and  his  candid 
avowal,  that  in  the  composition  he  was  thinking 
more  of  his  own  character  than  Dr.  Johnson’s. 
—Ed.] 

2 [After  much  delay  and  very  great  difficulty, 
as  appears  by  many  reproachful  notices  and 
complaints  in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine. 
Ed.] 

3 As  I do  not  see  any  reason  to  give  a differ- 
ent character  of  my  illustrious  friend  now  from 
what  I formerly  gave,  the  greatest  part  of  the 
sketch  of  him  in  my  “ Journal  of  a Tour  to  tha 
Hebrides  ” is  here  adopted.— Boswell. 


1784. — JETAT.  75. 


453 


commonly  quick  and  accurate.  So  morbid 
was  nis  temperament,  that  he  never  knew 
the  natural  joy  of  a free  and  vigorous  use  of  his 
limbs : when  he  walked,  it  was  like  the  strug- 
gling gait  of  one  in  fetters ; when  he  rode,  he 
had  no  command  or  direction  of  his  horse, 
but  was  carried  as  if  in  a balloon.  That  with 
his  constitution  and  habits  of  life  he  should 
have  lived  seventy-five  years,  is  a proof  that 
an  inherent  vivida  vis  is  a powerful  preserva- 
tive of  the  human  frame. 

Man  is,  in  general,  made  up  of  contra- 
dictory qualities ; and  these  will  ever  show 
themselves  in  strange  succession,  where  a 
consistency  in  appearance  at  least,  if  not 
reality,  has  not  been  attained  by  long  habits 
of  philosophical  discipline.  In  proportion  to 
the  native  vigour  of  the  mind,  the  contra- 
dictory qualities  will  be  more  prominent, 
and  more  difficult  to  be  adjusted ; and,  there- 
fore, we  are  not  to  wonder  that  Johnson 
exhibited  an  eminent  example  of  this  remark, 
which  I have  made  upon  human  nature.  At 
different  times  he  seemed  a different  man  in 
some  respects  ; not,  however,  in  any  great 
or  essential  article,  upon  which  he  had  fully 
employed  his  mind,  and  settled  certain  prin- 
ciples of  duty,  but  only  in  his  manners,  and  in 
the  display  of  argument  and  fancy  in  his  talk. 
He  was  prone  to  superstition,  but  not  to  cre- 
dulity. Though  his  imagination  might  in- 
cline him  to  a belief  of  the  marvellous  and 
the  mysterious,  his  vigorous  reason  examined 
the  evidence  with  jealousy.  He  was  a sin- 
cere and  zealous  Christian,  of  high  church 
of  England  and  monarchical  principles,  which 
he  would  not  tamely  suffer  to  be  questioned  ; 
and  had,  perhaps,  at  an  early  period,  nar- 
rowed his  mind  somewhat  too  much,  both  as 
to  religion  and  politicks.  His  being  im- 
pressed with  the  danger  of  extreme  lati- 
tude in  either,  though  he  was  of  a very  inde- 
pendent spirit,  occasioned  his  appearing 
somewhat  unfavourable  to  the  prevalence  of 
that  noble  freedom  of  sentiment  which  is  the 
best  possession  of  man.  Nor  can  it  be  de- 
nied that  he  had  many  prejudices;  which, 
however,  frequently  suggested  many  of  his 
pointed  sayings,  that  rather  show  a playful- 
ness of  fancy  than  any  settled  malignity. 
He  was  steady  and  inflexible  in  maintaining 
the  obligations  of  religion  and  morality ; both 
from  a regard  for  the  order  of  society  and  from 
a veneration  for  the  Great  Source  of  all  or- 
der ; correct,  nay  stern  in  his  taste  ; hard  to 
please,  and  easily  offended ; impetuous  and 
irritable  in  his  temper,  but  of  a most  humane 
and  benevolent  heart  i,  which  showed  itself 


l In  the  “ Olla  Podrida,”  a collection  of  es- 
says published  at  Oxford,  there  is  an  admirable 
paper  upon  the  character  of  Johnson,  written  by 
the  Reverend  Dr.  Horne,  the  late  excellent 
Bishop  of  Norwich.  The  following  passage 
is  eminently  happy : — “ To  reject  wisdom,  be- 


not  only  in  a most  liberal  charity,  as  far  as 
his  circumstances  would  allow,  but  in  a thou- 
sand instances  of  active  benevolence.  He 
was  afflicted  with  a bodily  disease,  which 
made  him  often  restless  and  fretful,  and  with 
a constitutional  melancholy,  the  clouds  of 
which  darkened  the  brightness  of  his  fancy, 
and  gave  a gloomy  cast  to  his  whole  course 
of  thinking : we,  therefore,  ought  not  to  won- 
der at  his  sallies  of  impatience  and  passion  at 
any  time,  especially  when  provoked  by  ob- 
trusive ignorance  or  presuming  petulance, 
and  allowance  must  be  made  for  his  uttering 
hasty  and  satirical  sallies  even  against  his 
best  friends.  And,  surely,  when  it  is  consi- 
dered, that,  “ amidst  sickness  and  sorrow,” 
he  exerted  his  faculties  in  so  many  works 
for  the  benefit  of  mankind,  and  particularly 
that  he  achieved  the  great  and  admirable 
Dictionary  of  our  language,  we  must  be  asto- 
nished at  his  resolution.  The  solemn  text, 
“ of  him  to  whom  much  is  given  much  will 
be  required,”  seems  to  have  been  ever  pre- 
sent to  his  mind,  in  a rigorous  sense,  and  to 
have  made  him  dissatisfied  with  his  labours 
and  acts  of  goodness,  however  comparative- 
ly great ; so  that  the  unavoidable  conscious- 
ness of  his  superiority  was,  in  that  respect,  a 
cause  of  disquiet.  He  suffered  so  much  from 
this,  and  from  the  gloom  which  perpetually 
haunted  him,  and  made  solitude  frightful, 
that  it  may  be  said  of  him,  “ If  in  this  life  on- 
ly he  had  hope,  he  was  of  all  men  most  mise- 
rable.” He  loved  praise  when  it  was  brought 
to  him ; but  was  too  proud  to  seek  for  it. 
He  was  somewhat  susceptible  of  flattery. 
As  he  was  general  and  unconfined  in  his  stu- 
dies, he  cannot  be  considered  as  master  of 
any  one  particular  science  ; but  he  had  ac- 
cumulated a vast  and  various  collection  of 
learning  and  knowledge,  which  was  so  ar- 
ranged in  his  mind  as  to  be  ever  in  readiness 
to  be  brought  forth.  But  his  superiority 
over  other  learned  men  consisted  chiefly  in 
what  may  be  called  the  art  of  thinking,  the 
art  of  using  his  mind ; a certain  continual 
power  of  seizing  the  useful  substance  of  all 
that  he  knew,  and  exhibiting  it  in  a clear  and 
forcible  manner  ; so  that  knowledge,  which 
we  often  see  to  be  no  better  than  lumber  in 
men  of  dull  understanding,  was  in  him  true, 
evident,  and  actual  wisdom.  His  moral  pre- 
cepts are  practical  ; for  they  are  drawn  from 
an  intimate  acquaintance  with  human  na- 
ture. His  maxims  carry  conviction ; for 
they  are  founded  on  the  basis  of  common 
sense,  and  a very  attentive  and  minute  sur- 
vey of  real  life.  His  mind  was  so  full  of 
imagery  that  he  might  have  been  perpetu- 


cause  the  person  of  him  who  communicates  it 
is  uncouth,  and  his  manners  are  inelegant ; what 
is  it,  but  to  throw  away  a pine-apple,  and  as-  * 
sign  for  a reason  the  roughness  of  its  coat  1 
Boswell. 


454 


1784. — jETAT.  75. 


ally  a poet ; yet  it  is  remarkable,  that  how- 
ever rich  his  prose  ts  in  this  respect,  his  poeti- 
cal pieces  in  general  have  not  much  of  that 
splendour,  but  are  rather  distinguished  by 
strong  sentiment  and  acute  observation,  con- 
veyed in  harmonious  and  energetick  verse, 
particularly  in  heroick  couplets.  Though 
usually  grave,  and  even  awful  in  his  deport- 
ment, he  possessed  uncommon  and  peculiar 
powers  of  wit  and  humour ; he  frequently  in- 
dulged himself  in  colloquial  pleasantry ; and 
the  heartiest  merriment  was  often  enjoyed  in 
his  company  ; with  this  great  advantage, 
that,  as  it  was  entirely  free  from  any  poison- 
ous tincture  of  vice  or  impiety,  it  was  saluta- 
ry to  those  who  shared  in  it.  He  had  accus- 
tomed himself  to  such  accuracy  in  his  com- 
mon conversation  i,  that  he  at  all  times  ex- 


i Though  a perfect  resemblance  of  Johnson 
is  not  to  be  found  in  any  age,  parts  of  his  charac- 
ter are  admirably  expressed  by  Clarendon,  in 
drawing  that  of  Lord  Falkland,  whom  the  no- 
ble and  masterly  historian  describes  at  his  seat 
near  Oxford  : “ Such  an  immenseness  of  wit, 
such  a solidity  of  judgment,  so  infinite  a fancy, 
bound  in  by  a most  logical  ratiocination.  His 
acquaintance  was  cultivated  by  the  most  polite 
and  accurate  men,  so  that  his  house  was  an  uni- 
versity in  less  volume,  whither  they  came,  not  so 
much  for  repose  as  study,  and  to  examine  and 
refine  those  grosser  propositions  which  laziness 
and  consent  made  current  in  conversation.” 
Bayle’s  account  of  Menage  may  also  be  quoted 
as  exceedingly  applicable  to  the  great  subject  of 
this  work.  “ His  illustrious  friends  erected  a very 
glorious  monument  to  him  in  the  collection  enti- 
tled ‘ Menagiana.’  Those  who  judge  of  things 
right  will  confess  that  this  collection  is  very  proper 
to  show  the  extent  of  genius  and  learning  which 
was  the  character  of  Menage.  And  I may  be 
bold  to  say,  that  the  excellent  works  he  published 
will  not  distinguish  him  from  other  learned  men 
so  advantageously  as  this.  To  publish  books  of 
great  learning,  to  make  Greek  and  Latin  verses 
exceedingly  well  turned  is  not  a common  talent, 
I own  ; neither  is  it  extremely  rare.  It  is  incom- 
parably more  difficult  to  find  men  who  can  fur- 
nish discourse  about  an  infinite  number  of  things, 
and  who  can  diversify  them  a hundred  ways. 
How  many  authours  are  there  who  are  admired 
for  their  works,  on  account  of  the  vast  learning 
that  is  displayed  in  them,  who  are  not  able  to  sus- 
tain a conversation.  Those  who  know  Me- 
nage only  by  his  books  might  think  he  resem- 
bled those  learned  men  ; but  if  you  show  the 
‘ Menagiana’ you  distinguish  him  from  them, 
and  make  him  known  by  a talent  which  is  given 
to  very  few  learned  men.  There  it  appears 
that  he  was  a man  who  spoke  off-hand  a thou- 
sand good  things.  His  memory  extended  to 
what  was  ancient  and  modern  ; to  the  court 
and  to  the  city  ; to  the  dead  and  to  the  living 
languages  ; to  things  serious  and  things  jocose ; 

in  a word,  to  a thousand  sorts  of  subjects.  That 

which  appeared  a trifle  to  some  readers  of  the 
* ‘Menagiana,’  who  did  not  consider  circumstan- 

ces, caused  admiration  in  other  readers,  who 

minded  the  difference  between  what  a man 


pressed  his  thoughts  with  great  force,  and  an 
elegant  choice  of  language,  the  effect  of  which 
was  aided  by  his  having  a loud  voice,  and  a 
slow  deliberate  utterance.  In  him  were  uni- 
ted a most  logical  head  with  a most  fertile 
imagination,  which  gave  him  an  extraordinary 
advantage  in  arguing : for  he  could  reason 
close  or  wide,  as  he  saw  best  for  the  moment. 
Exulting  in  his  intellectual  strength  and  dex- 
terity, he  could,  when  he  pleased,  be  the 
eatest  sophist  that  ever  contended  in  the 
t of  declamation ; and,  from  a spirit  of  con- 
tradiction, and  a delight  in  showing  his  pow- 
ers, he  would  often  maintain  the  wrong  side 
with  equal  warmth  and  ingenuity ; so  that, 
when  there  wras  an  audience,  his  real  opinions 
could  seldom  be  gathered  from  his  talk; 
though  when  he  was  in  company  with  a sin- 
gle friend,  he  would  discuss  a subject  with 
genuine  fairness  ; but  he  was  too  conscien- 
tious to  make  errour  permanent  and  pernicious, 
by  deliberately  writing  it  ; and,  in  all  his  nu- 
merous works,  he  earnestly  inculcated  what 
appeared  to  him  to  be  the  truth ; his  piety  be- 
ing constant,  and  the  ruling  principle  of  all  his 
conduct. 

Such  was  Samuel  Johnson,  a man  whose 
talents,  acquirements,  and  virtues,  were  so  ex- 
traordinary, that  the  more  his  character  is 
considered,  the  more  he  will  be  regarded  by 
the  present  age,  and  by  posterity,  with  admi- 
ration and  reverence. 


I shall  now  fulfil  my  promise  of  exhibiting 
specimens  of  various  sorts  of  imitation  of 
Johnson’s  style  2. 

In  the  “ Transactions  of  the  Royal  Irish 
Academy,  1787,”  there  is  an  “Essay  on 
the  Style  of  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,”  by  the 
Reverend  Robert  Burrowes,  whose  respect 
for  the  great  object  of  his  criticisms  is  thus 
evinced  in  the  concluding  paragraph : “ I 
have  singled  him  out  from  the  whole  body 
of  English  writers,  because  his  universally- 
acknowledged  beauties  would  be  most  apt 
to  induce  imitation : and  I have  treated 


speaks  without  preparation  and  that  which  he 
prepares  for  the  press.  And,  therefore,  we  can- 
not sufficiently  commend  the  care  which  his  il 
lustrious  friends  took  to  erect  a monument  so 
capable  of  giving  him  immortal  glory.  They 
were  not  obliged  to  rectify  what  they  had  heard 
him  say  ; for,  in  so  doing,  they  had  not  been 
faithful  historians  of  his  conversation.” — Bos 

WELL. 

2 [Transposed  from  p.  431,  ante. — Ed.J 

3 We  must  smile  at  a little  inaccuracy  of  met 
aphor  in  the  preface  to  the  Transactions,  which 
is  written  by  Mr.  Burrowes.  The  critick  of  the 
style  of  Johnson  having,  with  a just  zeal  for  lit- 
erature, observed,  that  the  whole  nation  are  call- 
ed on  to  exert  themselves,  afterwards  says, 
“ They  are  called  on  by  every  tye  which  can 
have  laudable  influence  on  the  heart  of  man.”, 
— Boswell.  [See  ante i * * *  vol.  i.  p.  89. — Ed.1 


784. — jETAT.  75. 


455 


rather  on  his  faults,  than  his  perfections, 
because  an  essay  might  comprise  all  the  ob- 
servations I could  make  upon  his  faults, 
while  volumes  would  not  be  sufficient  for  a 
treatise  on  his  perfections.” 

Mr.  Burrowes  has  analyzed  the  composi- 
tion of  Johnson,  and  pointed  out  its  pecu- 
liarities with  much  acuteness ; and  I would 
recommend  a careful  perusal  of  his  Essay 
to  those  who,  being  captivated  by  the  union 
of  perspicuity  and  splendour  which  the 
writings  of  Johnson  contain,  without  hav- 
ing a sufficient  portion  of  his  vigour  of  mind, 
may  be  in  danger  of  becoming  bad  copy- 
ists of  his  manner.  I,  however,  cannot  but 
observe,  and  I observe  it  to  his  credit, 
that  this-  learned  gentleman  has  himself 
caught  no  mean  degree  of  the  expansion 
and  harmony  which,  independent  of  all 
other  circumstances,  characterise  the  sen- 
tences of  Johnson.  Thus,  in  the  preface 
to  the  volume  in  which  the  Essay  appears, 
we  find, 

“ If  it  be  said  that  in  societies  of  this  sort 
too  much  attention  is  frequently  bestowed 
on  subjects  barren  and  speculative,  it  may 
be  answered,  that  no  one  science  is  so  little 
connected  with  the  rest  as  not  to  afford  many 
rinciples  whose  use  may  extend  consiaera- 
ly  beyond  the  science  to  which  they  prima- 
rily belong,  and  that  no  proposition  is  so 
purely  theoretical  as  to  be  totally  incapable 
of  being  applied  to  practical  purposes.  There 
is  no  apparent  connexion  between  duration 
and  the  cycloidal  arch,  the  properties  of 
which  duly  attended  to  have  furnished  us 
with  our  best-regulated  methods  of  measur- 
ing time:  and  he  who  had  made  himself 
master  of  the  nature  and  affections  of  the 
logarithmic  curve  is  not  aware  that  he  has 
advanced  considerably  towards  ascertaining 
the  proportionable  density  of  the  air  at  its 
various  distances  from  the  surface  of  the 
earth.” 

The  ludicrous  imitators  of  Johnson’s  style 
are  innumerable.  Their  general  method  is 
to  accumulate  hard  words,  without  consider- 
ing, that,  although  he  was  fond  of  introducing 
them  occasionally,  there  is  not  a single  sen- 
tence in  all  his  writings  where  they  are 
crowded  together,  as  in  the  first  verse  of  the 
following  imaginary  Ode  by  him  to  Mrs. 
Thrale  >,  which  appeared  in  the  newspapers : 

i Johnson’s  wishing  to  unite  himself  with  this 
rich  widow  was  much  talked  of,  but  I believe 
without  foundation.  The  report,  however,  gave 
occasion  to  a poem,  not  without  characteristical 
merit,  entitled  “Ode  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  by  Samuel 
Johnson,  LL.D.  on  their  supposed  approach, 
ing  Nuptials:  ” printed  for  Mr.  Faulder  in  Bond- 
street.  I shall  quote  as  a specimen  the  first 
three  stanzas : 

“ If  e’er  my  fingers  touch’d  the  lyre, 

In  Batire  fierce,  in  pleasure  gay, 

Shall  not  my  Thralia’s  smiles  inspire  I 
Shall  Sam  refuse  the  sportive  lay  1 


“ Cervisial  coder's  viduate  dame, 

OpinsH  thou  this  gigantick  frame 
Procumbing  at  thy  shrine, 

Shall,  catenated  by  thy  charms, 

A captive  in  thy  ambient  arms, 
Perennially  be  thine  ?” 

This  and  a thousand  other  such  attempts 
are  totally  unlike  the  original,  which  the 
writers  imagined  they  were  turning  into  ridi- 
cule. There  is  not  similarity  enough  for 
burlesque,  or  even  for  caricature. 

Mr.  Colman,  in  his  “ Prose  on  several  oc- 
casions,” has  “A  Letter  from  Lexiphanes, 
containing  Proposals  for  a Glossary  or  Vo- 
cabulary of  the  Vulgar  Tongue;  intended 
as  a Supplement  to  a larger  Dictionary.” 
It  is  evidently  meant  as  a sportive  sally 
of  ridicule  on  Johnson,  whose  style  is  thus 
imitated,  without  being  grossly  overcharged : 
“ It  is  easy  to  foresee  that  the  idle  and 
illiterate  will  complain  that  I have  increased 
their  labours  by  endeavouring  to  diminish 
them ; and  that  I have  explained  what  is 
more  easy  by  what  is  more  difficult — igno- 
tum  per  ignotius.  I expect,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  liberal  acknowledgments  of  the 
learned.  He  who  is  buried  in  scholastick 
retirement,  secluded  from  the  assemblies  of 
the  gay,  and  remote  from  the  circles  of  the 
polite,  will  at  once  comprehend  the  defini- 
tions, and  be  grateful  for  such  a seasonable 
and  necessary  elucidation  of  his  mother- 
tongue.” 

Annexed  to  this  letter  is  the  following 
short  specimen  of  the  work,  thrown  to- 
gether in  a vague  and  desultory  manner 
not  even  adhering  to  alphabetical  con 
catenation. 

“ Higgledy  piggledy, — Conglomeration 
and  confusion. 

“ Hodge-podge, — A culinary  mixture  of  he- 
terogeneous ingredients : applied  meta- 
phorically to  all  discordant  combinations. 

“ Tit  for  Tat, — Adequate  retaliation. 

“ Shilly  Shally, — Hesitation  and  irreso- 
lution. 

“ Fee  ! fa  ! fum  ! — Gigantick  intonations. 

“ Rigmarole, — Discourse,  incoherent  and 
rhapsodical. 


“ My  dearest  lady ! view  your  slave, 

Behold  him  as  your  very  Scrub ; 

Eager  to  write  as  authour  grave, 

Or  govern  well— the  brewing  tub. 

“ To  rich  felicity  thus  raised, 

My  bosom  glows  with  amorous  fire. 

Porter  no  longer  shall  be  praised  , 

Tis  I myself  am  Thrale' s entire." 

Boswkll 

[Mrs.  Carter,  in  one  of  her  letters  to  Mrs.  Mon- 
tague, says,  “I  once  saw  him  (Dr.  Johnson) 
very  indigni  when  somebody  jested  about  Mrs. 
Thrale’s  marrying  himself.  The  choice  would, 
no  doubt,  have  been  singular,  but  much  less  ex- 
ceptionable than  that  which  she  has  made.” — 
Mrs.  Carter's  Letters , vol.  iii.  p.  211. — Ed.J 


456 


17S4. — AST  AT.  75. 


« Crinoum-crancum, — Lines  of  irregulari- 
ty and  involution. 

« Ding  dong, — Tintinabulary  chimes,  used 
metaphorically  to  signify  despatch  and 
vehemence  i.” 

The  serious  imitators  of  Johnson’s  style, 
whether  intentionally  or  by  the  imperceptible 
effect  of  its  strength  and  animation,  are,  as 
I have  had  already  occasion  to  observe,  so 
many,  that  I might  introduce  quotations  from 
a numerous  body  of  writers  in  our  language, 
since  he  appeared  in  the  literary  world.  I 
shall  point  out  the  following : 

WILLIAM  ROBERTSON,  D.  D. 

“ In  other  parts  of  the  globe,  man,  in  his 
rudest  state,  appears  as  lord  of  the  creation, 
giving  law  to  various  tribes  of  animals 
which  he  has  tamed  and  reduced  to  subjec- 
tion. The  Tartar  follows  his  prey  on  the 
horse  which  he  has  reared,  or  tends  his  nu- 
merous herds  which  furnish  him  both  with 
food  and  clothing;  the  Arab  has  rendered 
the  camel  docile,  and  avails  himself  of  its 
persevering  strength  ; the  Laplander  has 
formed  the  rein-deer  to  be  subservient  to  his 
will;  and  even  the  people  of  Kamschatka 
have  trained  their  dogs  to  labour.  This 
command  over  the  inferiour  creatures  is  one 
of  the  noblest  prerogatives  of  man,  and 
among  the  greatest  efforts  of  his  wisdom  and 
power.  Without  this,  his  dominion  is  in- 
complete. He  is  a monarch  who  has  no 
subjects ; a master  without  servants ; and 
must  perform  every  operation  by  the  strength 
of  his  own  arms.” 

EDWARD  GIBBON,  ESQ 

“ Of  all  our  passions  and  appetites,  the 
love  of  power  is  of  the  most  imperious  and 
unsociable  nature,  since  the  pride  of  one 
man  requires  the  submission  of  the  multi- 
tude. In  the  tumult  of  civil  discord  the  laws 
of  society  lose  their  force,  and  their  place  is 
seldom  supplied  by  those  of  humanity.  The 
ardour  of  contention,  the  pride  of  victory, 
the  despair  of  success,  the  memory  of  past 
injuries,  and  the  fear  of  future  dangers,  all 
contribute  to  inflame  the  mind,  and  to  silence 
the  voice  of  pity  3.” 


1 [On  the  original  publication  of  Mr.  Bos- 
well’s work  the  press  teemed  with  parodies,  or 
imitations  of  his  style  of  reporting  Dr.  Johnson’s 
conversation  ; but  they  are  now  all  deservedly 
forgotten,  except  one  by  Mr.  Alexander  Chal- 
mers, which  is  executed  with  so  much  liveliness 
and  pleasantry,  and  is,  in  fact,  so  just  a criticism 
on  the  lighter  portions  of  this  work,  that  the 
reader  will  be,  the  Editor  believes,  much  pleased 
to  find  it  preserved  in  the  (General)  appendix. 
— Ed.1 

2 “History  of  America,”  vol.  i.  quarto,  p. 
332. — Boswell. 

“ Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,” 
vol.  i.  chap.  iv. — Boswell. 


MISS  BURNEY. 

“ My  family,  mistaking  ambition  for 
honour,  and  rank  for  dignity,  have  long 
planned  a splendid  connexion  for  me,  to 
which,  though  my  invariable  repugnance 
has  stopped  any  advances,  their  wishes  and 
their  views  immovably  adhere.  I am  but 
too  certain  they  will  now  listen  to  no  other. 
I dread,  therefore,  to  make  a trial  where 
I despair  of  success ; I know  not  how  to 
risk  a prayer  with  those  who  may  silence  me 
by  a command  4.” 

REVEREND  MR.  NARES  5. 

“In  an  enlightened  and  improving  age, 
much  perhaps  is  not  to  be  apprehended  from 
the  inroads  of  mere  caprice : at  such  a 
period  it  will  generally  be  perceived  that 
needless  irregularity  is  the  worst  of  all  de- 
formities, and  that  nothing  is  so  truly  ele 
gant  in  language  as  the  simplicity  of  unvio 
lated  analogy.  Rules  will,  therefore,  be 
observed,  so  far  as  they  are  known  and 
acknowledged : but,  at  the  same  time,  the 
desire  of  improvement  having  been  once  ex- 
cited will  not  remain  inactive ; and  its  efforts, 
unless  assisted  by  knowledge  as  much  as 
they  are  prompted  by  zeal,  will  not  unfre- 
quently  be  found  pernicious  ; so  that  the  very 
persons  whose  intention  it  is  to  perfect  the 
instrument  of  reason  Will  deprave  and  disor- 
der it  unknowingly.  At  such  a time,  then,  it 
becomes  peculiarly  necessary  that  the  an- 
alogy of  language  should  be  fully  examined 
and  understood  ; that  its  rules  should  be  care- 
fully laid  down ; and  that  it  should  be  clearly 
known  how  much  it  contains  which  being 
already  right  should  be  defended  from  change 
and  violation ; how  much  it  has  that  demands 
amendment ; and  how  much  that,  for  fear  of 
greater  inconveniences,  must,  perhaps,  be 
left,  unaltered,  though  irregular.” 

A distinguished  authour  in  “ The  Mir- 
ror 6,”  a periodical  paper  published  at  Edin- 
burgh, has  imitated  Johnson  very  closely. 
Thus,  in  No.  16 : 

“ The  effects  of  the  return  of  spring  have 


4 “Cecilia,”  book  vii.  chap.  i. — Boswell. 

5 The  passage  which  I quote  is  taken  from 
that  gentleman’s  “Elements  of  Orthoepy;  con 
taining  a distinct  View  of  the  whole  Analogy 
of  the  English  Language,  so  far  as  relates  to 
Pronunciation,  Accent,  and  Quantity : ” London, 
1784.  I beg  leave  to  offer  my  particular  ac- 
knowledgments to  the  authour  of  a work  oi 
uncommon  merit  and  great  utility.  I know  nc 
book  which  contains,  in  the  same  compass, 
more  learning,  polite  literature,  sound  sense,  ac- 
curacy of  arrangement,  and  perspicuity  of  ex- 
pression.— Boswell. 

6 That  collection  w'as  presented  to  Dr.  John- 
son, I believe,  by  its  authours ; and  I heard  him 
speak  very  well  of  it. — Boswell. 


1784.- AT.  75. 


45/ 


Deen  frequently  remarked,  as  well  in  relation 
to  the  human  mind  as  to  the  animal  and  vege- 
table world.  The  reviving  power  of  this 
season  has  been  traced  from  the.  fields  to  the 
herds  that  inhabit  them,  and  from  the  lower 
classes  of  beings  up  to  man.  Gladness  and 
joy  are  described  as  prevailing  through  uni- 
versal nature,  animating  the  low  of  the  cat- 
tle, the  carol  of  the  birds,  and  the  pipe  of  the 
shepherd.” 

The  Reverend  Dr.  Knox,  master  of  Tun- 
bridge school,  appears  to  have  the  imitari 
aveo  of  Johnson’s  style  perpetually  in  his 
mind ; and  to  his  assiduous,  though  not  ser- 
vile, study  of  it,  we  may  partly  ascribe  the  ex- 
tensive popularity  of  his  writings  i. 

In  his  “ Essays,  Moral  and  Literary,”  No. 
3,  we  find  the  following  passage  : 

“ The  polish  of  external  grace  may  indeed 
be  deferred  till  the  approach  of  manhood. 
When  solidity  is  obtained  by  pursuing  the 
modes  prescribed  by  our  forefathers,  then  may 
the  file  be  used.  The  firm  substance  will 
bear  attrition,  and  the  lustre  then  acquired 
will  be  durable.” 

There  is,  however,  one  in  No.  11  which  is 
blown  up  into  such  tumidity  as  to  be  truly  lu- 
dicrous. The  writer  means  to  tell  us,  that 


i  It  were  to  be  wished  that  he  had  imitated 
that  great  man  in  every  respect,  and  had  not  fol- 
lowed the  example  of  Dr.  Adam  Smith,  in  un- 
graciously attacking  his  venerable  Alma  Mater , 
Oxford.  It  must,  however,  be  observed,  that  he 
is  much  less  to  blame  than  Smith : he  only  ob- 
jects to  certain  particulars  ; Smith  to  the  whole 
institution  ; though  indebted  for  much  of  his 
learning  to  an  exhibition  which  he  enjoyed  for 
many  years  at  Baliol  College.  Neither  of  them, 
however,  will  do  any  hurt  to  the  noblest  univer- 
sity in  the  world.  While  I animadvert  on  what 
appears  to  me  exceptionable  in  some  of  the 
works  of  Dr.  Knox,  I cannot  refuse  due  praise 
to  others  of  his  productions  ; particularly  his  ser- 
mons, and  to  the  spirit  with  which  he  maintains, 
against  presumptuous  hereticks,  the  consolato- 
ry doctrines  peculiar  to  the  Christian  Revelation. 
This  he  has  done  in  a manner  equally  strenu- 
ous and  conciliating.  Neither  ought  I to  omit 
mentioning  a remarkable  instance  of  his  can- 
dour. Notwithstanding  the  wide  difference  of 
our  opinions  upon  the  important  subject  of  uni- 
versity education,  in  a letter  to  me  concerning 
this  work,  he  thus  expresses  himself : “ I thank 
you  for  the  very  great  entertainment  your  Life 
of  Johnson  gives  me.  It  is  a most  valuable 


members  of  Parliament  who  have  run  in  debt 
by  extravagance  will  sell  their  votes  to  avoid 
an  arrest  2,  which  he  thus  expresses : 

“ They  who  build  houses  and  collect  costly 
pictures  and  furniture  with  the  money  of  an 
honest  artisan  or  mechanick  will  be  very  glad 
of  emancipation  from  the  hands  of  a bailiff  by 
a sale  of  their  senatorial  suffrage.” 

But  I think  the  most  perfect  imitation  of 
Johnson  is  a professed  one,  entitled  “ A Criti- 
cism on  Gray’s  Elegy  in  a Country  Church- 
yard 3,”  said  to  be  written  by  Mr.  Young, 
professor  of  Greek,  at  Glasgow,  and  of  which 
let  him  have  the  credit,  unless  a better  title 
can  be  shown.  It  has  not  only  the  particu- 
larities of  Johnson’s  style,  but  that  very  spe- 
cies of  literary  discussion  and  illustration  for 
which  he  was  eminent.  Having  already 
quoted  so  much  from  others,  I shall  refer  the 
curious  to  this  performance,  with  an  assurance 
of  much  entertainment. 

Yet  whatever  merit  there  may  be  m any 
imitations  of  Johnson’s  style,  every  good  judge 
must  see  that  they  are  obviously  different 
from  the  original  ; for  all  of  them  are  either 
deficient  in  its  force,  or  overloaded  with  its 
peculiarities  ; and  the  powerful  sentiment  to 
which  it  is  suited  is  not  to  be  found. 


work.  Yours  is  a new  species  of  biography 
Happy  for  Johnson  that  he  had  so  able  a re- 
corder of  his  wit  and  wisdom.” — Boswell. 

2 Dr.  Knox,  in  his  “ Moral  and  Literary  ” ab- 
straction, may  be  excused  for  not  knowing  the 
political  regulations  of  his  country.  No  senator 
can  be  in  the  hands  of  a bailiff. — Boswell. 

3 [It  seems  to  the  Editor  to  be  one  of  the  most 
insipid  and  unmeaning  volumes  ever  published. 
He  cannot  make  out  whether  it  was  meant  for 
jest  or  earnest ; but  it  fails  either  way,  for  it  has 
neither  pleasantry  nor  sense.  Johnson  saw  this 
work,  and  thus  writes  of  it:  “ Of  the  imitation 
of  my  style,  in  a criticism  on  Gray’s  Church- 
yard, l forgot  to  make  mention.  The  authour  is, 
I believe,  utterly  unknown,  for  Mr.  Steeveno 
cannot  hunt  him  out.  I know  little  of  it,  for 
though  it  was  sent  me,  I never  cut  the  leaves  open. 
I had  a letter  with  it,  representing  it  to  me  as  my 
own  work ; in  such  an  account  to  the  public  there 
may  be  humour,  but  to  myself  it  was  neither  se- 
rious nor  comical ; I suspect  the  writer  to  be 
wrong-headed.  As  to  the  noise  which  it  makes 
I never  heard  it,  and  am  inclined  to  believe  that 
few  attacks  either  of  ridicule  or  invective  make 
much  noise  but  by  the  help  of  those  that  they 
provoke.” — Letter  to  Thrale , 5 Jiuy,  1783. — £u.] 


END  OF  THE  LIFE 


VOL.  II. 


58 


. 


■my  « I 


„ 


. 


. 


APPENDIX 


No.  I. 

[Note  on  Cibber’s  Lives  of  the  Poets, — re- 
ferred to  in  page  60.] 

In  the  Monthly  Review  for  May,  1792,  there 
is  such  a correction  of  the  above  passage,  as  I 
should  think  myself  very  culpable  not  to  subjoin. 
“This  account  is  very  inaccurate.  The  follow- 
ing statement  of  facts  we  know  to  be  true,  in 
every  material  circumstance : Shiels  was  the  prin- 
cipal collector  and  digester  of  the  materials  for 
the  work  ; but  as  he  was  very  raw  in  authour- 
ship,  an  indifferent  writer  in  prose,  and  his  lan- 
guage full  of  Scotticisms,  [Theoph.]  Cibber,  who 
was  a clever,  lively  fellow,  and  then  soliciting 
employment  among  the  booksellers,  was  engaged 
to  correct  the  style  and  diction  of  the  whole 
work,  then  intended  to  make  only  four  volumes, 
with  power  to  alter,  expunge,  or  add,  as  he  liked. 
He  was  also  to  supply  notes  occasionally,  espe- 
cially concerning  those  dramatick  poets  with 
whom  he  had  been  chiefly  conversant.  He  also 
engaged  to  write  several  of  the  Lives  ; which 
(as  we  are  told)  he  accordingly  performed.  He 
was  farther  useful  in  striking  out  the  jacobitical 
and  tory  sentiments,  which  Shiels  had  industrious- 
ly interspersed  wherever  he  could  bring  them  in ; 
and  as  the  success  of  the  work  appeared,  after 
all,  very  doubtful,  he  was  content  with  twenty- 
one  pounds  for  his  labour,  besides  a few  sets  of 
the  books  to  disperse  among  his  friends.  Shiels 
had  nearly  seventy  pounds,  beside  the  advantage 
of  many  of  the  best  Lives  in  the  work  being 
communicated  by  friends  to  the  undertaking  ; and 
for  which  Mr.  Shiels  had  the  same  consideration 
as  for  the  rest,  being  paid  by  the  sheet  for  the 
whole.  He  was,  however,  so  angry  with  his 
whiggish  supervisor  (The.  like  his  father,  being 
a vioient  stickler  for  the  political  principles  which 
prevailed  in  the  reign  of  George  the  Second)  for 
so  unmercifully  mutilating  his  copy,  and  scouting 
his  politicks,  that  he  wrote  Cibber  a challenge ; 
but  was  prevented  from  sending  it  by  the  pub- 
lisher, who  fairly  laughed  him  out  of  his  fury. 
The  proprietors,  too,  were  discontented  in  the 
end,  on  account  of  Mr.  Cibber’s  unexpected  in- 
dustry ; for  his  corrections  and  alterations  in  the 
proof-sheets  were  so  numerous  and  considerable, 
that  the  printer  made  for  them  a grievous  addi- 
tion to  his  bill ; and,  in  fine,  all  parties  were  dis- 
satisfied. On  the  whole,  the  work  was  produc- 
tive of  no  profit  to  the  undertakers,  who  had 
agreed,  in  case  of  success,  to  make  Cibber  a 
present  of  some  addition  to  the  twenty  guineas 
which  he  had  received,  and  for  which  his  re- 
ceipt is  now  in  the  booksellers’  hands.  We  are 
farther  assured,  that  he  actually  obtained  an  addi-  | 


tional  sum  ; when  he,  soon  after  (in  the  yea/ 
1758),  unfortunately  embarked  for  Dublin,  on  an 
engagement  for  one  of  the  theatres  there ; but  the 
ship  was  cast  away,  and  every  person  on  board 
perished.  There  were  about  sixty  passengers 
among  whom  was  the  Earl  of  Drogheda,*  with 
many  other  persons  of  consequence  and  property. 

“ As  ^ the  alleged  design  of  making  the  com- 
pilement  pass  for  the  work  of  old  Mr.  Cibber, 
the  charges  seem  to  have  been  founded  on  a 
somewhat  uncharitable  construction.  We  are 
assured  that  the  thought  was  not  harboured  by 
some  of  the  proprietors,  who  are  still  living  ; and 
we  hope  that  it  did  not  occur  to  the  first  designer 
of  the  work,  who  was  also  the  printer  of  it,  and 
who  bore  a respectable  character. 

“We  have  been  induced  to  enter  circumstan 
tially  into  the  foregoing  detail  of  facts  relating  to 
the  Lives  of  the  Poets,  compiled  by  Messrs.  Cib- 
ber and  Shiels,  from  a sincere  regard  to  that  sa 
cred  principle  of  truth,  to  which  Dr.  Johnson  so 
rigidly  adhered,  according  to  the  best  of  his 
knowledge  ; and  which,  we  believe,  no  considei - 
ation  would  have  prevailed  on  him  to  violate. 
In  regard  to  the  matter,  which  we  now  dismiss, 
he  had,  no  doubt,  been  misled  by  partial  and 
wrong  information : Shiels  was  the  Doctor’s  aman- 
uensis ; he  had  quarrelled  with  Cibber  ; it  is  nat- 
ural to  suppose  that  he  told  his  story  in  his  own 
way  ; and  it  is  certain  that  he  was  not  1 a very 
sturdy  moralist.’  J 

“ This  explanation  appears  to  me  satisfactory. 
It  is,  however,  to  be  observed,  that  the  story  told 
by  Johnson  does  not  rest  solely  upon  my  record 
of  his  conversation  ; for  he  himself  has  published 
it  in  his  Life  of  Hammond,  where  he  says,  “ the 
manuscript  of  Shiels  is  now  in  my  possession.” 
Very  probably  he  had  trusted  to  Shiels’s  word, 
and  never  looked  at  it  so  as  to  compare  it  with 
‘ The  Lives  of  the  Poets,’  as  published  under 
Mr.  Cibber’s  name.  What  became  of  that  man- 
uscript I know  not.  I should  have  liked  much  to 
examine  it.  I suppose  it  was  thrown  into  the 
fire  in  that  impetuous  combustion  of  papers,  which 
Johnson  I think  rashly  executed  when  mvribun - 
diis.” — Boswell. 


No.  II. 

[ARGtTMENT  in  favour  of  Mr.  James  Thomp- 
son, minister  of  Dumfermline,— referred  to  in 


“ Of  the  censure  pronounced  from  the  pulpit 
our  determination  must  be  formed,  as  in  other 
cases,  by  a consideration  of  the  act  itself,  u»d 


460 


APPENDIX. 


the  particular  circumstances  with  which  it  is  in- 
vested. 

The  right  of  censure  and  rebuke  seems  ne- 
cessarily appendant  to  the  pastoral  office.  He,  to 
whom  the  care  of  a congregation  is  intrusted,  is 
considered  as  the  shepherd  of  a flock,  as  the 
teacher  of  a school,  as  the  father  of  a family.  As 
a shepherd  tending  not  his  own  sheep  but  those 
of  his  Master,  he  is  answerable  for  those  that 
st.^y,  and  that  lose  themselves  by  straying.  But 
no  man  can  be  answerable  for  losses  which  he 
has  not  power  to  prevent,  or  for  vagrancy  which 
he  has  not  authority  to  restrain. 

“ As  a teacher  giving  instruction  for  wages,  and 
liable  to  reproach,  if  those  whom  he  undertakes 
to  inform  make  no  proficiency,  he  must  have  the 
power  of  enforcing  attendance,  of  awakening 
negligence,  and  repressing  contradiction. 

“ As  a father,  he  possesses  the  paternal  author- 
ity of  admonition,  rebuke,  and  punishment.  He 
cannot,  without  reducing  his  office  to  an  empty 
name,  be  hindered  from  the  exercise  of  any  prac- 
tice necessary  to  stimulate  the  idle,  to  reform  the 
vicious,  to  check  the  petulant,  and  correct  the 
stubborn. 

“If  we  inquire  into  the  practice  of  the  primi- 
tive church,  we  shall,  I believe,  find  the  ministers 
of  the  word  exercising  the  whole  authority  of  this 
complicated  character.  We  shall  find  them  not 
only  encouraging  the  good  by  exhortation,  but 
terrifying  the  wicked  by  reproof  and  denuncia- 
tion. In  the  earliest  ages  of  the  church,  while 
religion  was  yet  pure  from  secular  advantages, 
the  punishment  of  sinners  was  publick  censure 
and  open  penance ; penalties  inflicted  merely  by 
ecclesiastical  authority,  at  a time  while  the  church 
nad  yet  no  help  from  the  civil  power,  while  the 
hand  of  the  magistrate  lifted  only  the  rod  of  per- 
secution, and  when  governours  were  ready  to 
afford  a refuge  to  all  those  who  fled  from  clerical 
authority. 

“ That  the  church,  therefore,  had  once  a power 
of  publick  censure  is  evident,  because  that  power 
was  frequently  exercised.  That  it  borrowed  not 
its  power  from  the  civil  authority  is  likewise 
certain,  because  civil  authority  was  at  that  time 
its  enemy. 

“ The  hour  came  at  length,  when,  after  three 
hundred  years  of  struggle  and  distress,  Truth  took 
possession  of  imperial  power,  and  the  civil  laws 
lent  their  aid  to  the  ecclesiastical  constitutions. 
The  magistrate  from  that  time  co-operated  with 
the  priest,  and  clerical  sentences  were  made  effi- 
cacious by  secular  force.  But  the  state,  when  it 
came  to  the  assistance  of  the  church,  had  no  in- 
tention to  diminish  its  authority.  Those  rebukes 
and  those  censures  which  were  lawful  before, 
were  lawful  still.  But  they  had  hitherto  operated 
omy  upon  voluntary  submission.  The  refractory 
and  contemptuous  were  at  first  in  no  danger  of 
temporal  severities,  except  what  they  might  suffer 
from  the  reproaches  of  conscience,  or  the  detesta- 
tion of  their  fellow  Christians.  When  religion 
obtained  the  support  of  law,  if  admonitions  and 
censures  had  no  effect,  they  were  seconded  by 
the  magistrates  with  coercion  and  punishment 

“ It  therefore  appears  from  ecclesiastical  histo- 
ry, that  the  right  of  inflicting  shame  by  public 


censure  has  been  always  considered  as  inherent 
in  the  church  ; and  that  this  right  was  not  confer- 
red by  the  civil  power ; for  it  was  exercised  when 
the  civil  power  operated  against  it.  By  the  civil 
power  it  was  never  taken  away  ; for  the  Christian 
magistrate  interposed  his  office,  not  to  rescue 
sinners  from  censure,  but  to  supply  more  power- 
ful means  of  reformation ; to  add  pain  where  shame 
was  insufficient ; and  when  men  were  proclaimed 
unworthy  of  the  society  of  the  faithful,  to  restrain 
them  by  imprisonment  from  spreading  abroad  the 
contagion  of  wickedness. 

“ It  is  not  improbable  that  from  this  acknowl- 
edged power  of  publick  censure  grew'  in  time  the 
practice  of  auricular  confession.  Those  who 
dreaded  the  blast  of  publick  reprehension  were 
willing  to  submit  themselves  to  the  priest  by  a 
private  accusation  of  themselves,  and  to  obtain  a 
reconciliation  with  the  church  by  a kind  of  clan- 
destine absolution  and  invisible  penance ; condi- 
tions with  which  the  priest  would,  in  times  of  ig- 
norance and  corruption,  easily  comply,  as  they 
increased  his  influence,  by  adding  the  knowledge 
of  secret  sins  to  that  of  notorious  offences,  and 
enlarged  his  authority,  by  making  him  the  sole 
arbiter  of  the  terms  of  reconcilement. 

“ From  this  bondage  the  Reformation  set  us 
free.  The  minister  has  no  longer  power  to  press 
into  the  retirements  of  conscience,  to  torture  us 
by  interrogatories,  or  put  himself  in  possession  of 
our  secrets  and  our  lives.  But  though  we  have 
thus  controlled  his  usurpations,  his  just  and  origi- 
nal power  remains  unimpaired.  He  may  still  see, 
though  he  may  not  pry  ; he  may  yet  hear,  though 
he  may  not  question.  And  that  knowledge  which 
his  eyes  and  ears  force  upon  him  it  is  still  his  duty 
to  use,  for  the  benefit  of  his  flock.  A father  who 
lives  near  a wicked  neighbour  may  forbid  a son 
to  frequent  his  company.  A minister  who  has  in 
his  congregation  a man  of  open  and  scandalous 
wickedness  may  warn  his  parishioners  to  shun  his 
conversation.  To  warn  them  is  not  only  lawful, 
but  not  to  w’arn  them  would  be  criminal.  He 
may  warri  them  one  by  one  in  friendly  converse, 
or  by  a parochial  visitation.  But  if  he  may  w arn 
each  man  singly,  w'hat  shall  forbid  him  to  warn 
them  all  together  ? Of  that  which  is  to  be  made 
known  to  all,  how  is  there  any  difference  wheth- 
er it  be  communicated  to  each  singly,  or  to  all 
together  ? What  is  known  to  all  must  necessari- 
ly be  publick.  Whether  it  shall  be  publick  at 
once,  or  publick  by  degrees,  is  the  only  question. 
And  of  a sudden  and  solemn  publication  the 
impression  is  deeper,  and  the  warning  more  effec- 
tual. 

“ It  may  easily  be  urged,  if  a minister  be  thus 
left  at  liberty  to  delate  sinners  from  the  pulpit,  and 
to  publish  at  will  the  crimes  of  a parishioner,  he 
may  often  blast  the  innocent,  and  distress  the 
timorous.  He  may  be  suspicious,  and  condemn 
without  evidence ; he  may  be  rash,  and  judge 
without  examination  ; he  may  be  severe,  and 
treat  slight  offences  with  too  much  harshness  ; ne 
may  be  malignant  and  partial,  and  gratify  his  pri- 
vate interest  or  resentment  under  the  shelter  of 
his  pastoral  character. 

“ Of  all  this  there  is  a possibility,  and  of  all  this 
there  is  danger.  But  if  possibility  of  evil  be  to 


APPENDIX. 


exclude  good,  no  good  ever  can  be  done.  If 
nothing  is  to  be  attempted  in  which  there  is 
danger,  we  must  all  sink  into  hopeless  inactivity. 
The  evils  that  may  be  feared  from  this  practice 
arise  not  from  any  defect  in  the  institution,  but 
from  the  infirmities  of  human  nature.  Power, 
in  whatever  hands  it  is  piaced,  will  be  sometimes 
improperly  exerted ; yet  courts  of  law  must  judge, 
though  they  will  sometimes  judge  amiss.  A 
father  must  instruct  his  children,  though  he  him- 
self may  often ' vant  instruction.  A minister  must 
censure  sinn-jrSj  though  his  censure  may  be 
sometimes  erroneous  by  want  of  judgment,  and 
sometimes  unjust  by  want  of  honesty. 

“If  we  examine  the  circumstances  of  the  present 
case,  we  shall  find  the  sentence  neither  erroneous 
nor  unjust ; we  shall  find  no  breach  of  private 
confidence,  no  intrusion  into  secret  transactions. 
The  fact  was  notorious  and  indubitable ; so  easy 
to  be  proved,  that  no  proof  was  desired.  The  act 
was  base  and  treacherous,  the  perpetration  inso- 
lent and  open,  and  the  example  naturally  mis- 
chievous. The  minister,  however,  being  retired 
and  recluse,  had  not  yet  heard  what  was  publickly 
known  throughout  the  parish  ; and  on  occasion  of 
a publick  election,  warned  his  people,  according 
to  his  duty,  against  the  crimes  which  publick 
elections  frequently  produce.  His  warning  was 
felt  by  one  of  his  parishioners  as  pointed  particu- 
larly at  himself.  But  instead  of  producing,  as 
might  be  wished,  private  compunction  and  imme- 
diate reformation,  it  kindled  only  rage  and  resent- 
ment. He  charged  his  minister,  in  a publick  pa- 
per, with  scandal,  defamation,  and  falsehood. 
The  minister,  thus  reproached,  had  his  own  char- 
acter to  vindicate,  upon  which  his  pastoral  au- 
thority must  necessarily  depend.  To  be  charged 
with  a defamatory  lie  is  an  injury  which  no  man 
patiently  endures  in  common  life.  To  be  charged 
with  polluting  the  pastoral  office  with  scandal  and 
falsehood  was  a violation  of  character  still  more 
atrocious,  as  it  affected  not  only  his  personal  but 
his  clerical  veracity.  His  indignation  naturally 
rose  in  proportion  to  his  honesty,  and,  with  all  the 
fortitude  of  injured  honesty,  he  dared  this  calum- 
niator in  the  church,  and  at  once  exonerated  him- 
self from  censure,  and  rescued  his  flock  from  de- 
ception and  from  danger.  The  man  whom  he 
accuses  pretends  not  to  be  innocent ; or  at  least 
only  pretends  ; for  he  declines  a trial.  The  crime 
of  which  he  is  accused  has  frequent  opportunities 
and  strong  temptations.  It  has  already  spread  far, 
with  much  depravation  of  private  morals,  and 
much  injury  to  publick  happiness.  To  warn  the 
people,  therefore,  against  it  was  not  wanton  and 
officious,  but  necessary  and  pastoral. 

“ What  then  is  the  fault  with  which  this  worthy 
minister  is  charged  ? He  has  usurped  no  domin- 
ion over  conscience.  He  has  exerted  no  authority 
in  support  of  doubtful  and  controverted  opinions. 
He  has  not  dragged  into  light  a bashful  and  cor- 
rigible sinner.  His  censure  was  directed  against 
a breach  of  morality,  against  an  act  which  no  man 
justifies.  The  man  who  appropriated  this  censure 
to  himself  is  evidently  and  notoriously  guilty.  His 
consciousness  of  his  own  wickedness  incited  him 
to  attack  his  faithful  reprover  with  open  insolence 
and  printed  accusations.  Such  an  attack  made 
defence  necessary ; and  we  hope  it  will  be  at  last 


461 

decided  that  the  means  of  defence  were  just  and 
lawful.” 


No.  III. 

[Argument  in  favour  of  a negro  claiming 
his  liberty,  referred  to  in  p.  132.] 

“ It  must  be  agreed  that  in  most  ages  many 
countries  have  had  part  of  their  inhabitants  in  a 
state  of  slavery  ; yet  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
slavery  can  ever  be  supposed  the  natural  condition 
of  man.  It  is  impossible  not  to  conceive  that 
men  in  their  original  state  were  equal ; and  very 
difficult  to  imagine  how  one  would  be  subjected 
to  another  but  by  violent  compulsion.  An  indi- 
vidual may,  indeed,  forfeit  his  liberty  by  a crime  ; 
but  he  cannot  by  that  crime  forfeit  the  liberty  ol 
his  children.  What  is  true  of  a criminal  seems 
true  likewise  of  a captive.  A man  may  accept 
life  from  a conquering  enemy  on  condition  of  per- 
petual servitude ; but  it  is  very  doubtful  whether 
he  can  entail  that  servitude  on  his  descendants  ; 
for  no  man  can  stipulate  without  commission  for 
another.  The  condition  which  he  himself  accepts, 
his  son  or  grandson  w'ould  have  rejected.  If  we 
should  admit,  what  perhaps  may  with  more  reason 
be  denied,  that  there  are  certain  relations  between 
man  and  man  which  may  make  slavery  necessary 
and  just,  yet  it  can  never  be  proved  that  he  who 
is  now  suing  for  his  freedom  ever  stood  in  any 
of  those  relations.  He  is  certainly  subject  by  no 
law,  but  that  of  violence,  to  his  present  master  ; 
who  pretends  no  claim  to  his  obedience,  but  that 
he  bought  him  from  a merchant  of  slaves,  whose 
right  to  sell  him  never  was  examined.  It  is  said, 
that  according  to  the  constitutions  of  Jamaica 
he  was  legally  enslaved  ; these  constitutions  are 
merely  positive,  and  apparently  injurious  to  the 
rights  of  mankind,  because  whoever  is  exposed 
to  sale  is  condemned  to  slavery  without  appeal, 
by  whatever  fraud  or  violence  he  might  have 
been  originally  brought  into  the  merchant’s 
power.  In  our  own  time  princes  have  been 
sold,  by  wretches  to  whose  care  they  were  in- 
trusted, that  they  might  have  an  European 
education  ; but  when  once  they  were  brought 
to  a market  in  the  plantations,  little  would  avail 
either  their  dignity  or  their  wrongs.  The  laws 
of  Jamaica  afford  a negro  no  redress.  His 
coloui  is  considered  as  a sufficient  testimony 
against  him.  It  is  to  be  lamented  that  moral 
right  should  ever  give  way  to  political  convenience. 
But  if  temptations  of  interest  are  sometimes  too 
strong  for  human  virtue,  let  us  at  least  retain  a 
virtue  where  there  is  no  temptation  to  quit  it.  In 
the  present  case  there  is  apparent  right  on  one 
side,  and  no  convenience  on  the  other.  Inhabit- 
ants of  this  island  can  neither  gain  riches  nor 
power  by  taking  away  the  liberty  of  any  part  of 
the  human  species.  The  sum  of  the  argument 
is  this : — No  man  is  by  nature  the  property  of 
another.  The  defendant  is,  therefore,  by  naturo 
free.  The  rights  of  nature  must  be  some  way 
forfeited  before  they  can  be  justly  taken  away. 
That  the  defendant  has,  by  any  act,  forfeited  the 
rights  of  nature,  v e require  to  be  proved  j and  if 


403 


APPENDIX. 


no  proof  of  such  forfeiture  can  be  given,  we  doub  t 
not  but  the  justice  of  the  court  will  declare  him 
t-ree.” 


No.  IV. 

ANECDOTES  OF  DR.  JOHNSON. 

FROM  MR.  CRA-DOCK’S  MEMOIRS. 

From  the  Gentleman's  Magazine , vol.  xcviii.  p.  21,  & c.) 

[ Referred  to  inp.  163.] 

The  Editor  was  induced , by  the  author- 
ity of  Mr.  Nichols , to  admit  a few  extracts 
from  Mr.  Cradock' s Memoirs  into  the  text, 
ante,  vol.  i.  p.  545,  and  vol.  ii.  p.  333,  but 
on  reconsideration  he  has  thought  it  better 
to  reserve  the  bulk  of  that  gentleman's 
anecdotes  for  the  Appendix ; and,  indeed, 
it  may  be  doubted  whether  they  will  be 
thought  deserving  of  a place  even  here, 
for  they  are  certainly  very  loose  and 
inaccurate ; but  as  they  have  been  re- 
published in  the  Gentleman’s  Magazine 
(for  January,  1828)  with  some  cor- 
rections and  additions  from  the  authour’s 
MS.,  the  Editor  thinks  it  right  to  notice 
them,  and  as  they  profess  to  be  there  en- 
larged from  the  MS.,  he  copies  this  latter 
version,  which  differs  in  some  points  from 
the  Memoirs. 


“ The  first  opportunity  that  I had  of  being  in- 
troduced to  the  great  luminary  was  by  Dr.  Percy, 
in  Bolt-court  i.  He  was  on  the  floor,  in  a smoky 
chamber,  rather  an  uncouth  figure,  surrounded 
with  books.  He  meant  to  be  civil  in  his  way, 
ahowed  us  a Runic  bible,  and  made  many  remarks 
upon  it ; but  I felt  awed  and  uncomfortable  in  his 
presence.  Dr.  Percy  mentioned  to  him  that  some 
friend  of  his  had  been  disappointed  in  a journey 
he  had  taken  on  business,  to  see  some  person  near 
town  ; Johnson  hastily  replied,  ‘ Sir,  mankind 
miscalculate  in  almost  all  the  concerns  of  life  ; by 
your. account  he  set  out  too  late,  got  wet  through, 
lost  the  opportunity  of  transacting  his  business  ; 
but  then,  I suppose,  he  got  the  horse  the  cheaper.’ 

“ Mr.  Nichols,  in  his  entertaining  ‘ Literary 
Anecdotes,’  has  justly  remarked,  that  Johnson 
was  not  always  that  surly  companion  he  was  sup- 
posed to  be,  and  gives  as  an  instance  rather  an 
impertinent  joke  of  mine  about  Alexander  and  his 
two  queens,  and  Johnson’s  good-humoured  reply, 
‘ that  in  his  family  it  had  never  been  ascertained 
which  was  Roxana  and  which  was  Statira  2 ; ’ but 
1 then  had  got  experience,  and  pretty  well  knew 
when  I might  safely  venture  into  the  lion’s  mouth. 

“ The  first  time  1 dined  in  company  with  him 
was  at  T.  Davies’s,  Russell-street,  Covent-gar- 
den, as  mentioned  by  Mr.  Boswell,  in  the  [first] 
volume  of  the  ‘ Life  of  Johnson.’  On  mentioning 
my  engagement  previously  to  a friend,  he  said, 


1 [Here  is  a double  or  triple  mistake.  Mr.  Cradock 
says  in  another  part  of  his  Memoirs  that  he  was  made 
known  to  Dr.  Johnson  by  Lord  Stowell,  when  he  was  a 
tutor  in  University  College,  Oxford.  Now,  Johnson  did 
not  remove  to  Bolt-court  till  1777,  and  it  is  certain  that 
Mr  Cradock  dined  with  him  at  Davies’s  on  the  12th 
April,  1776.— Ed.  | 

2 (Mrs.  Williams  and  Mrs.  Desmoulins.— Ed.] 


‘ Do  you  wish  to  be  well  with  Johnson  ? ’ ‘To 
be  sure,  sir,’  I replied,  ‘ or  I should  not  have 
taken  any  pains  to  have  been  introduced  into  his 
company.’  ‘ Why  then,  sir,’  says  he,  ‘ let  me  offer 
you  some  advice : you  must  not  leave  him  soon 
after  dinner  to  go  to  the  play ; during  dinner  he  will 
be  rather  silent  (it  is  a very  serious  business  with 
him);  between  six  and  seven  he  will  look  about 
him,  and  see  who  remains,  and,  if  he  then  at  all 
likes  the  party,  he  will  be  very  civil  and  commu- 
nicative.’ He  exactly  fulfilled  what  my  friend 
had  prophesied.  Mrs.  Davis  did  the  honours  ot 
the  table : she  was  a favourite  with  Johnson,  who 
sat  betwixt  her  and  Dr.  Harwood,  the  writer  of 
the  ‘ Harmony  of  the  Gospels  3 ; ’ I sat  next, 
below,  to  Mr.  Boswell  opposite.  Nobody  could 
bring  Johnson  forward  more  civilly  or  properly 
than  Davies.  The  subject  of  conversation  turned 
upon  the  tragedy  of  ‘ CEdipus  4.’  This  was  par- 
ticularly interesting  to  me,  as  I was  then  employed 
in  endeavouring  to  make  such  alterations  in 
Dryden’s  play  as  to  make  it  suitable  to  a revival  at 
Drury-lane  theatre.  Johnson  did  not  seem  to  think 
favourably  of  it ; but  I ventured  to  plead  that 
Sophocles  wrote  it  expressly  for  the  theatre,  at 
the  public  cost,  and  that  it  was  one  of  the  most 
celebrated  dramas  of  all  antiquity.  Johnson  said, 
‘ CEdipus  was  a poor  miserable  man,  subjected  to 
the  greatest  distress,  without  any  degree  of  culpa- 
bility of  his  own.’  I urged  that  Aristotle,  as  well 
as  most  of  the  Greek  poets,  were  partial  to  this 
character  ; that  Addison  considered  that  as  terror 
and  pity  were  particularly  excited,  he  was  the 

properest here  Johnson  suddenly  becoming 

loud  1 paused,  and  rather  apologized  that  it  might 
not  become  me,  perhaps,  too  strongly  to  contra- 
dict Dr.  Johnson.  ‘ Nay,  sir,’  replied  he,  hastily, 
‘ if  1 had  not  wished  to  have  heard  your  argu- 
ments, I should  not  have  disputed  with  you  at  all.’ 
All  went  on  quite  pleasantly  afterwards.  We  sal 
late  s,  and  something  being  mentioned  about  my 
going  to  Bath,  when  taking  leave,  Johnson  very 
graciously  said,  ‘ I should  have  a pleasure  in 
meeting  you  there.’  Either  Boswell  or  Davies  im- 
mediately whispered  to  me,  * Fou  ’re  landed .’ 

“ The  next  time  I had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
him  was  at  the  Literary  Club  6 dinner  at  the 
coffee-house  in  St.  James’s-street,  to  which  I was 
introduced  by  my  partial  friend,  Dr.  Percy.  John- 
son that  day  was  not  in  very  good  humour.  We 
rather  waited  for  dinner.  Garrick  came  late,  and 
apologized  that  he  had  been  to  the  house  of  lords, 

3 [The  Editor  never  before  heard,  and  does  not  believe 
that  Dr.  Harwood  wrote  a “ Harmony  of  the  Gospels.”— 
Ed.] 

4 [Boswell  says  it  turned  on  Aristotle’s  opinion  of  the 
Greek  tragedy  in  general ; which  may,  however,  have  led 
to  the  subject  of  CEdipus,  though  he  does  not  notice  it— 
Ed.] 

5 [This  seems  to  be  also  an  error,  for  Boswell  says 
they  adjourned  to  the  Crown  and  Anchor,  to  sup  with 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  and  Mr.  Langton. — Ed.] 

6 [Here  seems  to  be  another  double  mistake.  No 
stranger  is  ever  invited  to  the  Club.  It  met  at  the  Turk’s 
Head,  Gerrard-street,  up  to  1783,  and  did  not  remove  to 
St.  James’s-street  till  1792,  eight  years  after  Johnson’s 
death.  Goldsmith  died  in  In 4,  twenty  years  before  the 
club  migrated  in  St.  James’s-street.  It  is  probable  that 
Mr.  Cradock  mistook  an  occasional  meeting  at  the  St. 
James’s  coffee-house  (such  a one  did  really  produce 
“ Retaliation  ” for  a meeting  of  the  Club.  Mr.  Colman, 
in  his  Random  Records,  makes  the  same  mistake,  and 
wonders  at  finding  noticed  in  “ Retaliation  ” persons  who 
did  not  belong  to  the  club. — Ed.] 


APPENDIX. 


463 


and  Lord  Camden  insisted  on  conveying  him  in 
his  carriage  ; Johnson  said  nothing,  but  he  looked 
a vqfume.  The  party  was  numerous.  I sat  next 
Mr.  Burke  at  dinner.  There  was  a beef-steak  pie 
placed  just  before  us  ; and  I remarked  to  Mr. 
Burke  that  something  smelt  very  disagreeable, 
and  looked  to  see  if  there  was  not  a dog  under  the 
table.  Burke,  with  great  good  humour,  said,  ‘ I 
believe,  sir,  I can  tell  you  what  is  the  cause ; it 
is  some  of  my  country  butter  in  the  crust  that 
smells  so  disagreeably.’  Dr.  Johnson  just  at  that 
time,  sitting  opposite,  desired  one  of  us  to  send 
him  some  of  the  beef-steak  pie.  We  sent  but 
little,  which  he  soon  despatched,  and  then  returned 
his  plate  for  more.  Johnson  particularly  disliked 
that  any  notice  should  be  taken  of  what  he  ate, 
but  Burke  ventured  to  say  he  was  glad  to  find 
that  Dr.  Johnson  was  any  ways  able  to  relish  the 
beef-steak  pie.  Johnson,  not  perceiving  what  he 
alluded  to,  hastily  exclaimed,  ‘ Sir,  there  is  a time 
of  life  when  a man  requires,  the  repairs  of  the 
table ! ’ The  company  rather  talked  for  victory 
than  social  intercourse.  I think  it  was  in  conse- 
quence of  what  passed  that  evening  that  Dr. 
Goldsmith  wrote  his  ‘ Retaliation .’  Mr.  Richard 
Burke  1 was  present,  talked  most,  and  seemed  to 
be  the  most  free  and  easy  of  any  of  the  company. 
I had  never  met  him  before.  Burke  seemed 
desirous  of  bringing  his  relative  forward.  In  Mr. 
Chalmers’s  account  of  Goldsmith,  different  sorts 
of  liquor  are  offered  as  appropriate  to  each  guest. 
To  the  two  Burkes  ale  from  Wicklow,  and  wine 
from  Ferney  to  me : my  name  is  in  italics,  as 
supposing  I am  a wine-bibber ; but  the  authour’s 
allusion  to  the  wines  of  Ferney  was  meant  for 
me,  I rather  think,  from  having  taken  a plan  of  a 
tragedy  from  Voltaire. 

“ I owed  my  obligations  to  Dr.  Percy.  He  had 
a pleasure  in  taking  me  with  him  to  call  upon 
Johnson,  and  in  giving  me  invitations  to  the 
chaplains’  table  whenever  he  was  in  waiting  at 
St.  James’s  ; and  I now  regret,  for  the  sake  of 
others,  the  change  that  has  since  been  made  in 
altering  or  giving  up  that  very  pleasant  associa- 
tion. Percy,  on  account  of  the  original  publica- 
tion of  his  ‘ Ancient  Ballads,’  and  his  consequent 
introduction  into  Northumberland-House,  was 
much  indebted  both  to  Johnson  and  Farmer.  He 
was  not  always  the  great  Dr.  Percy  I was  still 
much  acquainted  with ; he  was  then  in  good 
fellowship  with  both.  Mrs.  Percy,  afterwards 
nurse  to  the  Duke  of  Kent,  at  Buckingham-House, 
told  me  that  Johnson  once  stayed  near  a month 
with  them  at  their  dull  parsonage  at  Easton  Mau- 
duit ; that  Dr.  Percy  looked  out  all  sorts  of  books 
to  be  ready  for  his  amusement  after  breakfast, 
and  that  Johnson  wa3  so  attentive  and  polite  to 
her,  that,  when  Dr.  Percy  mentioned  the  litera- 
ture proposed  in  the  study,  he  said,  ‘ No,  sir,  I 
shall  first  wait  upon  Mrs.  Percy  to  feed  the  ducks.’ 
But  those  halcyon  days  were  about  to  change, — 
not  as  to  Mrs.  Percy,  for  to  the  last  she  remained 
a favourite  with  him.  Percy  was  much  advanced 
in  dignity,  and  Johnson  had  given  him  a lasting 
offence  by  parodying  the  stanzas  of  the  Hermit 
of  Wark worth.  [Jlnte,  p.  164.] 


l  [Mr.  Richard  Burke,  collector,  of  Granada,  the 
farther,  not  the  sjn,  of  Mr  Burke.— Ed.] 


“ Admiral  Walsingham,  who  sometimes  resid- 
ed at  Windsor,  and  sometimes  in  Portugal-street, 
frequently  boasted  that  he  was  the  only  man  to 
bring  together  miscellaneous  parties,  and  make 
them  all  agreeable;  and,  indeed,  there  never  be- 
fore was  so  strange  an  assortment  as  I have  occa- 
sionally met  there.  At  one  of  his  dinners,  were 
the  Duke  of  Cumberland  2,  Dr.  Johnson,  Mr. 
Nairn,  the  optician,  and  Mr.  Leoni,  the  singer: 
at  another,  Dr.  Johnson,  &c.  and  a young  dashing 
officer,  who  determined,  he  whispered,  to  attack 
the  old  bear  that  we  seemed  all  to  stand  in  awe 
of:  there  was  a good  dinner,  and  during  that 
important  time  Johnson  was  deaf  to  all  imperti- 
nence. However,  after  the  wine  had  passed 
rather  freely,  the  young  gentleman  was  resolved 
to  bait  him,  and  venture  out  a little  further : ‘ Now, 
Dr.  Johnson,  do  not  look  so  glum,  but  be  a little 
gay  and  lively,  like  others.  What  would  you 
give,  old  gentleman,  to  be  as  young  and  sprightly 
as  I am  ? ’ ‘ Why,  sir,’  said  he,  ‘ i think  I would 

almost  be  content  to  be  as  foolish.’ 

“ Johnson  (it  is  well  known)  professed  to  re- 
cruit his  acquaintance  with  younger  persons,  and, 
in  his  latter  days,  I,  with  a few  others,  was  more 
frequently  honoured  by  his  notice.  At  times  he 
was  very  gloomy,  and  would  exclaim,  ‘ Stay  with 
me,  for  it  is  a comfort  to  me  ’ — a comfort  that  any 
feeling  mind  would  wish  to  administer  to  a man 
so  kind,  though  at  times  so  boisterous,  when  he 
seized  your  hand,  and  repeated,  ‘ Ay,  sir,  but  to 
die  and  go  we  know  not  where,’  &c. — here  his 
morbid  melancholy  prevailed,  and  Garrick  never 
spoke  so  impressively  to  the  heart.  Yet,  to  see 
him  in  the  evening  (though  he  took  nothing 
stronger  than  lemonade),  a stranger  would  have 
concluded  that  our  morning  account  was  a fabri- 
cation. No  hour  was  too  late  to  keep  him  from 
the  tyranny  of  his  own  gloomy  thoughts. 

“A  gentleman  venturing  to  say  to  Johnson, 
‘Sir,  I wonder  sometimes  that  you  condescend  so 
far  as  to  attend  a city  club.’  ‘ Sir,  the  great  chair 
of  a full  and  pleasant  club  is,  perhaps,  the  throne 
of  human  felicity.’ 

“1  had  not  the  honour  to  be  at  all  intimate  with 
Johnson  till  about  the  time  he  began  to  publish 
his  ‘Lives  of  the  Poets,’  and  how  he  got  through 
that  arduous  labour  is,  in  some  measure,  still  a 
mystery  to  me  : he  must  have  been  greatly  as- 
sisted by  booksellers  3.  I had  some  time  before 
lent  him  Euripides  with  Milton’s  manuscript 
notes  : this,  though  he  did  not  minutely  examine 
(see  Joddrel’s  Euripides),  yet  he  very  handsomely 
returned  it  4,  and  mentioned  it  in  his  ‘ Life  of 
Milton.’ 

“In  the  course  of  conversation  one  day  l 
dropped  out  to  him  that  Lord  Harboroughs  (then 

2 [It  is  possible  Ur.  Johnson  may  have  been  acquainted 
with  the  lion.  Robert  Boyle,  who  took  the  name  of 
Walsingham;  and  he  may  be  the  Boyle  mentioned  ante, 
vol.  i.  p.  103  n. ; but  it  is  hardly  possible  that  Dr.  John- 
son would  have  met  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  at  dinner 
without  Mr.  Boswell’s  having  mentioned  it. — Ed.] 

3 [The  original  MS.  is  still  extant,  and  it  appears  that 
he  had  very  little  assistance,  and  none  at  all  from  the 
booksellers. — Ed.] 

4 [“  His  Euripides  is,  by  Mr.  Cradock’s  kindness,  now 
in  my  hands : the  margin  is  sometimes  noted,  but  I have 
found  nothing  remarkable.” — Life  of  Milton. — Ed.] 

5 [Rev.  Robert  Sherrard,  who  became  on  the  death  o» 

his  elder  brother,  in  1770,  fourth  Earl  of  Harborough 

Ed.] 


464 


APPENDIX. 


the  Rev.)  was  in  possession  of  a very  valuable 
collection  of  manuscript  poems,  and  that  amongst 
them  there  were  two  or  three  in  the  hand-writing 
of  King  James  I.  ; that  they  were  bound  up 
Handsomely  in  folio,  and  were  entitled  ‘ Sack- 
ville’s  Poems.’  These  he  solicited  me  to  borrow 
for  him,  and  Lord  Harborough  very  kindly  in- 
trusted them  to  me  for  his  perusal.  At  that  time 
he  had  become  careless  about  his  books,  and 
frequently  very  melancholy.  Not  finding  any 
acknowledgment  about  them,  I wrote  to  him,  and 
received  the  annexed  note,  ‘ that  he  knew  nothing 
about  them.’ 

‘“20th  January,  1783. 

“ ‘Mr.  Johnson  is  very  glad  of  any  intelligence, 
and  much  obliged  by  Mr.  Cradock’s  favour  and 
attention.  The  book  he  has  now  sent  shall  be 
taken  care  of ; but  of  a former  book  mentioned 
in  the  note,  Mr.  Johnson  has  no  remembrance, 
and  can  hardly  think  he  ever  received  it, 
though  bad  health  may  possibly  have  made  him 
negligent. 

‘“To  Mr.  Cradock.’ 

“ This  gave  me  no  small  concern,  and  I men- 
tioned it  to  Steevens,  who  immediately  said,  ‘ You 
ought  not  to  have  lent  it  to  him : he  knows  no- 
thing about  it ! I saw  the  book  you  describe  lie 
nnder  his  old  inkstand,  and  could  not  think  what 
it  was  : it  is  there  now.’  However,  I never  re- 
gained it  till  after  his  death,  when  reading  the 
melancholy  account  at  Marseilles  I became 
alarmed  about  the  book,  and  instantly  wrote  to 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  who  found  it  directly  in 
the  place  mentioned  by  Mr.  Steevens,  and  it  was 
safely  returned  to  Lord  Harborough,  with  due 
excuses  and  acknowledgments.  I was  not  equally 
fortunate  in  regard  to  some  other  papers  I had 
procured  for  the  Doctor  in  regard  to  Gray  and 
others,  and  particularly  the  French  translation  of 
the  ‘ Merchant  of  Venice.’  Something  had  been 
said  before  him  about  a note  of  Mason’s,  rela- 
tive to  the  mistake  of  a translator,  and  the  ex- 
planation of  the  word  bowling-green,  when  I 
entertained  him  with  a more  laughable  instance 
of  a mistake  in  regard  to  the  passage  of  the  re- 
turn of  ‘ my  ship  Andrew  ( mon-Andrew ),’  in  the 
‘Merchant  of  Venice’  (act  i.  sc.  1).  ‘This,’ 
says  the  translator,  ‘ is  in  England  a very  merry 
fellow,  who  plays  tricks  at  a celebrated  annual 
fair  held  there,  and  frequently,  by  his  buffooneries, 
brings  home  to  his  employers  very  extensive 
gains.’  This  book,  merely  owing  to  his  infirmi- 
ties, likewise,  I never  received  again. 

Sometimes  trifles  diverted  him,  and  relieved 
his  melancholy,  but  there  could  be  no  possible 
guess  how  an  anecdote  would  be  received.  Speak- 
ing of  Sterne’s  Sermons — ‘ Sir,  the  follow  mixes 
the  light  with  the  serious  l ; else  in  some  parts, 
Dr.  Johnson,  I was  surprised  to  find  you  had  at- 
tended to  them  at  all.’  ‘Sir,  I was  in  a stage- 
coach ; I should  not  have  read  them  had  I been 


l  [This  is  made  nonsense  by  the  omission  of  some 
words.  It  is  correctly  given  (ante,  p.  308)  from  the 
Memoirs ; but  the  editor  of  the  Gentleman's  Magazine 
has  here  made  Mr.  Cradock  a party  in  a conversation, 
which  in  the  Memoirs  he  himself  professes  to  have  had 
at  second-hand  only. — Ed.] 


at  large  2.’  And  directly  afterwards  Harris’s 
Hermes  was  mentioned.  ‘ I think  the  book  i3 
too  abtruse ; it  is  heavy.’  ‘It  is  ; but  a wosk  of 
that  kind  must  be  heavy.’  ‘ A rather  dull  man 
of  my  acquaintance  asked  me,’  said  I,  ‘ to  lend 
him  some  book  to  entertain  him,  and  I offered  him 
Harris’s  Hermes,  and  as  I expected,  from  the 
title,  he  took  it  for  a novel ; when  he  returned  it, 
I asked  him  how  he  liked  it,  and  what  he  thought 
of  it  ? ’ “ Why,  to  speak  the  truth,”  says  he,  “ l 

was  not  much  diverted ; I think  all  these  imita- 
tions of  Tristram  Shandy  fall  far  short  of  the 
original ! ” This  had  its  effect,  and  almost  pro- 
duced from  Johnson  a rhinocerous  laugh. 

“ One  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  rudest  speeches  was  tc 
a pompous  gentleman  coming  out  of  Lichfield 
cathedral,  who  said,  ‘ Dr.  Johnson,  we  have  had 
a most  excellent  discourse  to-day  ! ’ ‘ That  may 

be,’  said  Johnson  ; ‘ but  it  is  impossible  that  you 
should  know  it.’ 

“ Of  his  kindness  to  me  during  the  last  yearu 
of  his  most  valuable  life,  I could  enumerate  many 
instances.  One  slight  circumstance,  if  any  were 
wanting,  would  give  an  excellent  proof  of  the 
goodness  of  his  heart,  and  that  to  a person  whom 
he  found  in  distress  : in  such  a case  be  was  the 
very  last  man  that  would  have  given  even  the 
least  momentary  uneasiness  to  any  one,  had  he 
been  aware  of  it. 

“ The  last  time  I saw  Dr.  Johnson  was  just 
before  I went  to  France : he  said,  with  a deep 
sigh,  ‘ I wish  I was  going  with  you.’  He  had 
just  then  been  disappointed  of  going  to  Italy.  Of 
all  men  I ever  knew,  Dr.  Johnson  was  the  most 
instructive.” 


No.  V. 

TWO  DIALOGUES. 

In  imitation  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  style  of  conversa- 
tion, by  Sir  Joshua  Retnolds  3. 
[Referred  to  in  p.  176.] 

[The  following  jeu  d'esprit  was  written  by 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  to  illustrate  a re- 
mark which  he  had  made,  “ That  Dr. 

2 [Here  again  there  is  a variation  from,  if  not  a falsifi 
cation  of,  the  Memoirs.  Mr.  Cradock  there  says  that  it 
was  Sterne  himself  that  he  amused  with  this  story ; nor 
does  he  pretend  that  he  was  the  person  who  lent  the 
book,  but  relates  it  as  an  anecdote  told  him  by  a friend. 
So  that  Dr.  Johnson  and  the  rhinocerous  laugh  seem  to 
be  mere  interpolations.  In  short,  these  anecdotes,  even 
after  the  revision,  are  very  poor  authority  indeed. — 
Ed.] 

3 [These  dialogues  were  printed  in  1816  from  the  MS 
of  Sir  Joshua,  by  his  niece,  Lady  Thomond ; they  were 
not  published,  but  distributed  by  her  ladyship  to  some 
friends  of  Dr.  Johnson  and  Sir  Joshua.  The  copy  which 
the  Editor  has  was  spontaneously  transmitted  to  him  by 
Mrs.  Gwynn,  the  friend  of  Goldsmith  and  of  Johnson, 
whose  early  beauty  is  celebrated  in  the  first  part  of  his 
work(voLi.  p.  186),  and  who  is  still  distinguished  for  her 
amiable  character  and  high  mental  accomplishments 
Lady  Thomond,  in  the  prefatory  note,  calls  this  a “jeu 
d'esprit,"  but  the  Editor  was  informed  by  the  late  Sir 
George  Beaumont,  who  knew  all  the  parties,  and  to 
whom  Reynolds  himself  gave  a copy  of  it,  that  if  the 
words  jeu  d'esprit  were  to  be  understood  to  imply  that 
it  was  altogether  an  invention  of  Sir  Joshua’s,  the  term 
would  be  erroneous.  The  substance,  and  many  of  the 
expressions,  of  the  dialogues  did  really  occur  ; Sir  Joshua 
did  little  more  than  collect,  as  if  into  two  conversations, 
what  had  been  uttered  at  many,  and  heighten  the  efft* t 


APPENDIX. 


465 


Johnson  considered  Garrick  as  his  'property , 
and  would  never  suffer  any  one  to  praise 
or  abuse  him  but  himself”  In  the  first  of 
these  supposed  dialogues , Sir  Joshua  him- 
self, by  high  encomiums  upon  Garrick,  is 
represented  as  drawing  down  upon  him  John- 
son’s censure ; in  the  second,  Mr.  Gibbon,  by 
taking  the  opposite  side,  calls  forth  his 
praise .] 

JOHNSON  AGAINST  GARRICK. 

DR.  JOHNSON  AND  SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS. 

“ Reynolds.  Let  me  alone,  I’ll  bring  him 
cut.  {Aside.)  I have  been  thinking,  Dr.  John- 
son, this  morning,  on  a matter  that  has  puzzled 
me  very  much  ; it  is  a subject  that  I dare  say  has 
often  passed  in  your  thoughts,  and  though  I 
cannot,  I dare  say  you  have  made  up  your  mind 
upon  it. 

“Johnson.  Tilly  fally  ! what  is  all  this  pre- 
paration, what  is  all  this  mighty  matter  ? 

“ Rey.  Why,  it  is  a very  weighty  matter. 
The  subject  I have  been  thinking  upon  is,  predes- 
tination and  free  will,  two  things  I cannot  recon- 
cile together  for  the  life  of  me  ; in  my  opinion, 
Dr.  Johnson,  free  will  and  foreknowledge  cannot 
be  reconciled. 

“John.  Sir,  it  is  not  of  very  great  importance 
what  your  opinion  is  upon  such  a question. 

“Rey.  But  I meant  only,  Dr.  Johnson,  to 
know  your  opinion. 

“John.  No,  sir,  you  meant  no  such  thing; 
you  meant  only  to  show  these  gentlemen  that 
you  are  not  the  man  they  took  you  to  be,  but 
that  you  think  of  high  matters  sometimes,  and 
that  you  may  have  the  credit  of  having  it  said 
that  you  held  an  argument  with  Sam  Johnson  on 
predestination  and  free  will ; a subject  of  that 
magnitude  as  to  have  engaged  the  attention  of 
the  world,  to  have  perplexed  the  wisdom  of  man 
for  these  two  thousand  years ; a subject  on  which 
the  fallen  angels,  who  had  not  yet  lost  all  their 
wiginal  brightness,  find  themselves  in  wander- 
ing mazes  lost.  That  such  a subject  could  be 
discussed  in  the  levity  of  convivial  conversation, 
is  a degree  of  absurdity  beyond  what  is  easily 
conceivable. 

“ Rey.  It  is  so,  as  you  say,  to  be  sure ; I 
talked  once  to  our  friend  Garrick  upon  this  sub- 
ject, but  I remember  we  could  make  nothing 
of  it. 

“ John.  O noble  pair! 

“ Rey.  Garrick  was  a clever  fellow,  Dr.  J.  ; 
Garrick,  take  him  altogether,  was  certainly  a very 
great  man. 

“ John.  Garrick,  sir,  maybe  a great  man  in 
your  opinion,  as  far  as  I know,  but  he  was  not  so 
m mine  ; little  things  are  great  to  little  men. 

“ Rey.  I have  heard  you  say,  Dr.  John- 
son— 

“ John.  Sir,  you  never  heard  me  say  that 
David  Garrick  was  a great  man  ; you  may  have 
heard  me  say  that  Garrick  was  a good  repeater — 

by  the  juxta-position  of  such  discordant  opinions.  We 
cannot,  however,  but  observe  how  very  faint,  one  might 
almost  say  feeble,  is  Sir  Joshua’s  dialogues  when  com- 

Sared  with  the  characteristic  fire  and  dra  viatic  sp  rit  of 
Ir.  Boswell.— -Ed.] 

vol.  ii.  59 


of  other  men’s  words — words  put  into  his  mouth 
by  other  men  ; this  makes  but  a faint  approach 
towards  being  a great  man. 

“ Rey.  But  take  Garrick  upon  the  whole, 

now,  in  regard  to  conversation 

“ John.  Well,  sir,  in  regard  to  conversation, 
I never  discovered  in  the  conversation  of  David 
Garrick  any  intellectual  energy,  any  wide  grasp 
of  thought,  any  extensive  comprehension  of  mind, 
or  that  he  possessed  any  of  those  powers  to  which 
great  could,  with  any  degree  of  propriety,  be  ap- 
plied— 

“ Rey.  But  still 

“ John.  Hold,  sir,  I have  not  done — there 
are,  to  be  sure,  in  the  laxity  of  colloquial  speech, 
various  kinds  of  greatness  ; a man  may  be  a great 
tobacconist,  a man  may  be  a great  painter,  he 
may  be  likewise  a great  mimick  ; now  you  may 
be  the  one,  and  Garrick  the  other,  and  yet  nei- 
ther of  you  be  great  men. 

“ Rey.  But,  Dr.  Johnson 

“ John.  Hold,  sir,  I have  often  lamented 
how  dangerous  it  is  to  investigate  and  to  discrim- 
inate character,  to  men  who  have  no  discrimina- 
tive powers. 

“ Rey.  But  Garrick,  as  a companion,  I heard 
you  say — no  longer  ago  than  last  Wednesday,  at 

Mr.  Thrale’s  table 

“ John.  You  teaze  me,  sir.  Whatever  you 
may  have  heard  me  say,  no  longer  ago  than  last 
Wednesday,  at  Mr.  Thrale’s  table,  I tell  you  I 
do  not  say  so  now  ; besides,  as  I said  before,  you 
may  not  have  understood  me,  you  misappre 
hended  me,  you  may  not  have  heard  me. 

“ Rey.  I am  very  sure  I heard  you. 

“ John.  Besides,  besides,  sir,  besides, — do  you 
not  know, — are  you  so  ignorant  as  not  to  know, 
that  it  is  the  highest  degree  of  rudeness  to  quote  a 
man  against  himself  ? 

“ Rey.  But  if  you  differ  from  yourself,  and 

give  one  opinion  to-day 

“ John.  Have  done,  sir  ; the  company  you 
see  are  tired,  as  well  as  myself.” 


T’  OTHER  SIDE. 

DR.  JOHNSON  AND  MR.  GIBEON. 

“ Johnson.  No,  sir  ; Garrick’s  fame  was 
prodigious,  not  only  in  England,  but  over  all  Eu- 
rope ; even  in  Russia  I have  been  told  he  was  a 
proverb  ; when  any  one  had  repeated  well  he  was 
called  a second  Garrick. 

“ Gibbon.  I think  he  had  full  as  much  repu- 
tation as  he  deserved. 

“ John.  I do  not  pretend  to  know,  sir,  what 
your  meaning  may  be,  by  saying  he  had  as  much 
reputation  as  he  deserved  ; he  deserved  much, 
and  he  had  much. 

“ Gib.  Why  surely,  Dr.  Johnson,  his  merit 
was  in  small  things  only  ; he  had  none  of  those 
qualities  that  make  a real  great  man. 

“ John.  Sir,  I as  little  understand  what  your 
meaning  may  be  when  you  speak  of  the  qualities 
that  make  a great  man  ; it  is  a vague  term.  Gar- 
rick was  no  common  man  ; a man  above  the 
common  size  of  men  may  surely,  without  any 
great  impropriety,  be  called  a great  man.  In  my 
opinion  he  has  very  reasonably  fulfilled  the 
prophecy  which  he  once  reminded  me  of  having 


460 


APPENDIX. 


made  .o  his  mother,  when  she  asked  me  how 
little  David  went  on  at  school,  that  I should  say  to 
her,  that  he  would  come  to  be  hanged,  or  come 
to  be  a great  man.  No,  sir,  it  is  undoubtedly 
true  that  the  same  qualities,  united  with  virtue 
or  with  vice,  make  a hero  or  a rogue,  a great 
general  or  a highwayman.  Now  Garrick,  we 
are  sure,  was  never  hanged,  and  in  regard  to  his 
being  a great  man,  you  must  take  the  whole  man 
together.  It  must* be  considered  in  how  many 
thfngs  Garrick  excelled  in  which  every  man  de- 
sires to  excel : setting  aside  his  excellence  as  an 
actor,  in  which  he  is  acknowledged  to  be  unrival- 
led ; as  a man,  as  a poet,  as  a convivial  compa- 
nion, you  will  find  but  few  his  equals,  and  none 
his  superior.  As  a man,  he  was  kind,  friendly, 
benevolent,  and  generous. 

“ Gib.  Of  Garrick’s  generosity  I never  heard ; 

I understood  his  character  to  be  totally  the  re- 
verse, and  that  he  was  reckoned  to  have  loved 
money. 

“ John.  That  he  loved  money,  nobody  will 
dispute  ; who  does  not  ? but  if  you  mean,  by'lov- 
ing  money,  that  he  was  parsimonious  to  a fault, 
sir,  you  have  been  misinformed.  To  Foote,  and 
such  scoundrels,  who  circulated  those  reports,  to 
such  profligate  spendthrifts  prudence  is  meanness, 
and  economy  is  avarice.  That  Garrick,  in  early 
outh,  was  brought  up  in  strict  habits  of  economy 

believe,  and  that  they  were  necessary,  I have 
heard  from  himself ; to  suppose  that  Garrick  might 
inadvertently  act  from  this  habit,  and  be  saving 
in  small  things,  can  be  no  wonder  ; but  let  it  be 
remembered,  at  the  same  time,  that  if  he  was 
frugal  by  habit,  he  was  liberal  from  principle  ; 
that  when  he  acted  from  reflection  he  did  what 
his  fortune  enabled  him  to  do,  and  what  was  ex- 
pected from  such  a fortune.  I remember  no  in- 
stance of  David’s  parsimony  but  once,  when  he 
stopped  Mrs.  Woffington  from  replenishing  the 
tea-pot ; it  was  already,  he  said,  as  red  as  blood  ; 
and  this  instance  is  doubtful,  and  happened  many 
years  ago.  In  the  latter  part  of  his  life  I observed 
no  blamable  parsimony  in  David;  his  table  was 
elegant  and  even  splendid  ; his  house  both  in 
town  and  country,  his  equipage,  and  I think  all 
his  habits  of  life,  were  such  as  might  be  expected 
from  a man  who  had  acquired  great  riches.  In 
regard  to  his  generosity,  which  you  seem  to 
question,  1 shall  only  say,  there  is  no  man  to 
whom  I would  apply  with  more  confidence  of 
success,  for  the  loan  of  two  hundred  pounds  to 
assist  a common  friend,  than  to  David,  and  this 
too  with  very  little,  if  any,  probability  of  its  being 
repaid. 

“ Gib.  You  were  going  to  say  something  of 
him  as  a writer — you  do  n’t  rate  him  very  high  as 
a poet. 

“ John.  Sir,  a man  may  be  a respectable 
poet  without  being  a Homer,  as  a man  may  be  a 
good  player  without  being  a Garrick.  In  the 
lighter  kinds  of  poetry,  in  the  appendages  of  the 
drama,  he  was,  if  not  the  first,  in  the  very  first 
class.  He  had  a readiness  and  facility,  a dex- 
terity of  mind  that  appeared  extraordinary  even 
to  men  of  experience,  and  who  are  not  apt  to 
wonder  from  ignorance.  Writing  prologues,  epi-  ; 
logues,  and  epigrams,  he  said  he  considered  as  his 
trade,  and  he  was,  what  a man  should  be,  al-  j 


ways,  and  at  all  times  ready  at  his  trade.  Hn 
required  two  hours  for  a prologue  or  epilogue, 
and  five  minutes  for  an  epigram.  Once  at  Burke’s 
table  the  company  proposed  a subject,  and  Gar- 
rick finished  his  epigram  within  the  time  ; the 
same  experiment  was  repeated  in  the  garden,  and 
with  the  same  success. 

“ Gib.  Garrick  had  some  flippancy  of  parts,  la 
be  sure,  and  was  brisk  and  lively  in  company, 
and  by  the  help  of  mimickry  and  story-telling, 
made  himself  a pleasant  companion  ; but  here  the 
whole  world  gave  the  superiority  to  Foote,  and 
Garrick  himself  appears  to  have  felt  as  if  his  ge- 
nius was  rebuked  by  the  superior  powers  of  Foote. 
It  has  been  often  observed,  that  Garrick  never 
dared  to  enter  into  competition  with  him,  but  was 
content  to  act  an  under  part  to  bring  Foote  out. 

“ John.  That  this  conduct  of  Garrick’s  might 
be  interpreted  by  the  gross  minds  of  Foote  and  his 
friends,  as  if  he  was  afraid  to  encounter  him,  1 
can  easily  imagine.  Of  the  natural  superiority 
of  Garrick  over  Foote,  this  conduct  is  an  instance  ; 
he  disdained  entering  into  competition  with  such 
a fellow,  and  made  him  the  buffoon  of  the  com- 
pany ; or,  as  you  say,  brought  him  out.  And 
what  was  at  last  brought  out  but  coarse  jests  and 
vulgar  merriment,  indecency  and  impiety,  a re- 
lation of  events  which,  upon  the  face  of  them, 
could  never  have  happened,  characters  grossly 
conceived  and  as  coarsely  represented  ? Foote 
was  even  no  mimick  ; he  went  out  of  himself,  it 
is  true,  but  without  going  into  another  man  ; he 
was  excelled  by  Garrick  even  in  this,  which  is 
considered  as  Foote’s  greatest  excellence.  Gar- 
rick, besides  his  exact  imitation  of  the  voice  and 
gesture  of  his  original,  to  a degree  of  refinement 
of  which  Foote  had  no  conception,  exhibited  the 
mind  and  mode  of  thinking  of  the  person  imitated. 
Besides,  Garrick  confined  his  powers  within  the 
limits  of  decency  ; he  had  a character  to  preserve. 
Foote  had  none.  By  Foote’s  buffoonery  and 
broad-faced  merriment,  private  friendship,  public 
decency,  and  every  thing  estimable  amongst  men, 
were  trod  underfoot.  We  all  know  the  differ- 
ence of  their  reception  in  the  world.  No  man, 
however  high  in  rank  or  literature,  but  was  proud 
to  know  Garrick,  and  was  glad  to  have  him  at 
his  table  ; no  man  ever  considered  or  treated  Gar- 
rick as  a player  ; he  may  be  said  to  have  stepped 
out  of  his  own  rank  into  a higher,  and  by  raising 
himself,  he  raised  the  rank  of  his  profession.  At 
a convivial  table  his  exhilarating  powers  were  un 
rivalled  ; he  was  lively,  entertaining,  quick  in 
discerning  the  ridicule  of  life,  and  as  ready  in  re- 
presenting it ; and  on  graver  subjects  there  were 
few  topics  in  which  he  could  not  hear  his  part. 
It  is  injurious  to  the  character  of  Garrick  to  bo 
named  in  the  same  breath  with  Foote.  That 
Foote  was  admitted  sometimes  into  good  compa- 
ny (to  do  the  man  what  credit  I can)  1 will  allow, 
but  then  .it  was  merely  to  play  tricks  ; Foote’s 
merriment  was  that  of  a buffoon,  and  Garrick’s 
that  of  a gentleman. 

“ Gib.  I have  been  told,  on  the  contrary, 
that  Garrick  in  company  had  not  the  easy  man 
ners  of  a gentleman. 

i “ John.  Sir,  I do  n’t  know  what  you  may 

I have  been  told,  or  what  your  ideas  may  he,  of 
the  manners  of  gentlemen  : Garrick  had  no  vui- 


appendix. 


467 


garity  in  his  manners ; it  is  true  Garrick  had  not 
uie  airiness  of  a fop,  nor  did  he  assume  an  affect- 
ed indifference  to  what  was  passing ; he  did  not 
lounge  from  the  table  to  the  window,  and  from 
thence  to  the  fire,  or  whilst  you  were  addressing 
our  discourse  to  him,  turn  from  you  and  talk  to 
is  next  neighbour,  or  give  any  indication  that  he 
was  tired  of  your  company  ; if  such  manners  form 
our  ideas  of  a fine  gentleman,  Garrick  certainly 
ad  them  not. 

“ Gib.  I mean  that  Garrick  was  more  over- 
wed by  the  presence  of  the  great,  and  more  ob- 
sequious to  rank,  than  Foote,  who  considered 
himself  as  their  equal,  and  treated  them  with  the 
same  familiarity  as  they  treated  each  other. 

“ John.  He  did  so,  and  what  did  the  fellow 
et  by  it?  The  grossness  of  his  mind  prevented 
im  from  seeing  that  this  familiarity  was  merely 
suffered  as  they  would  play  with  a dog ; he  got 
no  ground  by  affecting  to  call  peers  by  their  sur- 
names ; the  foolish  fellow  fancied  that  lowering 
them  was  raising  himself  to  their  level ; this  af- 
fectation of  familiarity  with  the  great,  this  child- 
ish ambition  of  momentary  exaltation  obtained  by 
the  neglect  of  those  ceremonies  which  custom 
has  established  as  the  barriers  between  one  order 
of  society  and  another,  only  showed  his  folly  and 
meanness  ; he  did  not  see  that  by  encroaching  on 
others’  dignity,  he  puts  himself  in  their  power 
either  to  be  repelled  with  helpless  indignity,  or 
endured  by  clemency  and  condescension.  Gar- 
rick, by  paying  due  respect  to  rank,  respected 
himself;  what  he  gave  was  returned,  and  what 
was  returned  he  kept  forever;  his  advancement 
was  on  firm  ground,  he  was  recognized  in  public  as 
well  as  respected  in  private,  and  as  no  man  was  ever 
more  courted  and  better  received  by  the  public, 
so  no  man  was  ever  less  spoiled  by  its  flattery  : 
Garrick  continued  advancing  to  the  last,  till  he 
had  acquired  every  advantage  that  high  birth  or 
title  could  bestow,  except  the  precedence  of  go- 
ing into  a room  ; but  when  he  was  there,  he  was 
treated  with  as  much  attention  as  the  first  man  at 
the  table.  It  is  to  the  credit  of  Garrick,  that  he 
never  laid  any  claim  to  this  distinction ; it  was  as 
voluntarily  allowed  as  if  it  had  been  his  birthright. 
In  this,  I confess,  I looked  on  David  with  some 
degree  of  envy,  not  so  much  for  the  respect  he 
received,  as  for  the  manner  of  its  being  acquired  ; 
what  fell  into  his  lap  unsought,  1 have  been  forc- 
ed to  claim.  I began  the  world  by  fighting  my 
way.  There  was  something  about  me  that  in- 
vited insult,  or  at  least  a disposition  to  neglect,  and 
I was  equally  disposed  to  repel  insult  and  to  claim 
attention,  and  I fear  continue  too  much  in  this 
disposition  now  it  is  no  longer  necessary  ; I re- 
ceive at  present  as  much  favour  as  I have  a right 
to  expect.  I am  not  one  of  the  complainers  of  the 
neglect  of  merit. 

“ Gib.  Your  pretensions,  Dr.  Johnson,  no- 
body will  dispute  ; I cannot  place  Garrick  on  the 
same  footing : your  reputation  will  continue  in- 
creasing after  your  death,  when  Garrick  will  be 
totally  forgot ; you  will  be  for  ever  considered  as 
a classic 

“John.  Enough,  sir,  enough;  the  company 
would  be  better  pleased  to  see  us  quarrel  than 
bandying  compliments. 

“Gib.  But  you  must  allow,  Dr.  Johnson, 


that  Garrick  was  too  much  a slave  to  fame,  or 
rather  to  the  mean  ambition  of  living  with  the 
great,  terribly  afraid  of  making  himself  cheap  even 
with  them;  by  which  he  debarred  himself  of 
much  pleasant  society.  Employing  so  much  at- 
tention, and  so  much  management  upon  such  lit- 
tle things,  implies,  I think,  a little  mind.  It  was 
observed  by  his  friend  Colman,  that  he  never 
went  into  company  but  with  a plot  how  to  get 
out  of  it;  he  was  every  minute  called  out,  and 
went  off  or  returned  as  there  was  or  was  not  a 
probability  of  his  shining. 

“John.  In  regard  to  his  mean  ambition,  as 
you  call  it,  of  living  with  the  great,  what  was  the 
boast  of  Pope,  and  is  every  man’s  wish,  can  be 
no  reproach  to  Garrick  ; he  who  says  he  despises 
it  knows  he  lies.  That  Garrick  husbanded  his 
fame,  the  fame  which  he  had  justly  acquired  both 
at  the  theatre  and  at  the  table,  is  not  denied  ; but 
where  is  the  blame  either  in  the  one  or  the  other, 
of  leaving  as  little  as  he  could  to  chance  ? Be- 
sides, sir,  consider  what  you  have  said  ; you  first 
deny  Garrick’s  pretensions  to  fame,  and  then  ac- 
cuse him  of  too  great  an  attention  to  preserve  what 
he  never  possessed. 

“ Gib.  I don’t  understand 

“ John.  Sir,  I can’t  help  that. 

“Gib.  Well,  but,  Dr.  Johnson,  you  will 
not  vindicate  him  in  his  over  and  above  attention 
to  his  fame,  his  inordinate  desire  to  exhibit  him- 
self to  new  men,  like  a coquette,  ever  seeking 
after  new  conquests,  to  the  total  neglect  of  old 
friends  and  admirers  ; — 

‘ He  threw  off  his  friends  like  a huntsman  his  pack,’ 

always  looking  out  for  new  game. 

“John.  When  you  quoted  the  line  from 
Goldsmith,  you  ought,  in  fairness,  to  have  given 
what  followed  : — 

‘ He  knew  when  he  pleased  he  could  whistle  them  back : 

which  implies  at  least  that  he  possessed  a power 
over  other  men’s  minds  approaching  to  fascina- 
tion ; but  consider,  sir,  what  is  to  be  done  ; here 
is  a man  whom  every  other  man  desired  to  know. 
Garrick  could  not  receive  and  cultivate  all,  ac- 
cording to  each  man’s  conception  of  his  own 
value : we  are  all  apt  enough  to  consider  our- 
selves as  possessing  a right  to  be  excepted  from 
the  common  crowd ; besides,  sir,  I do  not  see 
why  that  should  be  imputed  to  him  as  a crime, 
which  we  all  so  irresistibly  feel  and  practise  ; we 
all  make  a greater  exertion  in  the  presence  of 
new  men  than  old  acquaintance ; it  is  undoubtedly 
true  that  Garrick  divided  his  attention  among  so 
many,  that  but  little  was  left  to  the  share  of  any 
individual ; like  the  extension  and  dissipation  of 
water  into  dew,  there  wa3  not  quantity  united 
sufficiently  to  quench  any  man’s  thirst ; but  this  is 
the  inevitable  state  of  things  : Garrick,  no  more 
than  another  man,  could  unite  what,  in  their  na- 
tures, are  incompatible. 

“Gib.  But  Garrick  not  only  was  excluded 
by  this  means  from  real  friendship,  but  accused  of 
treating  those  whom  he  called  friends  with  insin- 
cerity and  double  dealing. 

“ John.  Sir,  it  is  not  true ; his  character  in 
that  respect  is  misunderstood  : Garrick  was,  to  be 
sure,  very  ready  in  promising,  but  he  intended  at 


468 


APPENDIX. 


that  time  to  fulfil  his  promise  ; he  intended  no  de- 
ceit: his  politeness  or  his  good  nature,  call  it 
which  you  will,  made  him  unwilling  to  deny  ; he 
wanted  the  courage  to  say  Wo  even  to  unreason- 
able demands.  This  was  the  great  errorofhis  life : 
by  raising  expectations  which  he  did  not,  perhaps 
could  not  gratify,  he  made  many  enemies  ; at  the 
same  time  it  must  be  remembered,  that  this  error 
proceeded  from  the  same  cause  which  produced 
many  of  his  virtues.  Friendships  from  warmth 
of  temper  too  suddenly  taken  up,  and  too  vio- 
lent to  continue,  ended  as  they  were  like  to  do, 
in  disappointment ; enmity  succeeded  disappoint- 
ment ; his  friends  became  his  enemies ; and  those 
having  been  fostered  in  his  bosom,  well  knew 
his  sensibility  to  reproach,  and  they  took  care 
that  he  should  be  amply  supplied  with  such  bit- 
ter potions  as  they  were  capable  of  administer- 
ing ; their  impotent  efforts  he  ought  to  have  des- 
pised, but  he  felt  them;  nor  did  he  affect  insen- 
sibility. 

“ Gib.  And  that  sensibility  probably  shorten- 
ed his  life. 

“ John.  No,  sir,  he  died  of  a disorder  of 
which  you  or  any  other  man  may  die,  without 
being  killed  by  too  much  sensibility. 

“ Gib.  But  you  will  allow,  however,  that 
this  sensibility,  those  fine  feelings,  made  him  the 
great  actor  he  was. 

“ John.  This  is  all  cant,  fit  only  for  kitchen 
wenches  and  chamber  maids : Garrick’s  trade  was 
to  represent  passion,  not  to  feel  it.  Ask  Reynolds 
whether  he  felt  the  distress  of  Count  Hugolino 
when  he  drew  it. 

“ Gib.  But  surely  he  feels  the  passion  at  the 
moment  he  is  representing  it. 

“ John.  About  as  much  as  Punch  feels. 
That  Garrick  himself  gave  into  this  foppery  of 
feelings  I can  easily  believe  ; but  he  knew  at  the 
same  time  that  he  lied.  He  might  think  it  right, 
as  far  as  I know,  to  have  what  fools  imagined  he 
ought  to  have  ; but  it  is  amazing  that  any  one 
should  be  so  ignorant  as  to  think  that  an  actor  will 
risk  his  reputation  by  depending  on  the  feelings 
that  shall  be  exeited  in  the  presence  of  two  hun- 
dred people,  on  the  repetition  of  certain  words 
which  he  has  repeated  two  hundred  times  before 
in  what  actors  call  their  study.  No,  sir,  Garrick 
left  nothing  to  chance  ; every  gesture,  every  ex- 
pression of  countenance,  and  variation  of  voice, 
was  settled  in  his  closet  before  he  set  his  foot  up- 
on the  stage  1.” 


l [This  is  conformable  with  the  opinion  of  Grimm  and 
Diderot,  and  with  the  admission  of  Mr.  Kemble ; but  it 
must  not  be  understood  too  literally.  A great  actor  pre- 
pares in  his  study,  positions,  attitudes,  the  particular 
mode  of  uttering  certain  passages,  and  even  the  tone 
which  is  to  be  adopted ; and  having  once  ascertained, 
both  by  thought  and  experience,  what  is  best,  he  will  na- 
turally adhere  to  that,  however  often  he  may  play  the 
part ; but  it  is  equally  certain,  that  there  is  a large  por- 
tion of  the  merit  of  a great  theatrical  exhibition  which  is 
not  reducible  to  any  rule,  and  which  depends,  not  only 
on  the  general  powers  of  the  performer,  but  on  his  health, 
his  spirits,  and  other  personal  circumstances  of  the  mo- 
ment which  may  tend  to  encourate  or  restrain  his  pow- 
ers. And  it  may  be  safely  affirmed,  that  although  no  act- 
or ever  fancies  himself  Othello,  or  any  actress  Calista, 
yet  that  the  unpremeditated  emotions  last  alluded  to 
constitute  a great  part  of  tb  e charm  which  distinguishes 
•n  the  stage  excellence  from  mediocrity. — Ed.] 


No.  VI. 

[Argument  against  a prosecution  by 
the  Procurators  of  Edinburgh  against  the 
publisher  of  a libel,  referred  to  in  p. 
306.] 

“ All  injury  is  either  of  the  person,  the  fortune, 
or  the  fame.  Now  it  is  a certain  thing,  it  is  pro- 
verbially known,  that  a jest  breaks  no  bones. 
They  never  have  gained  half-a-crown  less  in  the 
whole  profession  since  this  mischievous  paragraph 
has  appeared  ; and,  as  to  their  reputation,  what  is 
their  reputation  but  an  instrument  of  getting  mon- 
ey ? If,  therefore,  they  have  lost  no  money,  the 
question  upon  reputation  may  be  answered  by 
a very  old  position, — De  minimis  non  curat 
preetor. 

“ Whether  there  was,  or  was  not,  an  unimus 
injuriandi  is  not  worth  inquiring,  if  no  injuria 
can  be  proved.  But  the  truth  is,  there  was  no 
animus  injuriandi.  It  was  only  an  animus 
irritandi  2,  which,  happening  to  be  exercised  up- 
on a genus  irritabile,  produced  unexpected  vio- 
lence of  resentment.  Their  irritability  arose  only 
from  an  opinion  of  their  own  importance,  and 
their  delight  in  their  new  exaltation.  What 
might  have  been  borne  by  a procurator , could 
not  be  borne  by  a solicitor.  Your  lordships  well 
know  that  honores  mutant  mores.  Titles  and 
dignities  play  strongly  on  the  fancy.  As  a mad- 
man is  apt  to  think  himself  grown  suddenly  great, 
so  he  that  grows  suddenly  great  is  apt  to  borrow 
a little  from  the  madman.  To  co-operate  with 
their  resentment  would  be  to  promote  their  fren- 
zy ; nor  is  it  possible  to  guess  to  what  they  might 
proceed,  if  to  the  new  title  of  solicitor  should  be 
added  the  elation  of  victory  and  triumph. 

“ We  consider  your  lordships  as  the  protectors 
of  our  rights,  and  the  guardians  of  our  virtues  ; 
but  believe  it  not  included  in  your  high  office, 
that  you  should  flatter  our  vices,  or  solace  our 
vanity ; and,  as  vanity  only  dictates  this  pros- 
ecution, it  is  humbly  hoped  your  lordships  will 
dismiss  it. 

“ If  every  attempt,  however  light  or  ludicrous, 
to  lessen  another’s  reputation,  is  to  be  punished 
by  a judicial  sentence,  what  punishment  can  be 
sufficiently  severe  for  him  who  attempts  to  dimin- 
ish the  reputation  of  the  supreme  court  of  justice, 
by  declaiming  upon  a cause  already  determined, 
without  any  change  in  the  state  of  the  question  ? 
Does  it  not  imply  hopes  that  the  judges  will 
change  their  opinion  ? Is  not  uncertainty  and 
inconstancy  in  the  highest  degree  disreputable  to 
court  ? Does  it  not  suppose,  that  the  former 
judgment  was  temerarious  or  negligent  ? Does 
it  not  lessen  the  confidence  of  the  publick  ? Will 
it  not  be  said  that  jus  est  aut  incognilum  aut 
vagum  ? and  will  not  the  consequence  be  drawn, 
misera  est  servitus  ? Will  not  the  rules  of  ac- 
tion be  obscure  ? Will  not  he  who  knows  him- 
self wronged  to-day,  hope  that  the  courts  of  justice 
will  think  him  right  to-morrow  ? Surely,  my 
lords,  these  are  attempts  of  dangerous  tendency, 
which  the  solicitors,  as  men  versed  in  the  law, 


2 Mr.  Robertson  altered  tliis  word  to  jocandi,  lie  hav- 
ing found  in  Blackstonc  that  to  irritate  is  actionable  - 
Boswell. 


APPENDIX. 


469 


should  have  foreseen  and  avoided.  It  was  natu- 
ral for  an  ignorant  printer  to  appeal  from  the  lord 
ordinary ; but  from  lawyers,  the  descendants  of 
lawyers,  who  have  practised  for  three  hundred 
years,  and  have  now  raised  themselves  to  a 
higher  denomination,  it  might  be  expected  that 
they  should  know  the  reverence  due  to  a judicial 
determination  ; and,  having  been  once  dismissed, 
should  sit  down  in  silence.” 


No.  VII. 


Correspondence  i between  Miss  Boothby  2 
and  Dr.  Johnson. 

| Referred  to  in  vol.  i.  p.  29,  and  pp.  109  and  276  of  this  vol.] 
Preface. 

[Of  Mr.  Richard  Wright , surgeon  in  Lich- 
field^ the  original  editor  of  the  little  volume 
containing  Dr.  Johnson’s  notes  of  his 
early  life , and  the  correspondence  with  Miss 
Boothby.] 

It  will  be  expected,  that  the  editor  of  the  fol- 
lowing curious  and  interesting  pages  should  give 
an  account  of  the  manner  in  which  the  original 
MSS.  came  into  his  possession. 

Mr.  Boswell,  in  his  admirable  Life  of  Dr. 
Johnson,  thus  observes : 


1 [The  Editor  had  originally  intended  to  have  given 
only  a selection  (see  p.  109)  of  Miss  Boothby’s  letters,  but 
as  the  little  volume  in  which  they  were  published,  by  R. 
Phillips,  1805,  (see  v.  i.  p.  29),  is  now  become  scarce ; 
and  as  the  whole  affair  is  a curious  episode  in  Dr.  John- 
son's history,  the  Editor  has,  on  reconsideration,  pre- 
served the  entire  correspondence. — Ed.] 

2 [Miss  Hill  Boothby  was  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Brook 
Boothby  and  his  second  lady,  Elizabeth  Fitzherbert.  Mr. 
Boothby  was  the  son  of  Sir  William,  the  second  baronet, 
by  Miss  Hill  Brooke,  and  the  father  of  Sir  Brooke,  the 
fourth  baronet.  Miss  Boothby  was  above  a year  older 
han  Dr.  Johnson.  Though  her  mother’s  name  was 
Fitzherbert , she  was  but  distantly  related  to  the  Tissing- 
ton  family.  She  was  attached  to  Mrs.  Fitzherbert  by  an 
enthusiastic  and  spiritualized  friendship,  and  on  her  death 
Miss  Boothby  devoted  herself  to  the  care  of  her  six  chil- 
dren. The  Rev.  Richard  Graves,  author  of  the  Spiritual 
Quixote,  was  for  some  time  domestic  chaplain  at  Tissing- 
ton,  and  as  my  venerable  and  amiable  friend,  Lord  St. 
Helens,  informs  me,  described  in  that  novel  the  several 
members  of  that  family,  and  their  visiters,  with  great  ac- 
curacy. It  may  be  as  well  to  preserve  here  the  key 
which  Lcrd  St.  Helens  has  given  me  to  the  characters 
introduced  into  the  novel : 

Sir  William  Forrester  . Mr.  Fitzherbert. 

Lady  Forrester  . . Mrs.  Fitzherbert. 

Lord L.  P.  Meynell,  Esq.  of  Brad- 

ley Park,  Mrs.  F.’s  father. 

Kitty  Forrester  . . . Catherine  Fitzherbert,  after- 

wards Mrs.  Bateman. 

Miss  Sainthill  . . . Miss  Hill  Boothby. 

Colonel  Rappee  . . . Colonel  Deane. 

Bob  Tench  ....  Mr.  Nicholas  Thornhill. 

Young  Templar  . . . Mr.  C.  Pratt,  afterwards 
Lord  Camden. 

Even  the  inferior  characters  were  drawn  from  the 
life.  The  jacobite  barber  was  one  Daniel  Shipley ; George, 
the  butler,  was  John  Latham ; and  Molly,  the  lady’s 
maid,  was  Mary  Etches,  afterwards  married  to  Latham ; 
Wildgoose,  the  hero,  was  supposed  to  be  a portrait  of 
Mr.  Graves’s  own  brother;  and  Lord  St.  Helens  adds, 
that  although  the  author,  to  heighten  the  contrast  be- 
tween him  and  his  brother,  describes  himself  as  a sport- 
ing parson , he  was  really  no  such  thing,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, a worthy  and  conscientious  parish  priest.  There 
is  an  account  of  him  in  the  “ Public  Characters”  for  1800 
— See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  515,  where  Mr.  Graves  is  erroneous- 
ly stated  to  have  been  a tutor  in  Mr.  Fitzherbert’s  family. 
He  was  the  minister  of  the  parish,  and  acted  as  domestic 
chaplain. — Ed.J 


“ The  consideration  of  the  numerous  papers 
of  which  he  was  possessed  seems  to  have  struck 
Johnson’s  mind  with  a sudden  anxiety  ; and,  as 
they  were  in  great  confusion,  it  is  much  to  be 
lamented  that  he  had  not  intrusted  some  faithful 
and  discreet  person  with  the  care  and  selection 
of  them , instead  of  which  he,  in  a precipitate 
manner,  burnt  masses  of  them,  as  I should  ap- 
prehend, with  little  regard  to  discrimination.  . . . 
Two  very  valuable  articles,  I am  sure,  we  have 
lost,  which  were  two  quarto  volumes,  containing 
a full,  fair,  and  most  particular  account  of  his  own 
life,  from  his  earliest  recollection  3.” 

It  does  not  appear  that  the  MS.,  from  which 
the  following  short  account  of  Dr.  Johnson’s 
Early  Life  is  copied,  was  one  4 of  the  two  volumes 
to  which  Boswell  alludes  ; although  it  is  evident, 
from  his  enumeration  of  particular  dates  in  the 
blank  pages  of  the  book,  that  he  intended  to 
have  finished  these  A nnals,  according  to  this  plan, 
with  the  same  minuteness  of  description,  in  every 
circumstance  and  event. 

This  volume  was  among  that  mass  of  papers 
which  were  ordered  to  be  committed  to  the  flames 
a few  days  before  his  death,  thirty-two  pages  of 
which  were  torn  out  by  himself  and  destroyed; 
the  contents  of  those  which  remain  are  here  given 
with  fidelity  and  exactness.  Francis  Barber,  his 
black  servant,  unwilling  that  all  the  MSS.  of  his 
illustrious  master  should  be  utterly  lost,  preserved 
these  relics  from  the  flames.  By  purchase  from 
Barber’s  widow  they  came  into  the  possession  ot 
the  Editor  5. 

Dr.  Johnson’s  acquaintance  with  Miss  Hill 
Boothby,  aunt  of  Sir  Brooke  Boothby,  commenced 
at  Ashbourne,  between  the  years  1737  and  1740, 
when  he  was  upon  a visit  at  Ashbourne  to  his 
friend  Dr.  Taylor  6.  As  an  evidence  of  the  value 

3 See  p.  436. — Wright. 

4 [It  certainly  was  not.  Mr.  Wright’s  book  was,  he 
tells  us,  half  destroyed  on  the  1st  Dec.  1784,  and  the  two 
volumes  alluded  to  were  safe  in  Sir  J.  Hawkins’s  pocket 
on  the  5th  {ante,  p.  444). — Ed.] 

5 [So  far  relates  to  the  Early  Life,  which  is  contained 
in  the  first  thirty-two  pages  of  Mr.  Wright’s  little  volume, 
and  which  (except  a few  observations  on  some  school 
books)  is  inserted  in  different  parts  of  the  first  volume  of, 
this  edition : what  follows  relates  to  the  correspondence 
with  Miss  Boothby. — Ed.] 

6 [This  statement  is  founded  on  the  assertion  of  an  ano- 
nymous lady,  quoted  by  Mr.  Boswell  {ante,  v.  i.  p.  29),  of 
the  correctness  of  which  the  Editor  had  already  express- 
ed his  suspicion ; but  he  now,  on  farther  consideration, 
disbelieves  most,  if  not  all,  the  particulars  of  that  state- 
ment. It  appears  certain  that  Dr.  Johnson  did  not  leave 
London  between  1737  and  1740.  Mrs.  Fitzherbert  was 
not  married  till  1744.  The  first  of  Miss  Boothby’s  letters, 
dated  1753,  seems  to  prove  that  her  acquaintance  with 
Dr.  Johnson  was  then  recent — it  is  ccrtainlv  her  first 
letter  to  him.  Lord  St.  Helens  does  not  recollect  to 
have  heard  how  Dr.  Johnson’s  acquaintance  his  pa- 
rents began,  but  thinks  it  not  improbable  that  Dr.  Law- 
rence, who  had  married  a Derbyshire  lady,  may  have 
been  the  original  link  of  acquaintance : and  it  appears 
likely,  from  several  passages  of  these  letters,  that  it  was 
in  his  society  that  Miss  Boothby,  on  coming  to  town  in 
1753,  made  Johnson’s  acquaintance.  That  the  acquaint- 
ance was  not  made  in  early  life,  and  in  Derbyshire,  seems 
clear,  and  that  Johnson  never  was  at  Mr.  Fitzherbert’s 
seat  is  almost  certain.  If  he  had  had  any  local  know- 
ledge of  it,  we  should  not  find  Miss  Boothby  telling  him 
that  she  was  “ then  at  Tissington,  near  Ashbourne  in 
Derbyshire ; ” nor  is  it  probable,  if  Johnson  had  got  ac- 
quainted with  Miss  Boothby  while  he  was  on  a visit  with 
Dr.  Taylor  at  Ashbourne,  that  there  should  be  no  allusion 
to  Dr.  Taylor,  or  to  Ashbourne,  or  to  any  such  previous 
acquaintance  in  the  whole  of  this  correspondence.  In 
deed,  it  seems  clear,  from  the  history  of  Dr.  Johnson  ■ 


470 


APPENDIX. 


which  he  set  upon  the  letters  that  he  received  from 
her,  he  numbered  them,  wrote  the  dates  upon 
them,  and  had  them  bound  together  in  one  volume. 
His  intimacy  and  correspondence  with  Miss  H. 
Boothby  were  uninterruptedly  continued  till  her 
death. 

To  say  that  these  letters  do  credit  to  the  under- 
standing of  that  lady  is  faint  praise.  Dr.  Johnson 
himself  said  of  her,  that  “ she  had  the  best  under- 
standing he  ever  met  with  in  any  human  being  1.” 

As  they  betray  no  family  secrets,  but  contain 
reflections  upon  serious  and  literary  subjects,  and 
display  with  what  benevolent  ardour  Dr.  Johnson 
valued  her  friendship,  they  form  an  interesting  and 
proper  appendage  to  this  little  tract.  The  Doc- 
tor’s letters  to  Miss  Boothby  are  printed  in  Mrs. 
Piozzi’s  Collection,  and  in  Boswell’s  Life  of  him  2. 

The  original  MSS.  are  deposited  in  the  museum 
of  antiquities  and  natural  curiosities,  belonging 
to  the  Editor ; which  is  open  to  the  inspection  of 
the  public. 

Lichfield,  2d  March,  1805 

LETTER  I. 

“ MISS  BOOTHBY  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

“ 30th  July,  1753. 

“ Sir, — I assure  you  I esteemed  your  request 
to  write  to  and  hear  from  me,  as  an  honour  done 
me,  and  received  your  letter  with  much  pleasure. 
Most  people,  and  particularly  a lady,  would 
tremble  at  taking  up  the  pen  to  reply  to  a letter 
from  Mr.  Johnson  ; but  I had  the  pleasure  of 
experiencing  so  much  candour  and  goodness  in 
the  man,  that  I have  no  fear  of  the  eminent  genius, 
extensive  learning,  accurate  judgment,  and  every 
other  happy  talent  which  distinguish  and  com- 
plete the  authour.  In  a correspondence  with  you, 
sir,  1 am  confident  I shall  be  so  far  from  hazard- 
ing any  thing  by  a discovery  of  my  literary  po- 
verty, that  in  this  view  I shall  be  so  much  the 
more  a gainer:  a desire  to  be  such  will  be  a mo- 
tive sufficient  to  engage  your  generosity  to  supply 
me  out  of  your  large  stock,  as  far  as  1 am  capable 
of  receiving  so  high  an  advantage. 

“Indeed  you  greatly  overrate  my  poor  capacity 
to  follow  the  great  examples  of  virtue,  w'hich  are 
deeply  engraven  in  my  heart.  One  3 of  the  most 
eminent  of  these  you  have  seen,  and  justly  ad- 
mired and  loved.  It  is  but  a faint  ray  of  that 
brightness  of  virtue  which  shone  in  her,  through 
every  part  of  her  life,  which  is,  as  by  reflection 
only,  to  be  seen  in  me,  her  unworthy  substitute  in 
the  care  of  her  dearest  remains. 

“ Let  me  beg  you  therefore  to  give  honour  to 
whom  honour  is  due.  Treat  me  as  a friend,  dear 
sir ; exercise  the  kindest  office  of  one  towards  me  ; 
tell  me  my  faults,  and  assist  me  in  rectifying  them. 

own  life,  that  he  had  not  been  down  to  Staffordshire,  or 
Derbyshire,  from  1737  till  after  his  mother’s  death  in 
1759 ; nor  even,  the  Editor  believes,  till  after  the  grant  of 
his  pension  in  1762. — Ed.] 

1 [Another  gross  error  of  Mr.  Wright : Johnson  said 
this,  not  of  Miss  Boothby , but  of  Mrs.  Fitzherbert.  See 
ante,  vol.  i.  p.  29. — Ed.] 

2 [Only  one  of  his  letters  is  published  by  Mr.  Boswell, 
“ the  merits  of  the  others  not  being,”  said  he,  (ante,  p. 
276,  n.)  “ so  apparent.”  The  truth  probably  was,  that 
Boswell  thought  they  were  written  in  a style  that  might 
afford  some  scope  to  ridicule  or  misrepresentation  against 
his  revered  friend. — Ed.1 

3 [Mrs.  Fitzherbert,  who  had  died  a few  months  before. 

E..1 


Do  not  give  me  the  least  reason  to  doubt  your 
sincerity  by  any  thing  that  has  the  air  of  compli- 
ment. Female  vanity  has,  I believe,  no  small 
share  in  the  increase  of  the  difficulties  you  have 
found  in  one  part  of  your  labours,  I mean  that  of 
explaining  in  your  Dictionary  the  general  and 
popular  language.  You  should  therefore  treat 
this  vanity  as  an  enemy,  and  be  very  far  from 
throwing  any  temptation  in  its  way. 

“ I have  great  obligations  to  Dr.  Lawrence  and 
his  family.  They  have  hearts  like  yours ; and 
therefore  1 do  not  wonder  they  are  partial  in 
judging  of  me,  who  have  a friendly  and  grateful 
heart.  You  are  in  the  right:  I should  have  been 
most  heinously  offended,  if  you  had  omitted  a 
particular  inquiry  after  my  dear  charge.  They 
are  all  six  4 in  perfect  health,  and  can  make  as 
much  noise  as  any  six  children  in  England.  They 
amply  reward  all  my  daily  labours  for  them  : the 
eldest  has  her  dear  mother’s  disposition  and  capa- 
city. I am  enabled  to  march  on  steadily  with  my 
shattered  frame  ; how  long  I think  not  of,  but 
cheerfully  wait  for 

‘ Kind  Nature’s  signal  of  retreat’ 

whenever  it  pleases  God. 

“ I hope,  however,  to  see  you  the  authour  of  a 
Great  Dictionary  before  I go,  and  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  joining  with  a whole  nation  in  your 
applause  ; and  when  you  have  put  into  their  hands 
the  means  of  speaking  and  writing  the  English 
language  with  as  much  purity  and  propriety  as  it 
is  capable  of  being  spoken  and  wrote,  give  me 
leave  to  recommend  to  you  your  future  studies 
and  labours — let  them  all  be  devoted  to  the  glory 
of  God,  to  exemplify  the  true  use  of  all  languages 
and  tongues.  The  vanity  of  all  human  wishes, 
you  have  finely  and  forcibly  proved  ; what  is  then 
left  for  you,  but  to  seek  after  certain  and  perma- 
nent happiness,  divine  and  eternal  goods, 

( ‘ These  goods  he  grants,  who  grants  the  power  to  gain,’  j 

and  with  all  the  great  talents  bestowed  on  you,  to 
call  others  to  the  same  pursuit.  How  should  l 
rejoice  to  see  your  pen  wholly  employed  in  the 
glorious  Christian  cause ; inviting  all  into  the  ways 
of  pleasantness  ; proving  and  displaying  the  only 
paths  to  peace.  Wherever  you  have  chosen  this 
most  interesting  subject  of  religion  in  your  Ram- 
blers, I have  warmly  wished  you  never  to  choose 
any  other.  You  see,  sir,  I am  much  inclined  to 
indulge  the  liberty  you  have  given  me  of  convers- 
ing with  you  in  this  way.  But  I will  not  please 
myself  longer  at  the  hazard  of  tiring  you.  One  re- 
quest, however,  I must  make  ; some  of  those  parts 
of  your  life,  which,  you  say,  you  pass  in  idleness, 


4  [These  six  children  were,  as  Lord  St.  Helens  informs 
me,  Judith,  bom  1746,  whom  Miss  Boothby  calls  Miss 
Fitzherbert,  a young  person  of  uncommon  promise,  but 
who  died  in  1758;  William,  born  in  1748,  created  a ba- 
ronet in  1783,  the  father  of  the  present  Sir  Henry  Fitz 
herbert;  John  and  Thomas,  who  both  died  young;  Heli 
11a,  born  in  1751,  married  to  H.  Galley  Knight,  Esq ; she 
died  in  1823,  leaving  an  only  son,  well  known  in  the  lite 
rary  world ; and,  lastly,  Lord  St.  Helens,  himself,  born 
a few  weeks  before  his  mother’s  death,  who  enjoys,  the 
Editor  is  happy  to  add,  excellent  health,  and  is  distin- 
guished by  the  elegant  amenity  of  his  manners  a id  the 
pleasantry  and  acuteness  of  his  conversation.  It  is  pleas 
ing  and  consolatory  to  find  in  one  old  enough  to  have 
been  for  thirty  years  known  to  Dr.  Johnson,  such  an  el 
ample  of  the  mens  sana  in  corpore  sano. — Ed.] 


APPENDIX. 


471 


pray,  for  the  future,  bestow  on  one  who  has  a 
great  regard  for  you,  will  highly  value  every  testi- 
mony of  your  esteem,  and  is,  sir,  your  much 
obliged  friend  and  humble  servant, 

“ H.  Boothby. 

“ My  good  wishes  attend  Miss  Williams  1.  Mr. 
Fitzherbert  returns  you  his  compliments.  W e are 
now  at  Tissington,  near  Ashbourne,  Derbyshire.” 

LETTER  II. 

“ Tissington,  4th  Dec.  1753. 

“Dear  sir, — You  might  be  very  sure  that 
something  extraordinary  and  unavoidable  must 
keep  me  so  long  silent,  to  a person  whom  from 
every  motive  I esteem  and  regard,  and  conse- 
quently love  to  converse  with.  I will  honestly 
own  to  you  likewise,  that  I was  extremely  pleased 
with  your  letter,  as  one  of  the  prettiest  things  I 
ever  read  in  my  life,  and  longed  to  praise  you  in 
reply  to  it,  as  a proof  of  my  being  convinced  that, 
as  a friend,  I owed  you  this  honest  tribute.  But, 
alas  ! all  my  purposes  of  writing  were  prevented  ; 
first,  by  a series  of  family  engagements  and  per- 
plexities, which  much  affected  me,  and  lately,  by 
what,  I believe,  is  in  part  the  consequence  of  them, 
sickness.  I have  a very  tender  weak  body,  and  it 
is  next  to  a miracle  it  has  stood  up  so  long  as  for 
seven  months  without  one  day’s  confinement  to 
a room ; but,  on  last  Friday  se’nnight,  a violent 
fit  of  the  colic  seized  me,  and,  till  yesterday,  dis- 
abled me  from  going  out  of  my  room,  i am 
now,  thank  God,  recovering,  and  only  low,  weak, 
and  languid.  My  dear  children  have  been  and 
are  all  well,  except  some  trifling  colds  and  little 
disorders : and  for  them  nothing  is  too  hard  to 
suffer,  too  arduous  to  attempt;  my  confidence  is 
strong,  founded  on  a rock ; and  I am  assured  I 
shall  be  supported  for  them,  till  it  pleases  God  to 
raise  them  up  a better  helper.  O,  certainly,  I 
allow  a friend  may  be  a comfort,  and  a great  one  ; 
and,  I assure  you,  dear  sir,  your  last  kind  notice 
of  me  brought  comfort  with  it,  for  which  I thank 
you.  Please  not  to  mention  any  thing  more  of 
me  in  Essex-street,  or  to  any,  than  that  various 
engagements  and  sickness  have  made  me  appear 
ne”lment.  I am  no  complainer,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary” think  every  dispensation  of  Providence  a 
blessing ; enjoy  the  sweet  portion,  nor  quarrel 
with  the  medicinal  draught,  because  it  is  bitter. 
What  I have  hinted  to  you,  of  perplexity,  &c.  is 
in  the  confidence  of  friendship. 

“ May  all  your  labours  be  blest  with  success  ! 
Excuse  my  trembling  hand,  which  cannot  do 
more  at  present  than  assure  you  I am,  dear  sir, 
your  much  obliged  and  sincere  friend, 

“H.  Boothby. 

“ Some  acquaintance  of  mine  at  a distance  will 
have  it  that  you  sometimes  write  an  Adventurer; 
for  this  reason,  because  they  like  some  of  those 
papers  better  than  any,  except  the  Ramblers.  I 
have  not  seen  any.  Pray  tell  me  if  I must;  for, 
if  your  pen  has  any  share  in  them,  I shall  take  it 
ill  to  be  deprived  of  the  benefit.  Be  so  good  as  to 
let  me  hear  from  you,  when  you  have  leisure.” 


1  [Had  there  been  an  old  friendship,  formed  in  Derby- 
shire, the  information  that  she  was  now  at  Tissington , 
near  Ashbourne , in  Derbyshire , would  have  been  quite 
tupei  fluous. — Ed.] 


LETTER  III. 

“Tissington,  29th  Dec.  1153. 

“Dear  sir, — You  very  obligingly  say,  ‘Few 
are  so  busy  as  not  to  find  time  to  do  what  they 
delight  in  doing.’  That  I have  been  one  of  those 
few,  my  not  having,  till  now,  found  time  to  an- 
swer your  last  kind  letter  may  convince  you.  My 
indisposition,  and  confinement  on  that  account, 
made  it  necessary  for  me  to  double  my  application 
for  my  little  flock  ; and,  as  my  strength  increased, 
I found  occasions  to  exercise  its  increase  also ; so 
that  I really  have  not  had  a moment  to  spare. 
I know  you  will  be  better  pleased  to  infer  from 
hence  that  my  health  is  much  mended,  than  you 
would  be  with  the  finest  and  most  artful  arrange- 
ment of  abstract  reasoning  that  ever  was  penned. 
I have  been  a great  moralizer ; and,  perhaps,  it 
all  my  speculative  chains  were  linked  together, 
they  would  fill  a folio  as  large  as  the  largest  of 
those  many  wrote  by  the  philosophical  Duchess 
of  Newcastle,  and  be  just  as  useful  as  her  la- 
bours. But  I have  wholly  given  up  all  attempts 
of  this  sort,  convinced  by  experience  that  they 
could  at  most  afford  only  a present  relief.  The 
one  remedy  for  all  and  every  kind  of  sorrow, 
the  deeply  experienced  royal  prophet  thus  ex- 
presses : 

“ ‘ In  the  multitude  of  sorrows  which  I had  m 
my  heart,  thy  comforts  have  refreshed  my  soul.’ 

1 The  sovereign  balm  for  every  heart-felt  wound 
Is  only  in  the  Heavenly  Gilead  found, 

Whate’er  the  sage  philosophers  pretend, 

Man’s  wisdom  may  awhile  man’s  pain  suspend ; 

But  can  no  more — wisdom  divine  must  cure, 

And  love  inspire,  which  all  things  can  endure.’ 

“ As  I think,  I write  ; and  express  my  thoughts 
in  words  that  first  offer,  sans  premeditation,  as 
you  see.  As  I have  told  you  before,  I write  to 
the  friend,  not  to  the  Mr.  Johnson,  who  himself 
writes  better  than  any  man.  I shall  comply  with 
your  request,  and  not  inclose  this ; though  at  the 
same  time  I am  conscious  I have  so  little  claim 
to  a place  among  your  riches,  that  a waste  paper 
drawer  will  be  a much  properer  one  for  my  poor 
productions:  however,  if  they  have  this  merit, 
and  you  regard  them  as  proofs  that  I much  esteem 
you,  they  will  answer  my  purpose,  which  is  that  of 
being  regarded  as,  dear  sir,  your  affectionate  and 
sincere  friend,  “H.  Boothby. 

“My  jewels  are  all  well. 

“ One  reason  for  my  inclosing  my  former  letters 
was  the  not  being  sure  of  your  right  direction,  but 
I hope  I have  recollected  one.  You  have  not 
answered  my  question  2 in  my  last  postscript.” 

LETTER  IY. 

“ Saturday,  16th  Feb.  1754. 

“Dear  sir, — I could  almost  think  you  had 
been  long  silent  3 on  purpose  that  you  might  make 
the  prettiest  reflections  on  that  silence  imaginable ; 
but  I know  you  never  need  auxiliaries  ; your  own 
powers  are  on  every  occasion  abundantly  suffi- 
cient. I come  now  only,  as  it  were,  to  call  upon 
you  in  a hurry,  and  to  tell  you  I am  going  to  Bath. 
So  it  is  determined  for  me.  Lodgings  are  taken; 

2 ^Relative  to  the  Adventurer. — Ed.] 

3 [It  is  evident  that  Johnson’s  share  of  the.  correspon 
dence  was  considerable,  but,  except  a few  towards  th« 
close,  none  of  his  letters  have  been  preserved. — Ed.’ 


472 


APPENDIX. 


ana  on  Monday  we  are  to  set  out,  Mr.  Fitzher- 
bert,  the  two  eldest  dear  ones,  and  myself.  This 
change  of  place  for  six  or  eight  weeks  I must 
notify  to  you,  for  fear  I should  be  deprived  of  a 
letter  of  yours  a day  longer  than  your  own  affairs 
make  necessary.  If  nothing  unforeseen  prevents, 
J\Irs.  Hill  Boothby  will  be  found  on  the  South 
Parade , Bath,  by  a letter  directed  there,  after  the 
next  week,  for  we  shall  travel  slowly. 

“I  will  add  a few  more  words,  though  I am 
very  busy,  and  a very  few  will  fully  show  my 
thoughts  on  morality.  The  Saviour  of  the  w’orld, 
truth  itself  says,  ‘ He  came  not  to  destroy  the  laic, 
but  to  fulfil  it.' 

“ I wonder  not  at  your  hesitating  to  impart  a 
secret  to  a woman  ; but  am  the  more  obliged  to 
you  for  communicating  it  as  a secret,  after  so 
hesitating.  Such  a mark  of  your  deliberate  con- 
fidence shall  be  strictly  regarded  ; and  I shall 
seek  for  letter  T i,  that  I may  read  with  redoubled 
pleasure.  I want  to  know  when  the  Great  Dic- 
tionary will  prove  itself  truly  so,  by  appearing. 
Every  thing  that  relates  to  Mr.  Johnson  has  the 
best  wishes  of  a friendly  heart ; here  I include 
Mrs.  Williams,  and  desire  she  will  accept  her 
share,  which  I am  sure  she  will  with  pleasure,  on 
account  of  my  being,  dear  sir,  your  sincere  friend, 
and  much  obliged  humble  servant, 

“ H.  Boothby. 

“ P.S.  As  a friend  of  yours  and  Dr.L  [awrence]’s, 
and  one  who  seems  worthy  to  be  such,  I am  so- 
licitous to  inquire  after  the  health  of  Dr.  Bathurst  2. 

“Excuse  hurry  and  its  effects — I mean  my 
health  is  very  weak,  and  I have  much  to  do.” 

LETTER  V. 

“ Bath,  11th  March,  1754. 

“ Dear  sir, — It  is  impossible  for  me  not  to 
pay  due  regard  to  your  kind  solicitude  for  my 
better  health.  I shall  therefore  begin  this  letter, 
as  you  enjoin  me,  with  an  account  of  it,  and  tell 
you  it  really  is  better.  The  waters  did  not  agree 
with  me  for  some  days  after  I began  drinking 
them  ; but  a little  medicinal  assistant  administered 
by  Dr.  Hartley  has  so  reconciled  us,  that  for  a 
week  past  they  have  been  very  salutary,  given 
me  an  appetite,  strength  to  use  exercise  without 
fatigue,  whole  nights  of  sweet  sleep,  and,  what 
some  people  here  would  even  prefer  to  these,  bet- 
ter looks.  For  all  these  1 am  truly  thankful  to 
the  giver  of  all  good.  You  are  doubtful  whether 
I am  not  hurt  by  needless  anxiety.  Be  no  longer 
so  ; but  be  sure  I am  not : “ sufficient  unto  the 
day  is  the  evil  thereof,”  is  my  preservative  from 
all  anxious  thought  for  the  morrow.  I look  not 
forward  but  to  an  eternity  of  peace  and  joy,  and 
in  this  view  all  vain  solicitude  for  the  things  of 
this  life  is  taken  away. 

1 [See  ante , v.  i.  p.  108,  Editor’s  note.  There  can  no 
longer  be  any  doubt  that  Johnson  was  the  author  of  the 
papers  in  the  Adventurer  marked  T.,  and  it  seems  proba- 
ble. from  Miss  Boothby’s  emphatic  statement,  that  she 
will  read  them  with  redoubled  pleasure,  that  Johnson 
had  told  her  that  their  common  friend,  Dr.  Bathurst,  had 
some  interest  in  these  papers.  This  supports  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams's version,  to  which  Johnson  himself  assented, 
though  it  does  not  explain  how  Johnson,  distressed  as  he 
was,  could  afford  to  transfer  to  Dr.  Bathurst  the  profits 
of  his  labours. — Ed.] 

2 1 This  and  the  preceding  paragraphs  confirm  the  idea 
that,  at  Dr.  Lawrence’s  she  had  become  acquainted  with 
Johnson  Miss  Williams,  and  Dr.  Bathurst. — Ed.] 


“You  find  pleasure  in  wnting  letters,  and  to 
me.  I will  put  a stop  to  your  further  inquiry  into 
the  cause  of  this,  by  most  truly  assuring  you, 
you  give  me  a very  great  pleasure  in  reading  your 
letters.  I earnestly  wish  to  bh  indeed  your  friend  ; 
and  as  far  as  I am  capable  of  being  such,  I beg 
you  always  to  be  certain  you  are  conferring  an 
obligation  when  you  confide  in  me,  or  command 
me.  Immediately  after  I received  your  last  letter, 
I tripped  to  the  bookseller’s  for  the  Gentleman's 
Magazine  2 : many  masterly  strokes  in  the  picture 
would  have  made  the  hand  known  to  me,  had  not 
you  named  it.  You  will  not  be  displeased  when 
I tell  you,  one  circumstance  drew  from  me  a silent 
tear,  viz.  ‘ one  of  the  last  acts  of  reason ,'  &c.  and 
this  melting  wras  part  from  natural  tenderness, 
part  from  sympathy.  How  then  can  I condemn 
your  sorrow  ? Yet  I must,  even  because  I have 
myself  formerly  been  overwhelmed  with  fruitless 
grief  for  the  loss  of  a friend ; and  therefore  by 
miserable  experience  can  warn  all  from  splitting 
on  this  rock.  Fly  from  it.  Many  are  the  re- 
sources showm  to  fly  to  ; but  believe  me,  there  is 
but  one  that  can  avail — religion. 

My  situation  here  allows  me  but  a very  small 
portion  of  time  to  myself.  Mr.  Fitzberbert  loves 
company,  and  has  a good  deal.  I have  some 
acquaintance,  and  a few  friends  here,  who  by 
turns  engage  me.  Thus,  though  I never  go  into 
the  public  scenes  here,  I can  seldom  be  alone  : 
but  I was  determined  to  secure  half  an  hour,  to 
thank  you,  and  to  tell  you,  w henever  you  favour 
me  with  your  letters,  no  engagements  shall  pre- 
vent my  assuring  you,  I receive  them  in  every 
place  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  and  am,  ant 
shall  be,  dear  sir,  your  affectionate  friend, 

“ H.  Boothby 

“ Overlook  all  defects.” 

LETTER  VI. 

“ Bath,  1st  April,  1754. 

“ Dear  sir, — That  you  find  my  health  and 
well-being  of  consequence  enough  to  be  solicitous 
about,  is  a consideration  so  pleasing  to  me,  that 
it  is  impossible  your  inquiries  after  them  should 
ever  be  troublesome ; and  I have  so  high  an 
opinion  of  your  judgment,  that,  wrere  I so  situated 
as  to  consult  it  properly,  and  clearly  state  my 
questions,  no  nervous  fine  lady  in  Bath  can  more 
frequently  have  recourse  to  her  doctor  for  advice, 
than  I should  have  to  you  for  yours  in  every 
doubtful  point  of  conduct  The  extreme  cold  has 
affected  me  ; but,  on  the  whole,  I am,  thank  God, 
better  than  when  I first  came  to  this  place : 

3 In  the  Gentleman's  Magazine  for  February,  1753,  p. 
81,  is  inserted  the  thirtieth  number  of  the  “ Adventurer,” 
dated  February  17, 1753,  which  was  written  by  Dr.  John- 
son. In  the  same  Magazine,  the  account  of  the  tragedy 
of  the  Gamester  seems  also  to  have  been  written  by 
him. — Wright.  [Mr.  Wright’s  note  is  careless  and  erro 
neous  to  an  almost  incredible  degree.  The  thirtieth  num- 
ber of  the  Adventurer  was  not  written  by  Dr.  Johnson, 
whose  first  paper  is  the  thirty-fourth.  Kor  does  Miss 
Boothby  allude  to  the  Gentleman's  Magazine  for  Feb- 
ruary, 1753,  but  to  that  for  1754 ; and  in  which  there  is 
not  (any  more  than  in  the  former)  any  paper  of  the  Ad- 
venturer written  by  Johnson.  The  “ picture''  alluded 
to  is  Johnson’s  Life  of  Cave,  the  first  article  in  the  Mag- 
azine for  February,  1754 — and  in  that  the  passage  referred 
to  is  to  be  found,  descriptive  of  Cave’s  death  : “ One  */ 
the  last  acts  of  reason  which  he  exerted  was , to  press 
the  hand  which  is  now  writing  this  little  narrative.  ’— 
Ed.1 2 


APPENDIX. 


473 


and  so  cheerful,  that  those  of  my  acquaintance 
who  think  there  is  no  other  use  for  spirits  but  to 
enjoy  life  in  public , to  speak  in  their  own  style, 
wonder  I do  not  frequent  the  rooms,  balls,  &c. 
But  the  dreaming  part  of  my  life  is  over,  and  all 
my  pursuits  are  bent  towards  the  securing — 

1 A sober  certainty  of  waking  bliss.’ 

I fly  from  dissipation  to  serious  recollection,  a 
sort  of  labour  which  is  succeeded  by  a cheerful 
rest. 

“ Sir  Charles  Grandison  I have  not  read.  The 
reflection  of  having  thrown  away  much  precious 
time  formerly  in  useless  and  unprofitable  reading 
makes  me  extremely  cautious  ; and  I am  in  a 
bookseller’s  shop,  like  a bee  in  a garden,  which 
you  have  seen  fly  round  and  round,  from  flower 
to  flower,  nor  ever  rests  on  any  till  it  finds  one 
which  will  yield  pure  honey.  So  I just  touched 
Sir  Charles  Grandison  in  my  examining  flight  ; 
but,  from  my  instinct,  found  there  was  no  honey 
for  me.  Yet  I am  far  from  saying  there  may  not 
be  mid  tr&s  doux  for  other  kind  of  bees.  How- 
ever, I find  the  few  to  whose  judgment  I pay  the 
greatest  deference  agree  with  you.  Mr.  Rich- 
ardson’s intention  I honour  ; but  to  apply  your 
own  words  truly  ion  this  occasion — ‘The  best 
intention  may  be  troublesome.’  And  perhaps 
the  same  way  and  manner  of  executing  may 
weary.  His  mistaking  the  manners  and  life  of 
those  whom  you  truly  say  we  condescend  to  call 
great  people,  is,  I think,  very  pardonable.  It 
would  not  be  worth  a naturalist’s  while  to  spend 
the  greatest  part  of  his  time  in  observing  the  va- 
rious tinctures  a camelion  takes  from  every  body 
it  approaches  ; and  yet  he  must  do  so,  to  give  a 
true  representation  of  the  colours  of  its  life.  You 
can  make  the  application. 

“ I am  entirely  of  your  opinion  with  regard  to 
education.  I will  labour  all  I can  to  produce 
plenty.  But  sanguine  hopes  will  never  tempt  me 
to  feel  the  torture  of  cutting  disappointment.  I 
have  seen  even  Paul  plant  and  Apolios  water  in 
vain,  and  am  convinced  God  only  can  give  the 
increase  2.  Mine  is  a fruitful  soil.  Miss  Fitz- 
herbert  is  yet  every  thing  I can  wish.  Her  eldest 
brother,  a fine  lively  boy ; but,  entre  nous , too  in- 
dulgent a father  will  make  it  necessary  for  him  to 
be  sent  to  school — the  sooner  the  better.  Do  you 
know  of  any  school  where  a boy  of  six  years  old 
would  be  taken  care  of,  chiefly  as  to  his  morals, 
and  taught  English,  French,  &c.,  till  of  a fit  age 
fiff  a public  school  ? 

“ You  do  not  say  a word  of  the  Dictionary. 
Miss  Fitzherbert  and  I are  impatient  for  its  publi- 
cation. I know  you  will  be  so  indulgent  to  a 
friend,  as  to  let  me  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing 
from  you  soon.  My  sincere  regard  and  best  wishes 
will  always  attend  you,  as  I am,  dear  sir,  your  ob- 
liged and  affectionate  friend,  “ H.  Boothby. 

“ A rainy  day  has  prevented  my  drinking  the 
waters,  or  I should  have  hazarded  the  head-ache, 
rather  than  have  been  longer  silent.’’ 


1 [Johnson,  in  one  of  his  letters,  had  evidently  express- 
ed some  apprehension,  that,  “ with  the  best  intentions, 
he  might  be  troublesome.”  Miss  Boothby  hints  that  such 
an  apprehension  on  his  part  was  unfounded. — Ed.] 

2 [“  I have  planted,  Apolios  w atered  but  God  gave  the 
increase.”  1 Cor.  iii.  6. — Ed.] 

vol.  n.  60 


LETTER  VII. 

“ Bath,  20th  May,  1754. 

“ Dear  sir, — How  was  I surprised  this  morn- 
ing, when,  on  opening  a letter  from  you,  with  the 
pleasing  expectation  of  its  being  a reply  to  one 
I wrote  to  you  above  a week  ago,  I found  you 
kindly  complaining  of  my  silence.  The  reflec- 
tions you  begin  your  letter  with  seemed  to  me,  at 
first,  as  if  you  had  mistaken  in  directing  it  to  me, 
as  I well  knew  I felt,  and  had  very  lately  ex- 
pressed, a regard  you  could  not  have  the  least 
doubt  of.  The  servant  assures  me  he  put  my 
letter  into  the  post-box  himself.  The  post-master 
assures  me,  none  put  there  ever  fail.  Yet  some- 
how this  has  failed.  I shall  be  sorry  if  it  does  not 
reach  you,  as  there  were  some  parts  of  it  (for  it 
was  no  short  one)  wrote  with  the  freedom  and 
confidence  of  friendship  ; and  the  whole  suffi- 
cient to  prove  I am  never  long  silent,  but  from 
necessity.  If  this  wanderer  does  at  last  find  you, 
dear  sir,  signify  its  arrival  as  soon  as  possibfe  to 
me.  I would  not  have  any  thing  lost  which 
would  be  of  the  least  value  to  you.  But  if  it  is 
lost,  my  intention  and  execution  of  it  will  still  re- 
main as  testimonies  for  me  ; and  if  it  is  possible 
any  one  of  your  friends  could  give  occasion  for 
imputations  of  inconstancy  and  unkindness,  you 
may  be  assured  I am,  on  motives  which  are  inva- 
riable, dear  sir,  your  affectionate  friend, 

“H.  Boothby. 

“We  are  to  leave  this  place  on  Tuesday  the 
28th,  and  set  out  for  Tissington,  where  I long  to 
be.  I hope  to  take  much  better  health  thither, °for 
the  use  of  my  dear  little  nursery.” 

LETTER  VIII. 

“ Tissington,  5th  June,  1754. 

“ Dear  sir, — The  first  leisure  moment  I have, 
is  most  justly  due  to  the  compliance  with  your 
kind  request  to  be  informed  of  our  arrival  here  , 
and  with  much  pleasure  I tell  you,  that,  after  a 
very  good  journey  of  four  days,  we  were  met 
with  the  bloom  of  health,  and  the  endearing 
smiles  of  innocence,  last  Friday,  at  Tissington. 
The  sensations  of  joy  and  thankfulness  I experi- 
enced on  this  interview  with  the  little  creatures 
are  not  to  be  described  : but,  I am  persuaded,  no 
h|art  but  hers  who  bequeathed  them  to  me,  ever 
so  truly  owned  or  received  them  as  children. 

“ The  loss  of  that  letter  I can  no  way  account 
for — think  no  more  of  it.  The  subject  of  part  of 
it  was  my  then  situation,  and  some  reflections  on 
the  exceeding  decline  of  conversation  I observed 
in  general  : in  which  there  seemed  to  be  no  othe* 
propriety  than  that  of  trifling  French  words  to  tri- 
fling somethings,  not  worthy  of  being  called 
thoughts.  1 mentioned  Adventurers,  &c.  and  ex- 
pressed. as  well  as  I could,  my  particular  satis- 
faction in  Mr.  Johnson’s  bullion,  or  rather  pure 
sterling,  amidst  the  tinsel  base-mixed  stuff  I met 
with,  and  the  high  value  I set  on  his  letters.  I 
gave  you  an  abstract  of  Farneworth’s  History, 
which  I have  not  time  to  repeat.  I thank  you  for 
thinking  of  a school,  and  recommending  one. 
Your  recommendation  would  immediately  fix  me, 
if  I alone  was  to  determine.  Two  have  been 
particularly  recommended  to  Mr.  Fitzherbert, 
Fulham  and  Wandsworth  ; and  we  have  for  some 
time  been  making  all  the  inquiry  we  can  into 


474 


APPENDIX. 


both.  The  last  I have  many  objections  to.  I 
shall  be  much  obliged  to  you  for  a more  particular 
account  of  your  friend  ; as — how  many  boys  he 
takes — his  rules  and  rates — and  also  if  he  has  a 
French  and  dancing  master.  I am  strongly  bias- 
sed towards  a man  you  speak  so  well  of.  That — 
well  instructed  in  virtue,  is  the  thing  I want : and 
a visit  from  you  now  and  then,  to  confirm  tnis 
instruction,  is  a high  inducement.  To  some 
proper  place  I hope  I shall  be  permitted  to  take 
this  dear  boy  this  summer,  when  1 also  hope  for 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you.  1 know  it  will  be  a 
pleasure  to  you  to  assist  me  in  an  affair  of  such 
consequence,  on  many  accounts ; and  I shall  not 
say  any  more  to  Mr.  Fitzherbert  about  Fulham 
till  1 hear  from  you  ; which  I assure  you,  I never 
do  without  great  satisfaction  ; as  I am,  dear  sir, 
your  obliged  and  affectionate  friend, 

“ H.  Boothbt. 

“Excuse  the  effects  of  hurry.  1 have  a cold  I 
brought  from  Bath  ; ot  herwise  I am  in  much  bet- 
ter health  than  I have  been  for  above  twelve 
months  past.” 

LETTER  IX. 

“ Tissington,  1st  July,  1754. 

“Dear  sir, — Truth  is  my  delight:  no  estab- 
lishment of  custom  will,  I hope,  ever  make  me  de- 
viate from  it.  And  as  an  excuse  seems  to  me  a 
kind  of  screen,  which  has  at  least  the  appearance 
of  concealing  something  we  would  not  have  seen, 
I make  none.  Nor  shall  I now  say  more  upon 
my  long  silence,  than  that  I have  thought  and 
felt  it  such  myself,  and  from  thence  leave  you  to 
infer  that  it  has  been  unavoidable.  Your  last  let- 
ter was  such  a one  as  I expected  from  you  on  such 
a subject— that  is,  so  clear,  full,  candid,  sensible, 
kind,  and  friendly,  as  I hardly  ever  saw  from  any 
other.  If  I had  your  talent  of  expression,  I could 
expatiate  on  this  letter  with  great  pleasure  ; but 
as  1 have  not,  I mu£t  deny  myself  this  indul- 
gence, and  treasure  up  those  observations  I have 
made  for  my  own  use,  which  if  I could  in  the  best 
manner  express,  you  do  not  need  for  yours.  I 
communicated  what  you  said  of  Mr.  Elphinston  i 
to  Mr.  Fitzherbert,  who  desires  me  to  say,  with 
his  regard  to  you,  that  he  is  much  obliged  to  you, 
but  upon  the  whole,  Mr.  Elphinston  is  not  the 
person  he  would  choose.  Though  Mr.  Fitzh^- 
bert  is  no  warm  party  man,  yet  I believe,  the 
“ Scotchman  ” and  “ Nonjuror  ” would  be  insu- 
perable objections.  Fulham,  I think,  will  be  cho- 
sen. at  least  for  a time.  The  hope  of  your  seeing 
this  dear  boy  sometimes  is  a comfortable  one ; 
thank  you  for  it.  His  going  from  home,  and  at 
a distance,  I am  sure  you  would  see  the  necessi- 
ty of,  could  I lay  before  you  the  reasons  which 
daily  urge  me  to  feel  it.  Less  evils  must  be  sub- 
mitted to,  with  the  view  of  avoiding  greater.  I 
cannot  help,  with  much  pity,  regarding  a mere 
fox-hunter  as  an  animal  little  superior  to  those  he 

fmrsues,  and  dreading  every  path  that  seems  to 
ead  towards  this  miserable  chase. 

“ My  health  continues  tolerable,  thank  God  ; 
yours,  and  every  other  good,  I sincerely  wish  you. 
If  present  resolutions  hold,  I may  have  the  pleas- 


1 Mr.  James  Elphinston,  who  kept  a school  at  Kensing- 
ton.— Wright.  [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  85.  We  gather 
from  this  letter  that  Mr.  Elphinston  was  a nonjuror. — 


ure  of  seeing  and  conversing  with  you ; nowever, 
I hope  for  that  of  hearing  from  you.  I beg  you 
never  to  let  me  lose  one  of  your  reflections  upon 
life.  Drop  them  on  the  paper  just  as  they  arise 
from  your  mind  : I love  them,  and  profit  by  them, 
and  I am  pleased  particularly  sometimes  to  find 
one  of  my  own,  brightened  and  adorned  with 
your  strong  and  masterly  colouring,  which  gives 
me  back  the  image  of  my  mind,  like  the  meeting 
an  old  acquaintance  after  absence,  but  extremely 
improved.  I have  no  reason,  I own,  to  expect  a 
letter  from  you  soon  ; but  think  not  that,  because  I 
have  not  befofe  now  desired  one,  I do  not  deserve 
one,  because  I can  with  truth  assure  you  I have 
this  claim.  Nobody  can  more  value  your  corres- 
pondence, or  be  with  greater  esteem  than  I am, 
dear  sir,  your  friend,  and  obliged  humble  servant, 
“H.  Boothby.” 

LETTER  X. 

“ Tissington,  5th  August,  1754 

“ Dear  sir, — I have,  as  you  desired,  endeav 
oured  to  think  about  and  examine  your  hypothe 
sis  ; but  this  dear  little  boy,  and  the  change  re 
solved  on  for  him,  would  not  suffer  me  to  speculate 
in  a general  way  to  much  purpose.  Must  you 
not  allow  our  perception  of  pain  and  of  pleasure 
to  be  in  an  equal  degree  ? Or  does  it  not  often 
happen,  that  we  are  even  more  sensible  to  pain 
than  pleasure  ? If  so,  those  changes  which  do 
not  increase  our  present  happiness,  will  not  ena- 
ble us  to  feel  the  next  vicissitude  of  gladness  with 
quicker,  but  only  with  equal,  or  with  a less  de- 
gree of  perception  ; and  consequently  we  shall  be 
either  no  gainers  or  losers  on  the  whole.  And 
yet,  though  I am  sure  I shall  experience  the  truth 
of  this,  if  1 only  see  you  for  a few  hours,  I shall 
however  desire  to  see  you.  This  is  an  enigma  I 
leave  to  your  solution,  and  proceed  to  tell  you, 
that,  if  nothing  intervenes  to  change  it,  our  pre- 
sent resolution  is,  that  we  are  to  set  out  for  Ful- 
ham on  W ednesday  se’nnight  the  14th  of  Au- 
gust. On  account  of  the  dear  little  ones  I shall 
leave  here,  I shall  be  obliged  to  make  a speedy 
return  ; and  propose  staying  only  a week  at  a 
friend’s  in  Putney,  to  see  every  thing  fixed,  as 
well  as  I can,  for  my  young  man.  But  I will 
contrive  to  see  you  and  a very  few  more  of  my 
friends  in  town  ; and  you  shall  hear  from  me,  as 
to  the  when  and  where,  from  Putney.  You,  full 
of  kindness,  sitting  in  your  study,  will,  I know, 
say — ‘Why  does  she  hurry  herself  about  so 
I answer,  to  save  you  the  pain  of  this  thought, 
that  travelling  always  is  very  serviceable  to  me  in 
point  of  health. 

“ You  will  never  provoke  me  to  contradict  you, 
unless  you  contradict  me,  without  reasons  and  ex- 
emplification to  support  your  opinion.  ’Tis  very 
true — all  these  things  you  have  enumerated  are 
equally  pitiable  with  a poor  fox-hunter.  ’Tis  not 
in  man  to  direct,  either  his  own  or  the  way  of 
others  aright ; nor  do  I ever  look  but  to  the  su- 
preme and  all-wise  Governor  of  the  universe, 
either  for  direction  or  with  hope.  I know  you 
kindly  mean  to  avert  the  pain  of  disappointment 
by  discouraging  expectation,  but  mine  is  never 
sanguine  with  regard  to  any  thing  here.  Mine  is 
truly  a life  of  faith,  not  of  sight;  and  thus  I never, 
as  Milton  s^ys — 


APPENDIX. 


475 


— ' bate  one  jot 

Of  heart  or  hope ; but  still  bear  up,  arid  steer 

Right  onward.’ 

“ I like  not  the  conclusion  of  your  last  letter ; 
it  is  an  ill  compliment  to  call  that  mean,  which  the 
person  you  speak  to  most  highly  esteems  and 
values.  Know  yourself  and  me  better  for  the 
future,  and  be  assured  you  both  are  and  ought  to 
be  much  regarded  and  honoured  by,  dear  sir,  your 
grateful  and  affectionate  friend, 

“ H.  Boothby. 

« Your  dedication  l to  your  great  Dictionary  I 
have  heard  of  in  these  words — A specimen  of  per- 
fection in  the  English  language.” 

LETTER  XI. 

“ Putney,  9th  August,  1754. 

“ Dear  sir, — As  I promised,  this  is  to  inform 
you  of  our  being  here,  but  at  present  I cannot  say 
more.  The  pleasure  of  seeing  you,  with  the 
ways  and  means  of  procuring  this  pleasure,  must 
be  deferred  for  some  days.  This  evening  we  take 
dear  Billy  to  school,  and  till  I have  seen  how  he 
settles  there,  I am  fixed  here.  Form  some  little 
plan  for  me,  to  be  executed  towards  the  latter  end 
of  this  week  ; for  really  I am  not  capable  of 
forming  any  myself  at  this  time — and  communi- 
cate it  by  the  penny-post  in  a billet  to  me  at  Mrs. 
D’Aranda’s  in  Putney.  I and  my  little  compan- 
ions here  are  well,  and  all  has  a favourable  aspect 
with  regard  to  the  dear  boy’s  situation.  I never 
forget  any  thing  you  say  ; and  now  have  in  my 
jnind  a very  just  and  useful  observation  of  yours, 
viz.  ‘ The  effect  of  education  is  very  precarious. 
But  what  can  be  hoped  without  it  ? Though  the 
harvest  may  be  blasted,  we  must  yet  cultivate  the 
ground,’  &c.  I am  (somewhat  abruptly) — but  I 
am,  dear  sir,  your  much  obliged  and  affectionate 
friend,  “ H.  Boothby.” 

LETTER  XII. 

“ Sunday  evening,  Holborn-bridge. 

“Dear  sir, — Do  you  think  I would  have  been 
almost  two  days  in  town  without  seeing  you,  if  I 
could  either  have  been  at  liberty  to  have  made 
you  a visit,  or  have  received  one  from  you  ? No  : 
you  cannot  think  so  unjustly  of  me.  The  truth 
is,  I have  been  in  a hurry  ever  since  I came 
here,  and  am  not  wrell.  To-morrow  I am  obliged 
to  go  a little  way  into  the  country.  On  T uesday, 
Dr.  Lawrence  has  engaged  me  to  spend  the  eve- 
ning at  his  house,  where  I hope  to  meet  you,  and 
fix  with  you  some  hour  in  which  to  see  you  again 
on  Wednesday.  Thursday,  down  towards  Der- 
byshire. Thus  is  whirled  about  this  little  ma- 
chine ; which,  however,  contains  a mind  unsub- 
tect  to  rotation.  Such  you  will  always  find  it. 

“H.  Boothby.” 

LETTER  XIII. 

“ Putney,  23d  August,  1754. 

“Dear  sir, — Unless  a very  great  change  is 
made  in  you,  you  can  never  have  the  least  reason 
to  apprehend  the  loss  of  my  esteem.  Caprice 
may  have  accompanied  the  morning,  and  perhaps 


1 [She  must  mean  the  Prospectus  addressed  to  Lord 
Chesterfield,  which  had  been  published  so  long  before  as 
1747,  of  which  the  original  manuscript,  with  some  mar- 

S'nal  notes  by  Lord  Chesterfield,  is  in  the  possession  of 
r.  Anderdon. — Ed  1 


noon  of  my  life,  but  my  evening  has  banished  that 
fickle  wanderer ; and  as  now  1 fix  not  without  de- 
liberation and  well-weighed  choice,  I am  not  sub- 
ject to  change. 

“ Your  very  kind  visit  was  a new  obligation, 
which,  if  1 could  express  my  sense  of  it,  must  be 
less.  Common  favours  it  is  easy  to  acknowledge, 
but  a delicate  sensibility  to  real  proofs  of  esteem 
and  friendship  are  not  easily  to  be  made  known. 

“Mr.  Millar’s  methods  seems  to  me  to  be  a 
very  right  one,  and  for  the  reasons  you  give  ; and 
if  he  will  please  to  carry  the  catalogue  to  Mr. 
Whiston,  by  the  time  I shall  be  in  town,  I imagine 
he  will  have  appraised  the  books  ; and  then  we 
will  proceed  to  the  disposal  of  them,  as  you  shall 
judge  best.  Mr.  Fitzherbert  I have  not  seen 
since  I had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you,  and  there- 
fore cannot  yet  say  when  I can  again  have  that 
pleasure  ; but  I hope  some  time  next  week  to  re- 
pay your  visit.  I have  an  aching  head  to-day,  so 
great  an  enemy  to  my  inclination,  that  it  will  not 
let  me  say  more  than  that  I am,  with  much  es- 
teem and  true  regard,  dear  sir,  your  affectionate 
friend,  “ H.  Boothby. 

“ Mrs.  D’Aranda  and  the  young  ladies  desire 
compliments.  My  regards  to  Miss  Williams.” 

LETTER  XIV. 

“ Tissington,  12th  September,  1754 

“ Dear  sir, — I told  you  I would  call  upon  you 
before  I left  London,  if  I could.  I much  desired 
to  have  seen  you  again ; it  was  in  my  mind  all 
Thursday,  but  so  it  happened,  it  was  not  in  my 
power.  Mr.  Fitzherbert  having  changed  his 
mind,  and  determined  not  to  go  to  Tunbridge, 
suddenly  took  up  another  resolution,  which  was 
to  take  a house  in  town,  and  engaged  me  to  go 
with  him  to  see  one  in  Cavendish-square,  here 
I was  the  greatest  part  of  the  morning,  and  met 
with  what  took  up  the  rest  of  the  day,  besides  so 
much  fatigue  as  would  alone  have  disabled  for 
going  out  again  after  I got  to  Holborn.  But,  as 
we  are  likely  to  be  in  town  again  the* next  month, 
and  stay  there  long,  I hope  I shall  have  frequent 
opportunities  of  seeing  you,  both  where  I shall  be 
and  at  your  own  house.  Thank  God  we  arrived 
here  well  on  Monday,  and  found  my  little  dear 
charge  all  in  perfect  health  and  joy.  My  brother 
I shall  see  next  week,  and  then  can  fully  commu- 
nicate to  him  all  you  was  so  good  as  to  execute 
for  us  in  the  library  affair,  and  your  opinion  con- 
cerning the  disposal  of  the  books.  I only  saw 
enough  of  you  in  Putney,  and  in  town,  to  make 
me  wish  to  see  more.  It  will  soon  be  in  your 
power  to  gratify  this  wish.  Place  is  a thing  pretty 
indifferent  to  me,  but  London  I am  least  fond  of 
any  ; however,  the  conversation  of  some  few  in 
it  will  soon  lake  off  my  dislike.  I do  not  mean 
this  as  a letter ; call  it  what  you  will.  It  is  only 
to  tell  you  why  I did  not  see  you  again  ; that  I hope 
a future  time  will  recompense  for  this  loss  ; that 
we  are  safe  here ; and  that  every  where  I am,  and 
shall  be,  with  much  esteem,  dear  sir,  your  obliged 
and  affectionate  friend,  “ H.  Boothby. 

“ You  can  write  amidst  the  tattle  of  women, 


2 fThis  relates  to  the  sale  of  some  books,  which  Miss 
Boothby’s  brother  wanted  to  dispose  of,  and  about  which 
she  employed  Johnson  to  speak  to  some  booksellers  — 

Ed.] 


476 


APPENDIX. 


because  your  attention  is  so  strong  to  sense  that 
you  are  deaf  to  sound.  I wonder  whether  you 
could  write  amidst  the  prattle  of  children  ; no  bet- 
ter than  I,  I really  believe,  if  they  were  your  own 
children,  as  I find  these  prattlers  are  mine.” 

LETTER  XV. 

“ Tissington,  28th  September,  1754. 

“Dear  sir, — Do  you  wait  to  hear  again  from 
me  ? or  why  is  it  that  I am  so  long  without  the 
pleasure  of  hearing  from  you  ? Had  my  brother 
kept  his  appointment,  I should  not  have  failed  to 
give  you  a second  letter  sooner  ; now  is  the  first 
moment  I could  tell  you  his  determination  concern- 
ing the  books.  But  first  I am  to  give  you  his 
compliments  and  thanks  for  your  part  in  the  af- 
fair. He  thinks,  as  the  sum  offered  by  Mr.  Whis- 
ton  is  so  small  a one,  and  his  son  is  likely  to  be  a 
scholar,  it  will  be  best  to  suspend  any  sale  of  the 
books  for  the  present ; and  if  on  further  conside- 
ration he  finds  he  must  part  with  them,  then  to  do 
it  in  the  method  you  proposed  ; as  in  that  way 
some  may  be  selected  for  his  son’s  use,  and  the 
rest  sold,  so  as  to  make  more  than  to  be  parted 
with  to  a bookseller.  U pon  considering  both  sides 
of  the  question,  he  rather  chooses  the  hazard  on  one 
side,  with  the  certainty  of  greater  profits  in  case 
of  success,  than  to  accept  of  Mr.  Whiston’s  sum 
for  all  the  books  at  present.  But  I am  preparing 
for  a journey  to  town  ; and  there  I hope  I shall 
have  an  opportunity  of  explaining  upon  this  sub- 
ject in  a clearer  manner  ; for,  though  I know 
what  I would  say,  I cannot  say  it  clearly  amidst 
the  confusion  of  ideas  in  my  head  at  this  time.  I 
beg  to  hear  from  you  ; however  little  I may  de- 
serve, I cannot  help  much  desiring  a letter  from 
you.  If  your  taste  and  judgment  cannot  allow  me 
any  fhing  as  a writer,  yet  let  my  merit  as  a sin- 
cere friend  demand  a return.  In  this  demand  I 
will  yield  to  none  ; for  I am  sure  none  can  have  a 
truer  esteem  and  friendship  towards  you  than, 
dear  sir,  your  obliged  and  affectionate  friend, 

“H.  Boothby.” 

LETTER  XVI. 

“ Tuesday,  29th  October,  1754. 

“ Dear  sir, — From  what  Mrs.  Lawrence  told 
me  I have  had  daily  hopes  of  the  pleasure  of  see- 
ing you  here,  which  has  prevented  my  desiring 
that  favour.  I am  much  mortified  by  the  disap- 
pointment of  having  been  so  long  in  town  without 
one  of  the  greatest  satisfactions  I promised  myself 
in  it — your  conversation  : and,  in  short,  if  you 
will  not  come  here,  I must  make  you  a visit  i.  I 
should  have  called  upon  you  before  this  time  if  the 
settling  of  my  dear  little  charge  here  had  not  em- 
ployed me  so  much  at  home;  now  that  business  is 
almost  completed.  Pray  say  when  and  where  I 
may  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you.  Perhaps 
you  may  not  imagine  how  much  lam  affected  by 
the  not  receiving  any  reply  to  two  letters  I wrote 
before  we  left  Derbyshire,  and  the  being  a fort- 
night in  town  without  seeing  a person  whom  I 
hishlv  esteem,  and  to  whom  I am  an  obliged  and 
affectionate  friend,  “ H.  Boothby.” 


1  [It  must  be  observed  in  this,  the  preceding,  and  the 
following  letters,  how  few  the  interviews  between  Dr. 
Johnson  and  Miss  Boothby  seem  to  have  been  even  when 
they  resided  in  the  same  place. — Ed.] 


.LETTER  XVII. 

“ Friday-night,  29th  November,  1 /54 

“ Dear  sir, — How  particularly  unlucky  I was 
to  be  out  to-day  when  you  came ! For  above  these 
fourteen  days  have  I never  been  a moment  from 
home,  but  closely  attending  my  poor  dear  Miss 
Fitzherbert,  who  has  been  very  ill,  and  unwilling 
ly  left  her  to-day  to  pay  a debt  of  civility  long  due. 
1 imagined  if  you  came  to-day,  it  would'be  about 
the  time  of  my  return  home.  But  that  we  may 
be  the  better  acquainted  with  each  other’s  hours, 
and  I secure  from  another  mortifying  disappoint- 
ment, I send  to  tell  you  that  not  being  an  evening 
rapper  to  people’s  doors,  whenever  I do  go  out  it 
is  in  a morning — a town-morning — between  noon 
and  three  o’clock  ; and  that  for  the  next  four 
mornings  I must  be  out.  Now  can ’t  you  as  con- 
veniently let  me  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you 
at  five  some  evening?  Name  any  one,  and  you 
shall  have  your  tea  as  I can  make  it,  and  a grati- 
fication infinitely  superior  I know  in  your  estima- 
tion to  any  other,  that  of  seeing  your  presence 
gives  great  pleasure  to  a friend  ; for  such  1 most 
sincerely  am  to  you.  “H.  Boothby.” 

LETTER  XVII12. 

“ Dear  sir, — I have  company,  from  whom  I 
run  just  to  say  I have  often  rejoiced  to  see  your 
hand,  but  never  so  much  as  now.  Come  and  see 
me  as  soon  as  you  can  ; and  I shall  forgive  an  ab- 
sence which  has  indeed  given  me  no  small  dis- 
turbance. I am,  dear  sir,  your  affectionate  friend, 
“ H.  Boothby.” 

LETTER  XIX. 

“ Dear  sir,— Perhaps  you  are  the  only  autnor 
in  England  who  could  make  a play  a very  accept- 
able present  to  me.  But  you  have ; and  I assure 
you  I shall  leave  your  Irene  behind  me  3 when  I 
go  hence,  in  my  little  repository  of  valuable  things. 
Miss  Fitzherbert  is  much  delighted,  and  desires 
her  best  thanks.  The  author’s  company  would 
have  more  enhanced  the  value  of  the  present ; but 
that  we  will  hope  for  soon.  I am  much  obliged 
to  you  for  the  good  account  of  the  Lawrences,  and 
for  many  things  which  increase  my  regard,  and 
confirm  me  in  being,  dear  sir,  your  affectionate 
friend,  “H.  Boothby.” 

LETTER  XX. 

“ 15th  May,  1755. 

“ My  good  friend, — I hoped  to  have  seen 
you  here  last  night,  as  the  doctor  told  me  he  had 
informed  you  I was  in  town  again.  It  is  hard  to 
be  suspected  of  coldness  and  indifference  at  the 
very  time  when  one  is,  and  with  reason,  most 
strongly  sensible  of  the  contrary.  From  your  own 
kind  conduct  to  me,  in  particular  lately,  you  who 
are  accustomed  to  make  just  inferences  and  con- 
clusions, might  have  easily  made  the  true  ones, 
and  have  discovered  there  was  too  much  to  be 
expressed  4.  To  a less  penetrating  person  this 

2 [This  undated  note  seems  to  imply  that  there  had 
been  an  interruption  of  their  intercourse,  occasioned  ei- 
ther by  some  misunderstanding  or  by  illness  : if  by  the  lat- 
ter, the  date  was  probably  in  the  winter  of  1755. — Ed.] 

3 [Miss  Boothby  probably  left  town  before  Christmas, 
1755,  and  did  not  return  till  about  May,  1756. — Ed.] 

4 [These  expressions,  it  must  be  owned,  seem  to  par- 
take of  the  tender ; but  the  agean*-  circumstance*  of  tha 


appendix. 


might  occasion  a surprise  of  neglect ; but  I could 
not  have  imagined  you  would  or  could  have  been 
so  deceived.  My  friendship  is  a poor  acquisition  ; 
but  you  see  it  is  so  far  valuable  that  it  is  firm 
and  constant.  Then  you  will  say  it  is  not  a poor 
acquisition.  Well,  be  it  what  it  will,  be  assured 
you  have  as  far  as  it  can  ever  extend  either  to 
please  or  serve  you.  But  do  not  suspect  me.  1 
have  an  opportunity  just  now  to  send  this — there- 
fore no  more  till  I see  you  ; except  that  I am,  in- 
deed with  much  esteem,  gratitude,  and  affection, 
dear  sir,  your  friend,  “ H.  Boothby. 

“ I hope  I am  better,  and  Miss  F.  in  a good 
way.  She  has  the  measles.” 

LETTER  XXI. 

11  Tissington,  15th  June,  1755. 

“ Dear  sir, — That  we  arrived  safe  here,  and 
had  every  thing  to  make  our  journey  easy  and 
pleasant,  is  most  of  what  I have  time  to  say,  ex- 
cept that  amidst  the  smiles  of  the  country,  a coun- 
try 1 love,  my  native  one,  and  the  smiles  of  my 
children,  whom  I love  much  more,  I am  sensible 
you  are  a hundred  and  forty  miles  distant.  This 
is  not  like  forgetting  ycru.  At  present  I am  the 
worse  for  the  fatigue  of  travelling  ; which,  contra- 
ry to  custom,  was  a great  one  to  me  : but  I hope 
this  pure,  sweet  air,  will  have  a great  influence 
upon  my  health  when  I have  recovered  my  fa- 
tigue. Your  little  friend  is  I think  the  better  for 
her  four  days’  exercise.  You  were  the  subject  of 
our  conversation  many  times  on  the  road,  and 
will  often  be  so.  I hope  I shall  soon  find  you 
think  of  us.  1 can  never  forget  the  hours  you 
generously  bestowed  on  one  who  has  no  claim 
or  merit,  but  that  of  being,  dear  sir,  with  much 
esteem,  your  grateful  and  affectionate  friend, 

“ H.  Boothby. 

“Miss  Fitzherbert’s  love  to  you;  no  small 
treasure,  I assure  you.” 

LETTER  XXII. 

“Tissington,  4th  July,  1755. 

“ Two  letters  from  Mr.  Johnson  ! Why  did  I 
not  reply  to  the  first  kind  greeting  before  he  an- 
swered my  letter  ? I do  n’t  love  to  be  outdone  in 
kindness ; and  I was  both  angry  and  pleased  when 
I saw  your  second  letter,  my  good  friend.  But 
the  truth  is  I have  been  lazy.  It  had  been  long 
since  I had  known  what  quiet  was  ; and  I found 
in  myself,  both  inwardly  and  outwardly,  a strong 
inclination  to  enjoy  it.  I read  your  letters  over 
and  over ; but  till  now  I could  not  sit  down  to 
write  to  you.  It  is  true  I am  abstracted  from 
common  life,  as  you  say.  What  is  common  life 
but  a repetition  of  the  same  things  over  and  over? 
And  is  it  made  up  of  such  things  as  a thinking,  re- 
flecting being  can  bear  the  repetition  of  over  and 
over  long  without  weariness  ? 1 have  found  not ; 

and  therefore  my  view  is  turned  to  the  things  of 
that  life  which  must  be  begun  here,  is  ever  new 
and  increasing,  and  will  be  continued  eternally 


parties,  and  the  context  of  other  letters,  induce  the  Edi- 
tor to  attribute  these  and  certain  similar  expressions  which 
he  will  soon  observe  in  Dr.  Johnson’s  answers,  to  the  en- 
thusiastic style  in  which  Miss  Boothby  and  her  friends 
indulged.  See  particularly  the  next  letters  of  the  lady, 
in  which  it  appears  that  she  was  endeavouring  to  prose- 
yte  Johnson  to  her  peculiar  views  of  some  religious  sub- 
ects  — Ed.-) 


477 

hereafter.  Yet,  mistake  me  not,  I am  so  far 
from  excluding  social  duties  from  this  life  that  1 
am  sure  they  are  a part  oi  it,  and  can  only  be  du- 
ly and  truly  exerted  in  it.  Common  life  I call 
not  social  life  ; but  in  general  that  dissipation  and 
wandering  which  leads  from  the  duties  of  it. 
While  I was  in  town  I did  not  feel  myself  as  a 
part  of  that  multitude  around  me.  The  objects  I 
saw  at  dinners,  &e.  except  yourself,  when  they 
had  any  of  my  attention,  drew  it  only  to  pity 
their  want  of  attention  to  what  chiefly  concerned 
their  happiness  ; and  oftener  they  were  as  passing 
straws  on  the  surface  of  a Dovedale  stream  l,  and 
went  as  lightly  and  as  quick  over  the  surface  of 
my  mind.  My  importance  here  1 wish  was  great- 
er, if  it  might  please  God  to  grant  me  another 
wish,  that  of  making  one  soul  better  and  happier. 
I think  reputation  and  dignity  have  no  value,  but 
as  far  as  they  may  be  made  means  of  influencing 
and  leading  into  virtue  and  piety.  Mankind  of 
all  degrees  are  naturally  the  same : manners  differ 
from  different  causes,  but  not  men.  A miner  in 
Derbyshire,  under  the  appearance  of  simplicity 
and  honesty,  has  perhaps  more  art  than  the  most 
accomplished  statesman.  We  are  all  alike  bad, 
my  dear  friend,  depend  upon  it,  till  a change  is 
wrought  upon  us,  not  by  our  own  reasoning,  but 
by  the  same  Divine  Power  who  first  created  and 
pronounced  all  he  had  made  very  good.  From 
this  happy  state  we  all  plainly  fell,  and  to  it  can 
we  only  be  restored  by  the  second  Adam,  who 
wrought  out  a full  and  complete  redemption  and 
restoration  for  us.  Is  this  enthusiasm  ? Indeed  it 
is  truth  : and  I trust  you  will  some  time  be  sure 
it  is  so ; and  then,  and  not  till  then,  will  you  be 
happy,  as  I ardently  wish  you.  I am  much  bet- 
ter. My  cough  is  now  nothing,  and  my  voice 
almost  clear.  I am  weak  yet,  too  weak  to  at- 
tempt to  see  Dovedale.  But  keep  your  resolution, 
and  come  and  see  us  ; and  I hope  I shall  be  able 
to  walk  there  with  you.  I give  you  leave  to  fear 
the  loss  of  me,  but  doubt  not  in  the  least  of  my 
affection  and  friendship  ; this  I cannot  forgive. 
Miss  Fitzherbert  says  she  does  not  forget  her  pro- 
mise. She  is  studying  your  Ramblers  to  form 
her  style,  and  hopes  soon  to  give  you  a specimen 
of  good  writing.  She  is  very  well,  aTid  flying 
about  the  fields  every  fair  day,  as  the  rest  are. 

“ Let  me  hear  from  you  as  soon  as  you  can. 
I love  your  letters,  and  alwrays  rejoice  to  find  my- 
self in  your  thoughts.  You  are  very  frequently 
in  mine  ; and  seldom  without  a petition  to  Heaven 
for  you.  Poor  is  that  love  which  is  bounded  by 
the  narrow  space  of  this  temporal  scene : mine  ex- 
tends to  an  eternity ; and  I cannot  desire  anything 
less  for  you,  for  whom  I have  the  sincerest  re- 
gard, than  endless  happiness  ; as  a proof  that  1 
am  truly,  dear  sir,  your  affectionate  friend, 

“ H.  Boothby. 

“ The  great  Dictionary  is  placed  in  full  view, 
on  a desk  in  my  own  room.  1 am  sorry  you 
have  met  with  some  disappointments  in  the  next 
edition  2.  Best  wishes  to  Miss  Williams. 

“ Do  not  say  you  have  heard  from  me  at  the 
good  doctor’s  3.  I should  write  to  him,  but  have 


1 [Tissington  is  within  a walk  of  Dovedale,  oneside  of 
which  belongs  to  the  Fitzherberts. — Ed.] 

2 [What  these  were  do  not  appear.  See  ante , lol.i.  p. 

130,  n. — Ed.]  3 [Dr.  Lawrence — Ed.) 


478 


APPENDIX. 


aid  out  all  my  present  stock  of  time  on  you.  O ! 
chaises  and  such  things  are  only  transient,  disqui- 
ets. I have,  on  a fine  still  day,  observed  the  wa- 
ter as  smooth  as  glass,  suddenly  curled  on  the  sur- 
face by  a little  gust  of  air,  and  presently  still  and 
smooth  again.  No  more  than  this  are  my  chaise 
troubles.  Like  Hamlet’s  Ghost,  *’ Tis  here — 
His  gone.'  ” 

LETTER  XXIII. 

“Tissington,  23d  July,  1755. 

Dear  sir, — To  answer  your  questions — I 
can  say  that  I love  your  letters,  because  it  is  very 
true  that  I do  love  them  ; and  I do  not  know  any 
one  reason  why  I may  not  declare  this  truth  ; so 
much  do  I think  it  would  be  for  my  reputation, 
that  I should  choose  to  declare  it,  not  only  to  you, 
but  to  all  who  know  you.  Ask  yourself  why  I 
value  your  affection  ; for  you  cannot  be  so  much 
a stranger  to  yourself  as  not  to  know  many  rea- 
sons why  I ought  highly  to  value  it ; and  I hope 
ou  are  not  so  much  a stranger  to  me  as  not  to 
now  I would  always  do  as  1 ought,  though,  per- 
haps, in  this  case  the  doing  so  has  not  the  merit 
of  volition — for  in  truth  I cannot  help  it.  So 
much  in  reply  to  the  two  first  sentences  in  your 
last  letter.  It  is  no  unpleasing  circumstance  to 
me  that  the  same  messenger  who  has  taken  a let- 
ter to  the  post-house  at  Ashbourn  from  me  to  you, 
has  twice  brought  back  one  from  you  to  me. 
Possibly,  while  1 am  now  replying  to  your  last, 
you  may  be  giving  me  a reply  to  mine  again. 
Both  ways  I shall  be  pleased,  whether  I happen 
to  be  beforehand  with  you,  or  you  again  with  me. 

“ I am  desirous  that  in  the  great  and  one 
thing  necessary  you  should  think  as  I do ; and  I 
am  persuaded  you  some  time  will.  I will  not 
enter  into  a controversy  with  you.  I am  sure  I 
never  can  this  way  convince  you  in  any  point 
wherein  we  may  differ  ; nor  can  any  mortal  con- 
vince me,  by  human  arguments,  that  there  is  not 
a divine  evidence  for  divine  truths  i.  Such  the 
apostle  plainly  defines  faith  to  be,  when  he  tells 
us  it  is  ‘ the  substance  of  things  hoped  for,  the 
evidence  of  things  not  seen.’  Human  testimony 
can  go  no  farther  than  things  seen  and  visible  to 
the  sens^.  Divine  and  spiritual  things  are  far 
above  ; and  what  says  St.  Paul  ? ‘ For  what  man 
knoweth  the  things  of  a man,  save  the  spirit  of 
man  which  is  in  him  ? Even  so  the  things  of  God 
knoweth  no  man,  but  the  spirit  of  God.’  Do 
read  the  whole  chapter ; and,  if  you  please,  Mr. 
Romaine’s  Sermon,  or  Discourse,  lately  published, 

‘ On  the  benefit  which  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God  is 
of  to  man  in  his  journey  through  life.’  I utterly 
disclaim  all  faith  that  does  not  work  by  love,  love 
that — 

‘ Takes  every  creature  in  of  every  kind 

and  believe  from  my  soul  that  in  every  sect  and 
denomination  of  Christians  there  are  numbers, 
great  numbers,  who  will  sit  down  with  Abraham, 
Isaac,  and  Jacob,  and  the  promise  you  quote  be 
gloriously  fulfilled.  I believe  and  rejoice  in  this 

l [It  must  not  be  inferred  from  this  that  Dr.  Johnson 
had  in  his  letter  maintained  a contrary  doctrine.  He 
probably  combated  some  of  Miss  Boothby’s  peculiar  ten- 
ets, which  she  defends,  as  is  common  in  such  controver- 
ts s,  by  assertions  which  hei  antagonist  would  not  have 
thought  of  denying. — Ed.] 


assurance  of  happiness  for  ten  thousand  times  ten 
thousand,  thousand,  &c.  of  every  language  and 
nation  and  people.  I am  convinced  that  many 
true  Christians  differ;  and  if  such  do  differ,  it  can 
be  only  in  words,  with  regard  to  which  great  cau- 
tion should  be  used. 

“I  continue  as  well  in  health  as  I told  you  I 
was  in  my  last.  Mr.  Fitzherbert  has  put  off  his 
coming  here  till  August.  My  dear  Miss  is  very 
well.  She  bids  me  send  you  her  love,  and  tell 
you  she  must  consider  some  time  about  writing 
to  you  before  she  can  execute  properly. 

“ Do  not  treat  me  with  so  much  deference.  I 
have  no  claim  to  it;  and,  from  a friend,  it  looks 
too  like  ceremony — a thing  I am  at  this  time 
more  particularly  embarrassed  with.  Perhaps 
you  never  knew  a person  less  apt  to  take  offence 
than  myself ; and  if  it  was  otherwise  in  general,  1 
am  sure  you  would  not  have  cause  to  apprehend 
the  giving  it,  but  would  always  be  a particular 
exception  to  my  taking  it. 

“ See  how  far  the  pleasure  of  conversing  with 
you  has  overcome  my  present  dislike  to  writing  ; 
and  let  it  be  a farther  proof  to  you  of  my  being, 
dear  sir,  your  affectionate  friend,  and  obliged 
humble  servant,  “H.  Boothby  2. 

“How  does  Miss  Williams  and  her  father7 
My  regards  to  her.” 

LETTER  XXIV. 

“ Tissington,  29th  July,  1755. 

“ Dear  sir, — As  it  happened  your  rebuke  for 
my  silence  was  so  timed  as  to  give  me  pleasure. 
Your  complaints  would  have  been  very  painful  to 
me  had  I not  been  pretty  certain  that  before  I 
read  them  you  would  receive  a letter  which  would 
take  away  all  cause  for  them.  I could  not  have 
borne  them  under  the  least  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing merited  them.  But,  quite  free  from  this,  such 
marks  of  your  friendship  were  very  pleasing. 
You  need  not  make  use  of  any  arguments  To 
persuade  me  of  the  necessity  of  frequent  writing  ; 
I am  very  willing  to  acknowledge  it  in  a correspon- 
dence with  you ; though  I never  so  little  liked  to 
write,  in  general,  since  1 could  write,  as  for  some 
time  past.  Both  my  mind  and  body  are  much  in- 
disposed to  this  employment.  The  last  is  not  so 
easy  in  the  posture  which  habit  has  fixed  when  I 
write,  and  consequently  the  mind  affected  too. 
To  you  I always  wish  to  appear  in  the  best  light ; 
but  you  will  excuse  infirmities  ; and  to  purchase 
your  letters  I shall  think  my  time  happily  bestow- 
ed. If  but  one  line  can  give  you  pleasure  or  sus- 
pended pain,  I shall  rejoice.  How  kind  was  your 
last  little  letter ! I longed  to  return  my  immediate 
thanks  : but  Mr.  Fitzherbert’s  mother,  an  old  laoy, 
bigoted  to  forms,  prevented  me ; and  has  prevent- 
ed me  till  now.  She  came  here,  is  here,  and 
stays  some  time.  I continue  much  better  in  my 
health,  thank  God  ! alert  and  cheerful ; and  have 
stood  storms  and  tempests,  rain  and  cold,  unhurt. 
I observe  the  good  doctor’s  rules,  and  have  found 
them  efficacious.  Mr.  Fitzherbert  had  appointed 
his  time  for  being  here  as  next  week,  but  has 
changed  it  to  near  three  weeks  hence.  Tell  me 
some  literary  news — I mean  of  your  own  ; for  I 
am  very  indifferent  to  the  productions  of  others 

2 At  the  end  of  this  letter  Dr  Johnson  wrote,  answer- 
ed.— Wright. 


APPENDIX. 


479 


but  interested  warmly  in  all  yours,  both  in  heart 
and  mind. 

“ I hope  our  difference  is  only  in  words,  or  that 
in  time  our  sentiments  will  be  so  much  the  same 
as  to  make  our  expressions  clear  and  plain.  As 
you  say,  every  moment  brings  the  time  nearer  in 
which  we  must  think  alike.  O may  this  time  (or 
rather  end  of  time  to  us)  which  will  fully  disclose 
truth,  also  with  it  disclose  eternal  happiness  to  us  ! 
You  see  I cannot  help  praying  for  you,  nor  shall 
I ever,  as  I am  truly,  dear  sir,  your  affectionate 
friend,  “H.  Boothby. 

“ My  little  flock  all  well;  Miss  much  at  your 
service,  and  has  a high  regard  for  you.  If  you 
mention  me  at  the  doctor’s,  mention  me  as  one 
who  is  always  glad  of  paying  regard  there,  and 
hearing  well  of  them.” 

LETTER  XXY. 

“ 30th  July,  1755. 

Dear  sir, — Why,  my  good  friend,  you  are  so 
bountiful  and  so  kind  that  I must  thank  you,  and 
say  1 am  truly  grateful,  though  I have  not  time 
for  more,  as  I have  been  obliged  to  write  several 
letters  to-day,  and  cannot  easily  write  much. 
Your  account  of  Mr.  Williams’s  departure  was 
very  sweet  to  me  i.  He  is  happy  without  doubt, 
and,  instead  of  condoling  with,  I most  heartily 
rejoice  with  Miss  Williams  from  this  assurance, 
which  I trust  she  has  as  strongly  as  I,  and  then 
she  must  be  every  moment  thankful. 

“I  am  not  so  well  as  I have  been.  The  damp 
weather  has  affected  me.  But  my  dear  children 
are  all  well ; and  some  sunshine  will  revive  me 
again.  This  is  only  to  let  you  see  I think  of  you, 
and,  as  I ought,  receive  every  instance  of  your 
regard  when  I assure  you  it  increases  mine,  and 
makes  me  more  and  more,  dear  sir,  your  grateful 
and  affectionate  friend,  “ H.  Boothby. 

“ I will  tell  you  some  time  what  I think  of 
Anacreon  2.” 

LETTER  XXYI. 

“ 13th  August,  1755. 

Dear  sir, — Y ou  was  at  Oxford  then  ? And 
I was  vain  enough  to  conclude  you  was  not  in 
town,  or  I should  have  heard  from  you  sooner,  and 
you  have  not  lessened  my  vanity  by  thinkin'g  of 
and  writing  to  me,  in  a place  where  so  many  ob- 
jects suited  to  your  taste  would  be  courting  your 
attention — so  many  of  the  learned  seeking  your 
conversation.  This  is  a new  obligation,  of  which 
I am  very  sensible.  Yet  I had  rather  seen  a letter 
dated  from  Lichfield,  because  then  I should  have 
hoped  soon  to  see  Mr.  Johnson  himself,  and  fpr 
an  opportunity  of  conversing  with  him. 

1 [When  the  term  “ sweet  ” is  applied  on  such  an  occa- 
sion, it  is  not  surprising  that  we  meet  strange  expres- 
sions scattered  through  the  correspondence. — Ed.] 

2 [Had  he  sent  to  Miss  Boothby  the  translation  of 
Anacreon’s  Dove,  which  he  gave  to  Mrs.  Thrale  in  1777  ? 
When  dictating  it  to  that  lady  he  said,  “ I never  was 
much  struck  with  any  thing  in  the  Greek  language  till  I 
read  that , so  I never  read  any  thing  in  the  same  language 
since,  that  pleased  me  as  much.  I hope  my  translation,” 
continued  he,  “ is  not  worse  than  that  of  Frank  Fawkes.” 
Seeing  her  disposed  to  laugh,  “Nay,  nay,”  said  he, 
“ Frank  Fawkes  has  done  them  very  finely.”  When  she 
had  finished  writing,  “ But  you  must  remember  to  add,” 
said  Dr.  Johnson,  “ that  though  these  verses  were  planned, 
and  even  begun,  when  I was  sixteen  years  old,  I never 
could  find  time  to  make  an  end  of  them  before  I was 
■ixty-eight.”— Ed.] 


“I  am  at  present  preparing  to  receive  Mr. 
Fitzherbert,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Alleyne,  Mr.  Gernier, 
&c.  If  you  have  been  in  town  this  week,  proba- 
bly you  have  seen  Mr.  Fitzherbert.  I hope  he 
would  not  neglect  to  inquire  after  the  most  valu- 
able acquaintance  he  has  there.  Our  scene  here 
will  be  much  changed.  But  all  is,  and  ought  to 
be,  variable  in  this  life ; and  I expect  the  change 
with  much  inward  tranquillity.  The  interval  of 
rest  and  quiet  I have  had  has  greatly  contributed 
to  the  amendment  of  my  health.  I walked  a mile 
yesterday  without  great  fatigue ; and  hope  I shall 
be  able  to  support  the  labours  to  come.  I am  not 
careful,  however,  for  the  morrow.  That  is  in  the 
hands  of  the  almighty  and  all-merciful  God. 
There  I trust ; and  pray — ‘ Give  me  this  day  my 
daily  bread.’ 

“ Miss  is  still  tuning — no  wonder  that  you  have 
inspired  her  with  awe.  She  is  disturbed  she  does 
not  write  ; yet  cannot  satisfy  herself  with  any 
mental  composition.  She  has  yet  been  working 
for  you.  I leave  her  to  herself,  and  hope  she  will 
produce  something. 

“ Remember  that  the  more  people  I see  the 
more  I shall  rejoice  in  a letter  from  you.  Turtle- 
feasts  and  venison-feasts  I delight  not  in.  Treat 
me  sometimes,  as  often  as  you  can,  with  what 
will  be  really  a feast ; and  in  the  best  manner  I 
am  able  I will  thank  you,  and  be  ever,  as  now, 
dear  sir,  your  grateful  and  affectionate  friend, 
“H.  Boothby.” 

LETTER  XXVII. 

“ Tissington,  20th  August,  1755. 

“Dear  sir, — Every  where  I find  myself  in 
your  thoughts— at  Oxford — in  town.  How  shall 
I reward  this  kind  attention  to  a friend,  this  ten- 
der solicitude  for  her  health  and  welfare  ? Your 
partiality  will  I know  make  you  reply,  ‘By  ne- 
glecting no  means  to  procure  and  preserve  them.’ 
This  is  what  .1  am  sensible  I owe  to  the  most 
inconsiderable  creature  whom  it  pleases  a good 
Providence  to  benefit  in  the  last  degree  by  me , 
and  much  more  to  a friend.  Pain  and  sickness 
do  most  certainly  produce  the  consequences  you 
observe ; and  often  do  1 reflect  with  the  greatest 
wonder  and  gratitude  on  all  those  various  occa- 
sions in  which  it  has  pleased  God  to  visit  me  with 
these,  that  he  should  never  leave  me  without  that 
medicine  of  life — a friend. 

“ I am  glad  you  saw  Mr.  Fitzherbert,  and  that 
he  repeated  his  invitation  to  Tissington.  He  and 
his  company  arrived  here  on  Thursday  last,  all  at 
a loss  what  to  do  with  themselves  in  still  life . 
They  set  out  yesterday  to  Derby  race,  and  return 
on  Friday,  with  some  forty  more  people,  to  eat  a 
turtle;  weight,  a hundred  and  thirty.  This  feast 
I,  who,  you  know,  love  eating,  am  preparing  for 
them.  It  will  be  a day  of  fatigue.  But  then  hour 
sweet  and  comfortable  it  will  be,  to  lie  down  and 
rest  at  night ! The  sleep  of  a labouring  man  is 
sweet,  whether  he  eateth  little  or  much.  My 
business  is  to  prepare  a feast,  not  to  eat.  During 
the  time  of  our  having  been  here  alone,  I have 
found  great  good  from  rest  and  quiet,  and  the 
strength  gained  in  this  interval  of  repose  enables 
me  to  support  the  hurry  of  company,  and  the 
necessary  cares  for  their  reception  and  entertain- 
ment, much  better  than  I could  do  for  a long  time 


480 


APPENDIX. 


before  I left  London.  But  I am  not  so  well  as  I 
was  a fortnight  since.  The  pain  in  my  side  is 
increased,  as  I find  it  will  be  on  all  occasions 
where  I am  obliged  to  prolong  exercise  to  the  least 
degree  of  fatigue,  and  in  my  present  situation 
there  is  no  avoiding  these  sometimes.  But  I have 
respite  seasonably,  thank  God,  as  now.  And 
next  week  Mr.  Fitzherbert  and  his  guests  go  to 
dance  at  Buxton,  and  see  the  Peak.  You  will 
perhaps  think  a tour  round  the  Peak  would  be  no 
bad  thing  for  me  ; and  I should  think  so  too  ; but 
as  this  will  be  ordered,  or  disordered,  by  the  un- 
certainty and  irregularity  of  the  directors,  it  will 
be  a rash  attempt  forme;  and,  besides,  they  have 
only  vehicles  sufficient  for  themselves  ; so  that  I 
shall  have  another  resting  time,  before  they  return 
again  to  stay  a few  days ; and  then  they  all  go  to 
Lichfield  race,  from  whence  Mr.  Fitzherbert  and 
Gernier  only  return  back.  Now,  I have  not  only 
told  you  the  state  of  my  health,  but  of  affairs 
here,  that  you  may  know  both  how  I do,  and 
what  I do. 

“ And,  while  I am  writing  all  this,  I really  feel 
ashamed ; conscious  how  little  1 merit  to  be 
thought  of  consequence  enough  for  any  body  to 
desire  such  information  concerning  me,  particu- 
larly you,  who  I am  persuaded  might  select  a 
friend  among  the  most  worthy.  Do  not  call  this 
feigned  humility,  or,  in  other  words,  the  worst 
sort  of  pride.  ’Tis  truth,  I assure  you. 

“Will  you  come  into  Derbyshire?  But  why 
do  I ask  ? You  say  you  will.  In  the  mean  time, 
I will  endeavour,  with  God’s  blessing,  to  lay  in  a 
stock  of  health,  that  I may  have  the  pleasure  of 
walking  with  you  in  Dovedale,  and  many  other 
pleasures  I hope  for. 

“You  desire  longer  letters  ; here  you  have  one 
— but  such  a one  as  I am  afraid  will  not  make  you 
repeat  that  desire.  However,  it  will  be  a proof 
of  my  willingness  to  gratify  your  request  when- 
ever it  is  in  my  power,  and  that  I never  say  little 
to  Mr.  Johnson  by  choice,  but  when  I can  hear 
him  talk. 

“The  least  degree  of  your  quiet  is  a treasure 
wffiich  1 shall  take  the  utmost  care  of — but  yet, 
from  very  certain  experience,  and  the  truest  re- 
gard to  your  peace,  I must  advise  to  take  it  out 
of  all  human  hands.  Young’s  experience  strongly 
speaks  with  mine — 

‘ Lean  not  on  earth ; ’t  will  pierce  thee  to  the  heart ; 

A broken  reed,  at  best ; but  oft  a spear ; 

On  its  sharp  point  Peace  bleeds,  and  Hope  expires.’ 

Yet  such  has  been  the  amazing  mercy  of  God  to 
me,  that  now  I can  say — ‘ It  is  good  for  me  that  I 
have  been  afflicted.’  Looking  over  some  old 
papers  lately  I found  two  lines  I had  scratched 
out,  which  were  prophetic  of  what  has  since 
happened  to  me — 

‘ Variety  of  pain  will  make  me  know, 

That  greatest  bliss  is  drawn  from  greatest  woe.’ 

But  this,  perhaps,  you  say,  is  far  from  being  a 
dissuasive.  Why,  as  to  the  event  here,  ’t  is 
indeed  the  contrary.  But,  in  general,  the  disap- 
pointment and  pain  is  certain,  the  event  not  so. 
There  is  no  peace  but  that  one  which  the  Prince 
of  Peace,  king  of  Salem,  left  to  his  disciples — 
‘ Peace  I leave  with  you,  my  peace  I give  unto 
you  ; not  as  the  world  giveth,  give  1 unto  you.’ 
No;  for  in  another  place,  our  Saviour  says,  'In 


the  world  ye  shall  have  tribulation’ — ‘Seek,  and 
you  will  surely  find.’  You  do  me  the  honour  to 
call  me  your  monitress  ; and  you  see  I endeavour 
to  execute  the  duty  of  one.  Peace  and  happiness 
here  and  for  ever  do  I most  ardently  wish  you  ; 
as  I am  truly,  dear  sir,  your  greatly  obliged  and 
affectionate  friend,  “H.  Boothby. 

“ Miss’s  love. 

“N.  B. — I intended  to  have  concluded  this, 
where  I talked  of  a longer  letter  on  the  other  side, 
but  went  on  imperceptibly  as  it  were.  Remem- 
ber you  are  a whole  sheet  in  my  debt  after  you 
receive  this.”  • 

LETTER  XXVIII. 

“ 8th  September,  1755 

“ Dear  sir, — It  is  as  impossible  for  me  to  for- 
bear writing,  as  it  is  to  say  a tenth  part  of  what 
I would  say.  Two  letters  I have  from  you  de- 
mand a vast  deal ; yet  not  more  than  I am  willing 
to  give,  was  I able ; but  Mr.  Fitzherbert  has  been 
at  home  above  a week,  and  company,  &c.  have 
prevented  my  doing  any  thing  but  attend  to  do- 
mestic employments.  I do  not  allow  you  to  be 
a judge  with  regard  to  your  conferringobligations. 
I am  to  judge  and  estimate  in  this  case.  But, 
now  you  know  my  thoughts,  if  the  repetition 
displeases,  I shall  avoid  it. 

“ Your  letters  are  indeed  very  different  from 
the  common  dialect  of  daily  correspondence,  and 
as  different  from  the  style  of  a school  dogmatist. 
Much  sense  in  few  and  well-chosen  words.  Daily 
correspondence  does  not  commonly  afford,  nor  a 
school  dogmatist,  delicate  praise.  So  much  for 
your  letters.  As  to  what  you  say  of  mine,  dear 
sir,  if  they  please  you,  I am  perfectly  satisfied. 
And,  high  as  I rate  your  judgment,  it.  gives 
me  more  pleasure  to  think  I owe  much  of  your 
applause  to  the  partiality  of  a kind  friend,  than 
I should  receive  from  unbiassed  criticism ; were 
it  publickly  to  pronounce  me  superior  to  all 
the  Arindas,  Sevignes,  &c.  in  epistolary  excel 
lence. 

“ I have  been  fourteen  miles  to-day,  was  out  by 
eight  in  the  morning  (some  hours  before  your  day 
begins),  despatched  several  important  things,  am 
tired#,  but  could  not  suffer  another  post  to  go 
without  an  assurance  that  I am,  dear  sir,  your  af- 
fectionate friend,  and  obliged  one  too, 

“H.  Boothby.” 

LETTER  XXIX. 

“ Tissington,  20th  Sept.,  1755 

“Dear  sir,— Were  I at  liberty,  it  would  not 
be  in  my  power  to  enhance  the  value  of  my  letters 
by  their  scarcity.  You  should  have  them,  till  you 
cried  out  ‘ Hold  your  hand.’  But  you  cannot 
imagine  the  half  of  what  I have  to  do;  and  I 
assure  you  I have  on  your  account  put  off  writing 
to  others  from  time  to  time,  till  now  I am  ashamed. 
Be  silent  at  Dr.  Lawrence’s  as  to  me,  for  I have 
been  long  in  debt  there  : I intended  to  have  paid 
to-dav,  but  you  won’t  let  me.  This  way  I con- 
sider—I must  go  to  Derby  on  Monday,  to  stay 
some  days — no  writing  then — and,  therefore,  I 
must  write  to  Mr.  Johnson  now,  and  defer  the 
rest — why  I must  write  to  Mr.  Johnson,  lather 
than  to  others,  he  may  find  out’ 

“You  do  not  pity  me,  when  I am  whirled 


APPENDIX. 


round  by  a succession  of  company  ; yet  you  are 
anxious  for  my  health.  Now  this  is,  though  per- 
haps unknown  to  you,  really  a contradiction. 
For  one  day’s  crowd,  with  the  preceding  necessa- 
ry preparations  to  receive  them,  the  honours,  as 
t is  called,  of  a large  table,  with  the  noise,  &c. 
attending,  pulls  down  my  feeble  frame  more  than 
any  thing  you  can  imagine.  To  that,  air,  gentle 
exercise,  and  then  quiet  and  rest,  are  most  friend- 
ly. You  have  often  declared  you  cannot  be  alone  ; 
and  I,  as  often,  that  I could  not  be  long,  unless  I 
was  some  hours  in  every  day  alone.  I have  found 
myself  mistaken  ; for  yet  I am  in  being,  though 
for  some  time  past  I have  seldom  had  one  half 
hour  in  a day  to  myself ; and  I have  learned  this 
profitable  lesson,  that  resignation  is  better  than  in- 
dulgence ; and  time  is  too  precious  a thing  for  me 
to  have  at  my  own  disposal.  Providence  has  gi- 
ven it  to  others,  and  if  it  may  profit  them,  I shall 
rejoice.  It  is  all  I desire. 

“ I can  only  be  sorry  that  the  text  in  the  Co- 
rinthians i does  not  prove  to  you  what  I would 
have  it,  and  add  to  my  prayers  for  you  that  it  may 
prove  it. 

“ Miss  Fitzherbert  is  very  well,  and  all  my  dear 
flock.  She  sends  her  love  to  you. 

“You  will  prolong  2 your  visit  to  this  part  of 
the  world,  till  some  of  us  are  so  tired  of  it  that  we 
shall  be  moving  towards  you.  Consider,  it  is  al- 
most October.  When  do  you^lublish?  Any 
news  relating  to  you  will  be  acceptable  : if  it  is 
good,  I shall  rejoice  ; if  not,  hope  to  lessen  any 
pain  it  may  give  you  by  the  sharing  it,  as,  dear 
sir,  your  truly  affectionate  friend, 

“ H.  Boothby.” 

LETTER  XXX. 

“ Tissington,  11th  October,  1755. 

“ Dear  sir, — I have  been  so  great  a rambler 
lately,  that  I have  not  had  time  to  write.  A week 
at  Derby  ; another  between  Stafford  and  some 
other  relations.  The  hurrying  about  proved  too 
much  for  my  strength,  and  disordered  me  a good 
deal ; but  now,  thank  God,  I am  better  again. 
Your  letter  1 met  here,  as  I always  do  every  one 
you  write,  with  much  pleasure.  I expected  this 
pleasure  ; and  as  I should  have  met  disappoint- 
ment if  I had  not  had  a letter,  so  the  pleasure  of 
one  was  increased.  Few  things  can  disappoint 
me  : I look  for  no  satisfaction  from  them  • but 
you  may  greatly,  as  you  have  given  me  a confi- 
dence in  your  highly  valued  friendship.  Com- 
plaints for  want  of  time  will  be  one  of  those  which 
must  be  made  by  all,  whose  hope  is  not  full  of 
immortality  ; and  to  this,  the  previous  review  of 
life,  and  reflections  you  have  made,  are  necessa- 
ry. I am  persuaded  yon  had  not  time  to  say 
more,  or  you  could  not  have  concluded  your  last 
as  you  did.  A moment’s  reflection  would  have 
prevented  a needless  wish. 

“ Have  you  read  Mr.  Law  ? not  cursorily,  but 
with  attention  ? I wish  you  would  consider  him. 

‘ His  appeal  to  all  that  doubt,  &c.’  I think  the 
most  clear  of  all  his  later  writings  ; and,  in  re- 
commending it  to  you,  I shall  say  no  more  or  less 
than  what  you  will  see  he  says  in  his  advertise- 
ment to  the  reader. 


1 [Ante,  p.  478. — Ed.] 

2 [By  prz*,ong  she  must  mean  delay . — Ed.] 

VOL.  TT. 


45U 

“In  less  than  a month  we  are  to  oe  in  Caven- 
dish-square. Mr.  Fitzherbert  has  fixed  Friday 
se’nnight  for  going  to  town  himself,  and  we  are  to 
follow  soon  after  that  time.  Need  I say,  I shall 
be  glad  to  see  you  ? No — you  know  I shall  ; 
and,  unless  duty  3 calls  to  Lichfield,  Pwish  rather 
to  have  that  visit  deferred,  till  it  may  give  me  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  you  here  on  our  return  in 
the  summer.  Consider  of  this,  and  contrive  so, 
if  possible,  as  that  both  in  summer  and  winter  1 
may  have  the  pleasure  of  your  conversation  ; 
which  will  greatly  cheer  the  gloom  of  one  season, 
and  add  to  the  smiles  of  the  other.  Such  influ- 
ence has  such  a friend  on,  dear  sir,  your  obliged 
and  affectionate  humble  servant, 

“ H.  Boothby.” 

“ My  dear  Miss  Fitzherbert  is  well,  very  well, 
and  has  never  given  me  one  alarm  since  we  came 
here.  She  sends  you  her  love  very  sincerely.” 

DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  BOOTHBY. 

“ Saturday  4,  (27th  Dec.  1755.; 

“ Dearest  dear, — I am  extremely  obliged  to 
you  for  the  kindness  of  your  inquiry.  After  I had 
written  to  you,  Dr.  Lawrence  came,  and  would 
have  given  some  oil  and  sugar,  but  I took  rhenish 
and  water,  and  recovered  my  voice.  I yet  cough 
much,  and  sleep  ill.  I have  been  visited  by  an- 
other doctor  to-day  ; but  I laughed  at  his  balsam 
of  Peru.  I fasted  on  Tuesday,  Wednesday,  and 
Thursday,  and  felt  neither  hunger  nor  faintness. 
I have  dined  yesterday  and  to-day,  and  found  lit- 
tle refreshment.  I am  not  much  amiss  ; but  can 
no  more  sleep  than  if  my  dearest  lady  were  angry 
at,  madam,  your,  &c. 

LETTER  XXXI. 

“ Sunday  night,  ( December , 1755s .) 

“ My  dear  sir, — I am  in  trouble  about  you  ; 
and  the  more,  as  I am  not  able  to  see  how  you 
do  myself— pray  send  me  word.  You  have  my 
sincere  prayers  ; and  the  first  moment  I can,  you 
shall  see,  dear  sir,  your  affectionate  friend, 

“ H.  Boothby.” 

“ I beg  you  would  be  governed  by  the  good 
doctor  while  you  are  sick  ; when  you  are  well, 
do  as  you  please.” 

DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  BOOTHBY. 

“ 30th  December,  1755. 

“Dear  madam, — It  is  again  midnight,  and 
I am  again  alone.  With  what  meditation  shall  1 
amuse  this  waste  hour  of  darkness  and  vacuity  ? 
Tf  I turn  my  thoughts  upon  myself,  what  do  I 
perceive  but  a poor  helpless  being,  reduced  by  a 
blast  of  wind  to  weakness  and  misery  ? How  my 
present  distemper  was  brought  upon  me  I can 
give  no  account,  but  impute  it  to  some  sudden 


3 [His  mother  was  still  alive  and  resident  in  Lichfield, 

but  he  never  again  visited  that  town  during  her  life.  See 
ante , vol.  i.  pp.  124  n.  and  161. — Ed.]  « 

4 [Probably  Saturday,  27th  December,  1755.  These 
undated  notes  it  is  not  easy  to  arrange ; but  the  order  the 
Editor  has  assigned  to  them  seems  probable,  and  is  con 
sistent  with  the  contents.  It  seems  that  while  Johnson 
was  labouring  under  some  kind  of  feverish  cold,  Miss 
Bootliby  herself  fell  ill  of  a disease  of  which  she  died  in 
a fortnight. — Ed.] 

5 In  Dr.  Johnson’s  handwriting. — Wright.  [Proba 
bly  Sunday,  28th  Dec.  1755.  Miss  Boothby  seems  to 
have  come  to  town  in  the  preceding  month.— Ed  1 


4S2 


APPENDIX. 


succession  of  cold  to  heat ; such  as  in  the  common 
road  of  life  cannot  be  avoided,  and  against  which 
no  precaution  can  be  taken. 

“ Of  the  fallaciousness  of  hope  and  the  uncer- 
tainty of  schemes,  every  day  gives  some  new 
proof ; but  it  is  seldom  heeded,  till  something 
rather  felt  than  seen  awakens  attention.  This 
illness,  in  which  I have  suffered  something,  and 
feared  much  more,  has  depressed  my  confidence 
and  elation  ; and  made  me  consider  all  that  I had 
promised  myself,  as  less  certain  to  be  attained  or 
enjoyed.  I have  endeavoured  to  form  resolutions 
of  a better  life  ; but  I form  them  weakly,  under 
the  consciousness  of  an  external  motive.  Not 
that  I conceive  a time  of  sickness,  a time  improp- 
er for  recollection  and  good  purposes,  which  I 
believe  diseases  and  calamities  often  sent  to  pro- 
duce, but  because  no  man  can  knowhow  little  his 
performance  will  answer  to  his  promises  ; and 
designs  are  nothing  in  human  eyes  till  they  are 
realized  by  execution. 

“ Continue,  my  dearest,  your  prayers  for  me, 
that  no  good  resolution  may  be  vain.  You  think, 
I believe,  better  of  me  than  I deserve.  I hope  to 
be  in  time  what  I wish  to  be  ; and  what  I have 
hitherto  satisfied  myself  too  readily  with  only 
wishing, 

“ Your  billet  brought  me,  whatl  much  wished 
to  have,  a proof  that  I -am  still  remembered  by 
you  at  the  hour  in  which  I most  desire  it. 

“ The  doctor  i is  anxious  about  you.  He  thinks 
you  too  negligent  of  yourself ; if  you  will  promise 
to  be  cautious,  I will  exchange  promises,  as  we 
have  already  exchanged  injunctions.  However, 
do  not  write  to  me  more  than  you  can  easily  bear ; 
do  not  interrupt  your  ease  to  write  at  all. 

“ Mr.  Fitzherbert  sent  to-day  to  offer  me  some 
wine ; the  people  about  me  say  I ought  to  accept 
it.  I shall  therefore  be  obliged  to  him  if  he  will 
send  me  a bottle. 

“ There  has  gone  about  a report  that  I died  to- 
day, which  I mention,  lest  you  should  hear  it  and 
be  alarmed.  You  see  that  I think  my  death  may 
alarm  you  ; which,  for  me,  is  to  think  very  highly 
of  earthly  friendship.  I believe  it  arose  from  the 
death  of  one  of  my  neighbours.  You  know  Des 
Cartes’  argument,  ‘I  think,  ’therefore  I am.’  It 
is  as  good  a consequence,  ‘ I write  ; therefore  I am 
alive.’  I might  give  another,  ‘ 1 am  alive  ; there- 
fore I love  Miss  Boothby  ;’  but  that  I hope  our 
friendship  may  be  of  far  longer  duration  than  life. 
I am,  dearest  madam,  with  sincere  affection, 
yours,  “Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ MISS  BOOTHBY  TO  DR.  JOHNSON. 

[“  December , 1755  2 .] 

“ My  dear  sir, — Would  I was  able  to  reply 
fully  to  both  your  kind  letters  ! but  at  present  I 
am  not.  I trust  we  shall  both  be  better  soon, 
with  a blessing  on  our  good  doctor’s  means.  I 
have  been,  as  he  can  tell  you,  all  obedience.  As 
an  answer  to  one  part  of  your  letter,  I have  sent 
you  a little  book  3.  God  bless  you.  I must  de- 

1 [Dr.  Lawrence. — Ed.] 

2 In  Dr.  Johnson’s  handwriting.— Wright. 

3 [Probably  not  one  of  Law’s  works,  mentioned  in  the 
letter  of  the  11th  October.  Dr.  Johnson  told  Mr.  Bos- 
well (ante,  vol.  i.  p.  24)  that  Law’s  Serious  Call  was  the 
first  book  that  eve’-  awoke  him  to  a sense  of  real  religion. 
The  wont,  whatever  it  was,  lent  him  by  Miss  Boothby, 
he  does  not  seem  to  have  approved. — Ed.] 


fer  the  rest,  till  I am  more  able.  Dear  sir,  your 
affectionate  friend,  “ H.  Boothby. 

“ Give  Cooper  some  tickets. 

“ I am  glad  you  sent  for  the  hock.  Mr.  Fitz- 
herbert has  named  it  more  than  once. 

“ Thank  you  for  saving  me  from  what  indeed 
might  have  greatly  hurt  me,  had  I heard  or  seen  in 
a paper  such  a 

“DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MISS  BOOTHBY. 

“ Wednesday,  December  31, 1755. 

“ My  sweet  angel, — I have  read  your 
book,  I am  afraid  you  will  think  without  any 
great  improvement  ; whether  you  can  read  my 
notes,  I know  not.  You  ought  not  to  be  offended  • 
I am  perhaps  as  sincere  as  the  writer.  In  all 
things  that  terminate  here  I shall  be  much  guided 
by  your  influence,  and  should  take  or  leave  by 
your  direction  ; but  I cannot  receive  my  religion 
from  any  human  hand.  I desire  however  to  be 
instructed,  and  am  far  from  thinking  myself 
perfect. 

“ I beg  you  to  return  the  book  when  you  have 
looked  into  it.  I should  not  have  written  what 
was  in  the  margin,  had  I not  had  it  from  you,  or 
had  I not  intended  to  show  it  to  you. 

“ It  affords  me  a new  conviction,  that  in  these 
books  there  is  little  new,  except  new  forms  oi 
expression  ; which  may  be  sometimes  taken, 
even  by  the  writer,  for  new  doctrines. 

“ I sincerely  hope  that  God,  whom  you  so 
much  desire  to  serve  aright,  will  bless  you,  and 
restore  you  to  health,  if  he  sees  best.  Surely  no 
human  understanding  can  pray  for  any  thing  tem- 
poral otherwise  than  conditionally.  Dear  angel, 
do  not  forget  me.  My  heart  is  full  of  tenderness 

“ It  has  pleased  God  to  permit  me  to  be  much 
better  ; which  I believe  will  please  you. 

“ Give  me  leave,  who  have  thought  much  on 
medicine,  to  propose  to  you  an  easy,  and  I think 
a very  probable  remedy  for  indigestion  and  lu- 
bricity of  the  bowels.  Dr.  Lawrence  has  told  me 
your  case.  Take  an  ounce  of  dried  orange  peel 
finely  powdered,  divide  it  into  scruples,  and  take 
one  scruple  at  a time  in  any  manner ; the  best 
way  is  perhaps  to  drink  it  in  a glass  of  hot  red 
port,  or  to  eat  it  first,  and  drink  the  wine  after  it. 
If  you  mix  cinnamon  or  nutmeg  with  the  powder, 
it  were  not  worse  ; but  it  will  be  more  bulky,  and 
so  more  troublesome.  This  is  a medicine  not  dis- 
gusting, not  costly,  easily  tried,  and  if  not  found 
useful,  easily  left  off  4. 

“ I would  not  have  you  offer  it  to  the  doctor  as 
mine.  Physicians  do  not  love  intruders  ; yet  do 
not  take  it  without  his  leave.  But  do  not  be 
easily  put  off,  for  it  is  in  my  opinion  very  likely  to 
help  you,  and  not  likely  to  do  you  harm : do  not 
take  too  much  in  haste  ; a scruple  once  in  three 
hours,  or  about  five  scruples  a day,  will  be  suffi- 
cient to  begin  ; or  less,  if  you  find  any  aversion. 
I think  using  sugar  with  it  might  be  bad  ; if  sy- 
rup, use  old  syrup  of  quinces  ; but  even  that  I 
do  not  like.  I should  think  better  of  conserve  of 
sloes.  Has  the  doctor  mentioned  the  bark  ? In 
powder  you  could  hardly  take  it ; perhaps  you 
might  take  the  infusion. 

“ Do  not  think  me  troublesome,  I am  full  of 
care.  I love  you  and  honour  you,  and  am  very 


4 [See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  512.— Ed.] 


APPENDIX.  488 


unwilling  to  lose  you.  A dieuje  voua  recomman- 
de.  I am,  madam,  your,  &c. 

“ My  compliments  to  my  dear  Miss.” 

“ TO  THE  SAME. 

I From  Mrs.  Piozzi's  Collection,  vol.  ii.  p.  391.) 

" 1st  January,  1755 1. 

“Dearest  madam, — Though  I am  afraid 
your  illness  leaves  you  little  leisure  for  the  recep- 
tion of  airy  civilities,  yet  I cannot  forbear  to  pay 
you  my  congratulations  on  the  new  year;  and  to 
declare  my  wishes,  that  your  years  to  come  may 
be  many  and  happy.  In  this  wish  indeed  I in- 
clude myself,  who  have  none  but  you  on  whom 
my  heart  reposes  ; yet  surely  I wish  your  good, 
even  though  your  situation  were  such  as  should 
permit  you  to  communicate  no  gratifications  to, 
dearest  madam,  your,  &c.” 

“ TO  THE  SAME. 

( From  Mrs.  Piozzi's  Collection , vol.  ii.  p.  392.) 

“ [January  3d,  1756.] 

“ Dearest  madam, — Nobody  but  you  can  re- 
compense me  for  the  distress  which  I suffered  on 
Monday  night.  Having  engaged  Dr.  Lawrence 
to  let  me  know,  at  whatever  hour,  the  state  in 
which  he  left  you  ; I concluded,  when  he  stayed 
so  long,  that  he  stayed  to  see  my  dearest  expire. 

I was  composing  myself  as  I could  to  hear  what 
yet  I hoped  not  to  hear,  when  his  servant  brought 
me  word  that  you  were  better.  Do  you  continue 
to  grow  better  ? Let  my  dear  little  Miss  inform 
me  on  a card.  I would  not  have  you  write,  lest 
it  should  hurt  you,  and  consequently  hurt  like- 
wise, dearest  madam,  yours,  &c. 

“ to  the  same. 

“ Thursday,  8th  January,  1756. 

“Honoured  madam, — I beg  of  you  to  endea- 
vour to  live.  I have  returned  your  Law  ; which, 
however,  I earnestly  entreat  you  to  give  me.  I 
am  in  great  trouble  ; if  you  can  write  three  words 
to  me,  be  pleased  to  do  it.  lam  afraid  to  say 
much,  and  cannot  say  nothing  when  my  dearest 
is  in  danger. 

“ The  all- merciful  God  have  mercy  on  you  ! I 
am,  madam,  your,  &c.” 

“ Miss  Boothby  died  Friday,  January  16,  1756  ; 
upon  whose  death  Dr.  Johnson  composed  the  fol- 
lowing prayer.  1 Prayers  and  Meditations,’  &c. 

p.  25. 

“ Hill  Boothby's  death,  January,  1756. — O Lord 
God,  Almighty  disposer  of  all  things,  in  whose 
hands  are  life  and  death,  who  givest  comforts  and 
takest  them  away,  I return  thee  thanks  for  the 
good  example  of  Hill  Boothby,  whom  thou  hast 
now  taken  away  ; and  implore  thv  grace  that  I 
may  improve  the  opportunity  of  instruction  which 
thou  hast  afforded  me,  by  the  knowledge  of  her 
life,  and  by  the  sense  of  her  death ; that  I may 
consider  the  uncertainty  of  my  present  state,  and 
apply  myself  earnestly  to  the  duties  which  thou 
hast  set  before  mg,  that,  living  in  thy  fear,  I may 

l [Johnson  throughout  his  life  was  liable  to  the  inad- 
vertence of  using  the  date  of  the  old  year  in  the  first  days 
of  the  new ; and  has  evidently,  the  Editor  thinks,  done  so 
in  this  case ; as  it  does  not  seem  that  Miss  Boothby  was 
|U  in  January,  1755.— Ed.] 


die  in  thy  favour,  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord. 
Amen.  I commend,  &c.  W.  and  H.  B 2. 

“ Transcribed  June  26,  1768  3.” 


[On  a close  examination  of  the  foregoing  cor- 
respondence, it  will  be  seen  that  the  personal 
communications  between  Dr.  Johnson  and  Miss 
Boothby  were  very  limited,  and  that  even  during 
her  few  and  short  visits  to  London  their  intercourse 
was  hardly  as  frequent  as  politeness  would  have 
required  from  common  acquaintances. 

The  Editor  admits  that  several  of  Miss  Booth- 
by’s  letters  contain  expressions  which,  if  we  did 
not  consider  the  ages  of  the  parties  and  all  the  oth 
er  circumstances  of  the  case,  would  sound  like 
something  more  tender  than  mere  platonism  ; but 
the  slight  intercourse  between  them  during  the 
lady’s  subsequent  visits  to  town  seems  to  refute 
that  inference. 

The  general  phraseology  of  Johnson’s  notes, 
and  the  terms  “ my  dearest  ” and  “ my  angel,” 
seem  strange  ; but  it  must  be  recollected  that 
dearest  dear,  and  similar  superlatives  of  tender- 
ness, were  usual  with  him  in  addressing  Miss 
Reynolds  and  other  ladies  for  whom  he  confess- 
edly felt  nothing  but  friendship  ; and  they  were 
addressed  to  Miss  Boothby  when  she  was  dying, 
and  when  the  hearts  of  both  were  softened  by 
sickness  and  affliction,  and  warmed  by  spiritual 
communication. 

As  to  the  supposed  rivalry  between  him  and 
Lord  Lyttleton  for  Miss  Boothby’s  favour  (see 
ante,  p.  276),  it  must  be  either  a total  mistake  or 
an  absurd  exaggeration.  Lord  Lyttleton  was,  du- 
ring the  whole  of  the  acquaintance  of  Dr.  John- 
son and  Miss  Boothby,  a married  man,  fondly  at- 
tached to  his  wife,  and  remarkable  for  the  punc- 
tilious propriety  of  his  moral  conduct  ; and  the 
preference  shown  by  Miss  Boothby,  and  which 
is  said  to  have  rankled  in  Johnson’s  heart,  could 
have  been  nothing  more  than  some  incident  in  a 
morning  visit,  when  Lord  Lyttleton  and  Johnson 
may  have  met  in  Cavendish-square,  (for  it  seems 
certain  that  they  never  met  in  the  country).  We 
have  seen  in  the  cases  of  Lord  Chesterfield  (vol. 
i.  pp.  110 — 11,  n.)  and  of  Miss  Cotterell  (vol.  i. 
p.  104)  how  touchy  Johnson  was  on  such  occa 
sions,  and  how  ready  he  was  to  take  offence  at  any 
thing  that  looked  like  slight.  Some  preference  or 
superior  respect  shown  by  Miss  Boothby  to  Lord 
Lyttleton’s  rank  and  public  station  (he  was  chan- 
cellor of  the  exchequer  in  1755)  no  doubt  offended 
the  sensitive  pride  of  Johnson,  and  occasioned  the 
dislike  which  he  confessed  to  Mrs.  Thrale  he  felt 
for  Lord  Lyttleton  ; but  an  amorous  rivalry  be- 
tween them  is  not  only  absurd,  but  impossible 
— Ed.] 


No.  VIII. 

[Note  on  the  words  balance  of  misery,  p.  387.] 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Ralph  Churton,  Fellow  ot 
Brazen-Nose  College,  Oxford,  has  favoured  me 


2 [These  initials  mean,  no  doubt,  Mr.  Williams , who 
died  a few  months  before,  arid  Mill  Bootlibrj.— Ed.] 

3 Lit  is  not  easy  to  say  why  Dr.  Johnson  marked  sev 
era*  of  his  prayers,  as  transcribed.  Such  a fact  appears 
quite  immaterial,  but  no  doubt  had  some  particular  ob- 
ject.— Ed.] 


484 


APPENDIX. 


with  the  following  remarks  on  my  work,  which 
he  is  pleased  to  say,  “ I have  hitherto  extolled, 
and  cordially  approve.” 

The  chief  part  of  what  I have  to  observe  i§ 
contained  in  the  following  transcript  from  a letter 
to  a friend,  which,  with  his  concurrence,  I copied 
for  this  purpose;  and,  whatever  may  be  the  merit 
or  justness  of  the  remarks,  you  may  be  sure  that 
being  written  to  a most  intimate  friend,  without 
any  intention  that  they  ever  should  go  further, 
they  are  the  genuine  and  undisguised  sentiments 
of  the  writer : — 

“ 6th  January,  1792. 

“ Last  week  1 was  reading  the  second  volume 
of  ‘Boswell’s  Johnson,’  with  increasing  esteem 
for  the  worthy  author,  and  increasing  veneration 
of  the  wonderful  and  excellent  man  w'ho  is  the 
subject  of  it.  The  writer  throws  in,  now  and 
then,  very  properly,  some  serious  religious  reflec- 
tions ; but  there  is  one  remark,  in  my  mind  an 
obvious  and  just  one,  which  I think  he  has  not 
made,  that  Johnson’s  ‘ morbid  melancholy,’  and 
constitutional  infirmities,  were  intended  by  Provi- 
dence, like  St.  Paul’s  thorn  in  the  flesh,  to  check 
intellectual  conceit  and  arrogance  ; which  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  extraordinary  talents,  awake  as 
he  was  to  the  voice  of  praise,  might  otherwise 
have  generated  in  a very  culpable  degree.  Ano- 
ther observation  strikes  me,  that  in  consequence 
of  the  same  natural  indisposition,  and  habitual 
sickliness  (for  he  says  he  scarcely  passed  one  day 
without  pain  after  his  twentieth  year),  he  consid- 
ered and  represented  human  life  as  a scene  of 
much,  greater  misery  than  is  generally  experienc- 
ed. There  may  be  persons  bowed  down  with  af- 
flictions all  their  days  ; and  there  are  those,  no 
doubt,  whose  iniquities  rob  them  of  rest ; but  nei- 
ther calamities  nor  crimes,  I hope  and  believe,  do 
so  much  and  so  generally  abound,  as  to  justify 
the  dark  picture  of  life  which  Johnson’s  imagina- 
tion designed,  and  his  strong  pencil  delineated. 
This  I am  sure,  the  colouring  is  far  too  gloomy 
for  what  I have  experienced,  though,  as  far  as  I 
can  remember,  I have  had  more  sickness  (1  do 
not  say  more  severe,  but  only  more  in  quantity) 
than  falls  to  the  lot  of  most  people.  But  then 
daily  debility  and  occasional  sickness  w'ere  far 
overbalanced  by  intervenient  days,  and,  perhaps, 
weeks  void  of  pain,  and  overflowing  with  comfort. 
So  that  in  short,  to  return  to  the  subject,  human 
life,  as  far  as  I can  perceive  from  experience  or  ob- 
servation, is  not  that  state  of  constant  wretched- 
ness which  Johnson  always  insisted  it  was : which 
misrepresentation,  for  such  it  surely  is,  his  biog- 
rapher has  not  corrected,  I suppose,  because,  un- 
happily, he  has  himself  a large  portion  of  melan- 
choly in  his  constitution,  and  fancied  the  portrait 
a faithful  copy  of  life.” 

The  learned  writer  then  proceeds  thus  in  his 
letter  to  me  : — 

“ I have  conversed  with  some  sensible  men  on 
this  subject,  who  all  seem  to  entertain  the  same 
sentiments  respecting  life  with  those  which  are 
expressed  or  implied  in  the  foregoing  paragraph. 
It  might  be  added,  that  as  the  representation  here 
spoken  of  appears  not  consistent  with  fact  and  ex- 
perience, so  neither  does  it  seem  countenanced 
bv  scripture.  There  is,  perhaps,  no  part  of  the 


sacred  volume  which  at  first  sight  promises  so 
much  to  lend  its  sanction  to  these  dark  and  des- 
ponding notions  as  the  book  of  Ecclesiastes, 
which  so  often,  and  so  emphatically,  proclaims 
the  vanity  of  things  sublunary.  But  ‘ the  design 
of  this  whole  book  (as  it  has  been  justly  observ- 
ed) is  not  to  put  us  out  of  conceit  with  life,  but  to 
cure  our  vain  expectations  of  a complete  and  per- 
fect happiness  in  this  world  : to  convince  us,  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  to  be  found  in  mere  exter- 
nal enjoyments  ; — and  to  teach  us  to  seek  for  hap- 
piness in  the  practice  of  virtue,  in  the  knowledge 
and  love  of  God,  and  in  the  hopes  of  a better  life. 
For  this  is  the  application  of  all  : Let  us  hear , &c. 
xii.  13.  Not  only  his  duty,  but  his  happiness  too  : 
For  God,  &c.  v.  14. — See  ‘ Sherlock  on  Provi- 
dence,’ p.  299. 

“ The  New  Testament  tells  us,  indeed,  and 
most  truly,  that ‘ sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil 
thereof :’  and,  therefore,  wisely  forbids  us  to  in- 
crease our  burdens  by  forebodings  of  sorrows  ; but 
I think  it  nowhere  says,  that  even  our  ordinary 
afflictions  are  not  consistent  with  a very  consider- 
able degree  of  positive  comfort  and  satisfaction. 
And,  accordingly,  one  whose  sufferings  as  well  as 
merits  were  conspicuous  assures  us,  that  in  pro- 
portion ‘ as  the  sufferings  of  Christ  abounded  in 
them,  so  their  oonsolation  also  abounded  by 
Christ.’  2 Cor.  i.  5.  It  is  needless  to  cite,  as  in- 
deed it  would  be  endless  even  to  refer  to,  the  mul- 
titude of  passages  in  both  Testaments  holding 
out,  in  the  strongest  language,  promises  of  bles- 
sings, even  in  this  world,  to  the  faithful  servants 
of  God.  I will  only  refer  to  St.  Luke,  xviii.  29, 
30,  and  1 Tim.  iv.  8. 

“Upon  the  whole,  setting  aside  instances  of 
great  and  lasting  bodily  pain,  of  minds  peculiarly 
oppressed  by  melancholy,  and  of  severe  temporal 
calamities,  from  which  extraordinary  cases  we 
surely  should  not  form  our  estimate  of  the  general 
tenour  and  complexion  of  life  ; excluding  these 
from  the  account,  I am  convinced  that  as  well 
the  gracious  constitution  of  things  which  Provi- 
dence has  ordained,  as  the  declarations  of  scrip- 
ture and  the  actual  condition  of  individuals,  au- 
thorize the  sincere  Christian  to  hope  that  his  hum- 
ble and  constant  endeavours  to  perform  his  duty, 
chequered  as  the  best  life  is  with  many  failings, 
will  be  crowned  with  a greater  degree  of  present 
peace,  serenity,  and  comfort,  than  he  could  rea 
sonahly  permit  himself  to  expect,  if  he  measured1 
his  views  and  judged  of  life  from  the  opinion  of 
Dr.  Johnson,  often  and  energetically  expressed  in 
the  memoirs  of  him,  without  any  animadversion 
or  censure  by  his  ingenious  biographer.  If  he 
himself,  upon  reviewing  the  subject,  shall  see  the 
matter  in  this  light,  he  will,  in  an  octavo  edition, 
which  is  eagerly  expected,  make  such  additional 
remarks  or  corrections  as  he  shall  judge  fit ; lest 
the  impressions  which  these  discouraging  passa- 
ges may  leave  on  the  reader’s  mind  should  in  a 
degree  hinder  what  otherwise  the  whole  spirit  and 
energy  of  the  work  tends,  and,  I hope,  success- 
fully, to  promote, — pure  morality  and  true  reh 
gion.” 

Though  I have,  in  some  degree,  obviated  any 
reflections  against  my  illustrious  friend’s  dark 
views  of  life,  when  considering,  in  the  course  ot 


APPENDIX. 


485 


this  work,  his  “ Rambler”  and  his  “Rasselas,”  I 
am  obliged  to  Mr.  Churton  for  complying  with  my 
request  of  his  permission  to  insert  his  remarks, 
being  conscious  of  the  weight  of  what  he  judi- 
ciously suggests  as  to  the  melancholy  in  my  own 
constitution.  His  more  pleasing  views  of  life, 
I hope,  are  just.  Valeant  quantum  valere 
possunt. 

Mr.  Churton  concludes  his  letter  to  me  in  these 
words:  “ Once,  and  only  once,  I had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  seeing  your  illustrious  friend  ; and  as  I feel 
a particular  regard  for  all  whom  he  distinguished 
with  his  esteem  and  friendship,  so  I derive  much 
pleasure  from  reflecting  that  I once  beheld, 
though  but  transiently,  near  our  college  gate,  one 
whose  works  will  for  ever  delight  and  improve 
the  world,  who  was  a sincere  and  zealous  son  of 
thg  church  of  England,  an  honour  to  his  country, 
and  an  ornament  to  human  nature.” 

His  letter  was  accompanied  with  a present  from 
himself  of  his  “Sermons  at  the  Bampton  Lec- 
ture,” and  from  his  friend,  Dr.  Townson,  the 
venerable  rector  of  Malpas,  in  Cheshire,  of  his 
“ Discourses  on  the  Gospels,”  together  with  the 
following  extract  of  a letter  from  that  excellent 
person,  who  is  now  gone  to  receive  the  reward 
of  his  labours  : “ Mr.  Boswell  is  not  only  very 
entertaining  in  his  works,  but  they  are  so  replete 
with  moral  and  religious  sentiments,  without  an 
instance,  as  far  as  I know,  of  a contrary  tenden- 
cy, that  I cannot  help  having  a great  esteem  for 
him  ; and  if  you  think  such  a trifle  as  a copy  of 
the  Discourses,  ex  dono  authoris , would  be  ac- 
ceptable to  him,  I should  be  happy  to  give  him 
this  small  testimony  of  my  regard.” 

Such  spontaneous  testimonies  of  approbation 
from  such  men,  without  any  personal  acquaint- 
ance with  me,  are  truly  valuable  and  encouraging. 


No.  IX. 

T Catalogue,  or  List  of  Designs,  referred  to  in 
p.  429.] 

“ Divinity. 

“ A small  book  of  precepts  and  directions  for 
piety  ; the  hint  taken  from  the  directions  in  Mor- 
ton’s exercise. 

“ PHILOSOPHY,  HISTORY,  AND  LITERATURE  IN 
GENERAL. 

“History  of  Criticism,  as  it  relates  to  judging 
of  authours,  from  Aristotle  to  the  present  age. 
An  account  of  the  rise  and  improvements  of  that 
art : of  the  different  opinions  of  authours,  ancient 
and  modern. 

“ Translation  of  the  History  of  Herodian. 

“New  edition  of  Fairfax’s  Translation  of  Tas- 
so, with  notes,  glossary,  &c. 

“ Chaucer,  a new  edition  of  him,  from  manu- 
scripts and  old  editions,  with  various  readings, 
conjectures,  remarks  on  his  language,  and.  the 
changes  it  had  undergone  from  the  earliest  times 
to  his  age,  and  from  his  to  the  present ; with 
notes  explanatory  of  customs,  &c.  and  references 
to  Boccace,  and  other  authours,  from  whom  he 


has  borrowed,  with  an  account  of  the  liberties  he 
has  taken  in  telling  the  stories  ; his  life,  and  an 
exact  etymological  glossary. 

“ Aristotle’s  Rhetorick,  a translation  of  it  into 
English. 

“ A Collection  of  Letters,  translated  from  the 
modern  writers,  with  some  account  of  the  several 
authours. 

“ Oldham’s  Poems,  with  notes,  historical  and 
critical. 

“ Roscommon’s  Poems,  with  notes. 

“Lives  of  the  Philosophers,  written  with  a 
polite  air,  in  such  a manner  as  may  divert  as  well 
as  instruct. 

“ History  of  the  Heathen  Mythology,  with  an 
explication  of  the  fables,  both  allegorical  and  his- 
torical ; with  references  to  the  poets. 

“ History  of  the  State  of  Venice,  in  a compen- 
dious manner. 

“ Aristotle’s  Ethicks,  an  English  translation  of 
them,  with  notes. 

“ Geographical  Dictionary  from  the  French. 
[Utrecht.]  MS. 

“ Hierocles  upon  Pythagoras,  translated  into 
English,  perhaps  with  notes.  This  is  done  by 
Norris.  [Nov.  9th,  1752.]  MS. 

“ A book  of  Letters,  upon  all  kinds  of  sub- 
jects. 

“Claudian,  a new  edition  of  his  works,  cum 
notis  variorum,  in  the  manner  of  Burman. 

“ Tully’s  Tusculan  questions,  a translation  of 
them. 

“Tully’s  De  Natura  Deorum,  a translation  of 
those  books. 

“ Benzo’s  New  History  of  the.  New  World,  to 
be  translated. 

“ Machiavel’s  History  of  Florence,  to  be  trans- 
lated. 

“ History  of  the  Revival  of  Learning  in  Europe, 
containing  an  account  of  whatever  contributed  to 
the  restoration  of  literature  ; such  as  controver- 
sies, printing,  the  destruction  of  the  Greek  empire, 
the  encouragement  of  great  men,  with  the  lives 
of  the  most  eminent  patrons,  and  most  eminent 
early  professors  of  all  kinds  of  learning  in  different 
countries. 

“ A Body  of  Chronology,  in  verse,  with  histor- 
ical notes.  [Nov.  9th,  1752.]  MS. 

“ A Table  of  the  Spectators,  Tatlers,  and 
Guardians,  distinguished  by  figures  into  six  de- 
grees of  value,  with  notes,  giving  the  reasons  of 
preference  or  degradation. 

“A  Collection  of  Letters  from  English  au- 
thours, with  a preface  giving  some  account  of 
the  writers ; with  reasons  for  selection,  and 
criticism  upon  styles  ; remarks  on  each  letter,  if 
needful. 

“ A Collection  of  Proverbs  from  various  lan- 
guages. Jan.  6th, — 53. 

“ A Dictionary  to  the  Common  Prayer,  in  im- 
itation of  Calmet’s  Dictionary  of  the  Bible. 
March— [17]  52. 

“ A Collection  of  Stories  and  Examples,  like 
those  of  Valerius  Maximus.  Jan.  10th,*—  [17]  53. 

“ From  iElian,  a volume  of  select  Stories,  per- 
haps from  others.  Jan.  28th, — [17] 53. 

“Collection  of  Travels,  Voyages,  Adventures, 
and  Descriptions  of  Countries.  ^ 


4«9 


APPENDIX. 


“ Dictionary  of  Ancient  History  and  Mythology. 
“ Treatise  on  the  Study  of  Polite  Literature, 
containing  the  history  of  learning,  directions  for 
editions,  commentaries,  &c. 

“Maxims,  Characters,  and  Sentiments,  after 
the  manner  of  Bruyere,  collected  out  of  ancient 
authours,  particularly  the  Greek,  with  Apoph- 
thegms. 

“Classical  Miscellanies,  Select  Translations 
rrom  ancient  Greek  and  Latin  authours. 

“Lives  of  Illustrious  Persons,  as  well  of  the 
active  as  the  learned,  in  imitation  of  Plutarch. 

“Judgment  of  the  learned  upon  English  Au- 
thours. 

“ Poetical  Dictionary  of  the  English  tongue. 

“ Consideration  upon  the  pfesent  State  of  Lon- 
don. 

“ Collection  of  Epigrams,  with  notes  and  ob- 
servations. 

“ Observations  on  the  English  Language,  rela- 
ting to  words,  phrases,  and  modes  of  speech. 

“Minutiae,  Literariae,  Miscellaneous  Reflec- 
tions, Criticisms,  Emendations,  Notes. 

“ History  of  the  Constitution. 

“Comparison  of  Philosophical  and  Christian 
Morality,  by  sentences  collected  from  the  moral- 
ists and  fathers. 

“ Plutarch’s  Lives  in  English,  with  notes. 

“poetry  and  works  of  imagination. 

“ Hymn  to  Ignorance. 

“ The  Palace  of  Sloth, — a vision. 

“Coluthus,  to  be  translated. 

“ Prejudice, — a poetical  essay. 

“ The  Palace*  of  Nonsense, — a vision.” 

Johnson’s  extraordinary  facility  of  composition, 
when  he  shook  off*  his  constitutional  indolence, 
and  resolutely  sat  down  to  write,  is  admirably 
described  by  Mr.  Courtenay,  in  his  “ Poetical 
Review,”  which  I have  several  times  quoted  : 

“ While  through  life’s  maze  he  sent  a piercing  view, 
His  mind  expansive  to  the  object  grew. 

With  various  stores  of  erudition  fraught, 

The  lively  image,  the  deep-searching  thought, 

Slept  in  repose  ; — but  when  the  moment  press’d, 

The  bright  ideas  stood  at  once  confess’d  ; 

Instant  his  genius  sped  its  vigorous  rays, 

And  o’er  the  letter’d  world  diffused  a blaze. 

As  womb’d  with  fire  the  cloud  electrick  flies, 

And  calmly  o’er  th’  horizon  seems  to  rise : 

Touch’d  by  the  pointed  steel,  the  lightning  flows, 

And  all  th’  expanse  with  rich  effulgence  glows.” 

We  shall  in  vain  endeavour  to  know  with  ex- 
act precision  every  production  of  Johnson’s  pen. 
He  owned  to  me  that  he  had  written  about  forty 
sermons  ; but  as  I understood  that  he  had  given 
or  sold  them  to  different  persons,  who  were  to 
preach  them  as  their  own,  he  did  not  consider 
himself  at  liberty  to  acknowledge  them.  Would 
those  who  were  thus  aided  by  him,  who  are  still 
alive,  and  the  friends  of  those  who  are  dead,  fair-, 
ly  inform  the  world,  it  would  be  obligingly  grati- 
fying a reasonable  curiosity,  to  which  there  should, 
I think,  now  be  no  objection.  Two  volumes  of 
them,  published  since  his  death,  are  sufficiently 
ascertained.  Ante,  p.  124.  I have  before  me 
in  his  handwriting  a fragment  of  twenty  quarto 


leaves,  of  a translation  into  English  of  Sallust, 
De  Bello  Catilinario.  When  it  was  done  I 
have  no  notion  ; but  it  seems  to  have  no  very 
superiour  merit  to  mark  it  as  his.  Besides  the 
publications  heretofore  mentioned,  I am  satisfied, 
from  internal  evidence,  to  admit  also  as  genuine 
the  following,  which,  notwithstanding  all  my 
chronological  care,  escaped  me  in  the  course  oi 
this  work  : 

“ Considerations  on  the  Case  of  Dr.  Trapp’s 
Sermons,”  f published  in  1739,  in  ^“Gentle- 
man’s Magazine.”  It  is  a very  ingenious  defence 
of  the  right  of  abridging  an  authour’s  work,  with- 
out being  held  as  infringing  his  property.  This 
is  one  of  the  nicest  questions  in  the  Law  of  Lit- 
erature ; and  I cannot  help  thinking,  that  the 
indulgence  of  abridging  is  often  exceedingly  inju- 
rious to  authours  and  booksellers,  and  should  in 
very  few  cases  be  permitted.  At  any  rate,  to 
prevent  difficult  and  uncertain  discussion,  and  give 
an  absolute  security  to  authours  in  the  property  ot 
their  labours,  no  abridgement  whatever  should  be 
permitted  till  after  the  expiration  of  such  a num- 
ber of  years  as  the  legislature  may  be  pleased  to 
fix. 

But,  though  it  has  been  confidently  ascribed  to 
him,  I cannot  allow  that  he  wrote  a dedication  to 
both  houses  of  parliament  of  a book  entitled 
“The  Evangelical  History  Harmonized.”  He 
was  no  croaker,  no  declaimer  against  the  times. 
He  would  not  have  written  “ That  we  are  fallen 
upon  an  age  in  which  corruption  is  not  barely  uni- 
versal, is  universally  confessed.”  Nor,  “ Rapine 
preys  on  the  publick  without  opposition,  and  per 
jury  betrays  it  without  inquiry.”  Nor  would  he, 
to  excite  a speedy  reformation,  have  conjured  up 
such  phantoms  of  terror  as  these : “ A few  years 
longer,  and  perhaps  all  endeavours  will  be  in 
vain.  We  may  be  swallowed  by  an  earthquake  ; 
we  may  be  delivered  to  our  enemies.”  This  is 
not  Johnsonian. 

There  are,  indeed,  in  this  dedication  several 
sentences  constructed  upon  the  model  of  those  of 
Johnson.  But  the  imitation  of  the  form,  without 
the  spirit  of  his  style,  has  been  so  general,  that 
this  of  itself  is  not  sufficient  evidence.  Even  our 
newspaper  writers  aspire  to  it.  In  an  account 
of  the  funeral  of  Edwin,  the  comedian,  in  “ The 
Diary  ” of  Nov.  9,  1790,  that  son  of  drollery  is 
thus  described:  “A  man  who  had  so  often 
cheered  the  sullenness  of  vacancy,  and  suspended 
the  approaches  of  sorrow.”  And  in  “The  Dub- 
lin Evening  Post,”  August  16,  1791,  there  is  the 
following  paragraph:  “It  is  a singular  circum- 
stance, that  in  a city  like  this,  containing  200,000 
people,  there  are  three  months  in  the  year  during 
which  no  place  of  publick  amusement  is  open. 
Long  vacation  is  here  a vacation  from  pleasure, 
as  well  as  business ; nor  is  there  any  mode  of  pass 
ing  the  listless  evenings  of  declining  summer 
but  in  the  riots  of  a tavern,  or  the  stupidity  of  a 
coffee-house.” 

I have  not  thought  it  necessary  to  specify  every 
copy  of  verses  written  by  Johnson,  it  being  my 
intention  to  publish  an  authentick  edition  of  al 
his  poetry  with  notes. 


APPENDIX. 


487 


No.  X. 

[Dr.  Johnson’s  portraits,— referred  to  in 
\ 'page  450. 

The  note  on  Dr.  Johnson’s  portraits  being  in- 
complete, the  Editor  is  obliged  to  Mr.  John 
Murray,  junior,  for  considerable  additions 
to  the  list,  which  are  distinguished  by 
brackets .]  * 

Date  of  Engraver’s  name.  Date  of 

painting.  engraving. 

[Prior  to  A miniature,  painter  unknown,  which  belong- 

1752.  ed  to  Mrs.  Johnson,  now  in  the  possession  of 
Dr.  Harwood.  See  preface,  p.  viii.  n. 

First  engraved  for  this  edition,  size  of  the  orig- 
inal E.  Finden  1830. 

A three-quarter  face  to  the  left  (in  an  oval) ; 
he  is  dressed  in  what  was  styled  a seven  story 
wig,  and  holds  a pen  up  to  his  eye.  The  likeness 
apparently  taken  before  any  of  Sir  Joshua’s  por- 
traits . . No  artist’s  name  or  date] 

BY  SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS. 

[1756.  I.  Mr.  Boswell’s  picture;  sold  at  James  Bos- 
well’s sale  for  seventy  guineas.  Dr.  Johnson  in 
an  arm  chair,  seated  at  a table  with  writing  ma- 
terials ; pen  in  his  hand.] 

4to.  for  first  edition  of  Boswell’s  Life 

J.  Heath  1791 

Ditto  8vo.  for  8vo.  edition  of  ditto 

J.  Baker  1791 

[This  picture  has  been  repeatedly  engraved  for 
various  editions  of  this  work. 

Before  II.  Now  in  the  Marquis  of  Stafford's  collec- 

1770.  tion.  Side  face,  to  right,  eyes  almost  closed, 
without  wig ; showing  the  nervous  habit  to 
which  he  was  addicted,  when  unemployed,  of 
moving  his  hands  up  and  down  before  him,  with 
the  fingers  extended.  It  was  of  this  picture  that 
he  said,  “ It  is  not  friendly  to  hand  down  to  pos- 
terity the  imperfections  of  any  man.” 

Sir  Joshua  is  said  to  have  had  in  his  mind  this 
attitude  and  the  abstracted  expression  of  Dr. 
Johnson’s  countenance,  when  he  painted  the 
Soothsayer  Tiresias  in  his  large  picture  of  the 
Infant  Hercules. 

Folio,  mezzotint,  very  fine 

James  Watson  1770 
8vo.  mezzotint  for  Sir  Joshua’s  works 

S.  W.  Reynolds. 

.773.  An  etching  of  the  head  only,  from  a copy  of 
this  picture  by  Ozias  Humphrey 

Mrs.  D.  Turner.] 

IH.  Mr.  Langton’s  picture,  now  at  Gunby, 
near  Spilsby,  Lincolnshire,  the  seat  of  Peregrine 
Massingberd,  Esq.  Mr.  Langton’s  second  son. 
Sheet  mezzotint,  very  fine 

W.  Doughty  1784. 

Line,  prefixed  to  Dictionary  folio 

T.  Cook  1787 

Ditto  to  Dictionary  4to 

Ditto.  1787 

[Small  ditto  to  Bell’s  Poets 

Ditto.  1787 

Oval  Bromley. 

For  the  Rambler,  oval,  small  size 

John  Hall  1779 

Oval,  prefixed  to  first  ed.  of  Lives  of  the  Poets 
T.  Trotter  1779 

4to.  prefixed  to  Dictionary 

J.  Heath  1799 

In  stipple  Schavionetti  1809 

4to.  prefixed  to  Dictionary 

W.  Holl  1814 

A very  excellent  line  engraving  for  the  Diet, 
published  by  Robinson 

W.  C.  Edwards  1828 

Ditto,  smaller  Ditto  1823 

8vo.  mezzotint  for  the  works  of  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  S.  W.  Reynolds.] 

778  IV.  Mrs.  Piozzi’s  picture,  now  in  the  posses- 

sion of  Watson  Taylor , Esq.  Three-quarter 
face,  to  left,  holding  a book  up  to  his  eye. 

In  an  oval  8vo.,  for  Murphy’s  ed.  of  ids  works 
J.  Hall  1787 

Ditto  Audinet. 

Ditto  I.  Fittler. 

Ditto,  face  to  the  right 

Heath. 


Ditto,  12mo.  for  Cooke’s  Poets 

Granger  1799 

Prefixed  to  his  works,  1823 

W.  T.  Fry  1816 

V.  Duke  of  Dorset’s  picture  at  Knole,  now 
Lord  Plymouth’s ; a copy  of  No.  H.] 

[BY  BARRY. 

About  Full  face,  finished  only  as  far  as  the  shoulders, 

1781.  and  copied  into  one  of  the  large  pictures  now  in 
the  room  of  the  Society  of  Arts  in  the  Adelphi. 
The  original  sketch  was  sold  at  Barry’s  sale  to 
Mr.  Manson  for  30  guineas. 

Engraved  in  line  4to.  size 

Anker  Smith  1808 

Ditto,  8vo.  with  specimens  of  Dr.  Johnson’s 
signature  at  different  periods  of  his  life 

Audinet  1829] 

BY  OPIE. 

Three-quarter  face,  to  the  left.  Engraved  in 
an  oval,  prefixed  to  Dictionary  folio 

J.  Heath  1786 

[Do.  4to.  Davenport.] 

Folio  mezzotint  C.  Townley.*  1792 

BY  NORTHCOTE 

[Three-quarter  face,  to  right,  holding  a book 
I.  J.  De  Claussin  1813] 

BY  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

[1783.  A miniature.  This  portrait  did  not  please  Dr 
J.,  who  styled  it  “ Johnson’s  grimly  ghost.”] 

BY  MR.  ZOFFANIJ. 

BY  O.  HUMPHREY. 

1773.  A miniature. 


1748. 


Drawn  by  Engraver’s  Date  of 

name.  engraving. 

[Head  in  a small  oval 

T.  Trotter  T.  Trotter  1782] 

Profile  in  oval,  to  the  left,  without  wig 

Do.  Do.  1784 

Whole  length,  in  the  dress  worn  by  him  on 
the  journey  to  the  Hebrides,  with  his  stick,  folio 
Do.  Do.  1786 

[Side-face,  to  right,  the  countenance  haggard, 
and  exhibiting  marks  of  decay.  This  was  prob- 
ably the  last  portrait  for  which  Dr.  Johnson  sat 
it  was  finished  a short  time  before  his  death 
T.  Trotter  T.  Trotter  1786] 

[Do.  prefixed  to  Harding’s  Shakspeare ; draw 
ing  belonged  to  Dr.  Farmer 

Do.  Do.  » 17921 

Side-face,  to  right 

J.  Harding  Do.  1782 

Medallion,  profile  to  left,  with  wig,  prefixed  to 
the  Dictionary 

F.  Bartolozzi  Bartolozzi  1785 

Ditto  for  Sharpe’s  Johnsoniana 

Do.  G.  Murray  1820 

A wood-cut , on  the  title-page  of  Sharpe’s  edi- 
tion of  this  work,  in  1 vol. 

Do.  Thompson  1830  . 

[A  small  oval,  profile  to  right 

N.  Gardiner  N.  Gardiner  1786. 

8vo.  profile  to  right 

P.  S.  Lambourn  P.  S.  Lambourn  1791] 
Profile  to  left,  prefixed  to  Johnsoniana 

Unknown  J.  Taylor  1756 

For  “Lavater’s  Essays  on  Physiognomy,”  in 
which  Johnson’s  countenance  is  analysed  upon 
the  principles  of  that  fanciful  writer. 

[A  view  of  Tunbridge  Wells,  in  which  Dr. 
and  Mrs.  Johnson  are  introduced;  the  figures 
very  small.  See  vol.  i.  p.  36. 

Loggan.  1804 


Brother  of  Mr.  Townley,  of  the  Commons,  an  in- 
genious artist,  who  resided  some  time  at  Berlin,  and  has 
the  honour  of  being  engraver  to  his  Majesty  the  King  of 
Prussia.  This  is  one  of  the  finest  mezzotintos  that  ever 
was  executed;  and  what  renders  it  of  extraordinary 
value,  the  plate  was  destroyed  after  four  or  five  impres- 
sions only  were  taken  olf.  One  of  them  is  in  the  posses- 
sion of  fair  William  Scott.— Boswell.  [It  is  probable 
that  these  four  or  five  were  merely  early  impressions 
taken  off  from  the  same  plate,  the  dedication  to  Mr.  Bos- 
well, which  distinguishes  them,  having  been  erased  aftei 
they  were  printed.— J.  Murray,  jum.] 


488 


APPENDIX. 


works, 

,1781 


A whole-length,  in  a cocked  hat,  ruffles  on  the 
hands,  holding  a stick  behind  his  back 
Not  known. 

There  is  a whole-length  figure  in  Cambridge’s 
4to.,  drawn  and  engraved  by  Besland.] 

BUST  BY  NOLLEKENS, 

Never  cut  in  marble;  the  first  cast  from  the 
mould  is  now  the  property  of  Hon.  Agar  Ellis. 
Without  the  wig ; the  flowing  hair  which  hangs 
down  the  neck  copied  from  a beggar,  whom 
Mr.  Smith  states  to  have  been  called  from  the 
street  to  serve  as  model. 

After  a drawing  from  the  above  Ab.  Wivell 
W.  T.  Fry  1815] 

STATUE  BY  BACON. 

In  St.  Paul’s ; the  first  monument  ever  placed 
in  that  building. 

Repeatedly  engraved. 

There  are  also  several  seals  with  his  head  cut 
on  them,  particularly  a very  fine  one  by  that 
eminent  artist,  Edward  Burch,  Esq.,  R.  A. ; in 


the  possession  of  the  younger  Dr.  Chas.  Burney 
[copied  and  engraved  by 

Richter  Richter  1797] 

Let  me  add,  as  a proof  of  the  popularity  of  his 
character,  that  there  are  copper  pieces  struck 
at  Birmingham,  with  his  head  impressed  on 
them,  which  pass  current  as  halfpence  there 
and  in  the  neighbouring  parts  of  the  country. 

[In  this  list  are  enumerated,  it  is  believed,  ah 
the  original  portraits  of  Dr.  Johnson,  but  only 
the  most  remarkable  of  the  engravings  taken 
from  them.  The  valuable  and  interesting  col- 
lection of  Henry  Smedley,  Esq.  in  which  wifi 
he  found  almost  every  print  of  him  which  has 
been  published,  contains  more  than  one  hundred 
distinct  plates,  which  have  been  executed  at 
different  times. 

An  illustrated  copy  of  Boswell’s  Life,  belong 
ing  to  Mr.  Smith,  of  the  British  Museum,  in  ad- 
dition to- numerous  rare  impressions  of  portraits 
of  Dr.  Johnson,  is  embellished  with  views  of  all 
the  houses  in  which  he  resided ; many  of  them 
drawn  by  Mr.  Smith  himself. — J.  Murray,  jcn.] 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


VOL.  II. 


CONTENTS  OF  THE  GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


I.  Recollections  of  Dr.  Johnson,  by  Miss  Reynolds  . . . page  491 

II.  Miscellaneous  Anecdotes  of  Dr.  Johnson  .....  497 

9 

III.  Miscellaneous  Letters  of  Dr.  Johnson  .....  510 

IV.  Unpublished  Prayers  by  Dr.  Johnson  .....  517 

V.  Account  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  last  Dinner  at  Streatham  . 518 

VI . Poetical  Review  of  the  Character  of  Dr.  Johnson,  by  J.  Courtenay,  Esq.  519 

VII.  Character  of  Dr.  Johnson,  by  Dr.  Horne  ....  525 

VIII.  Diary  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  last  Illness,  by  Mr.  Hoole  . . . 526 

IX.  Some  Account  of  Francis  Stuart  ......  530 

X.  Lesson  in  Biography  ; or,  How  to  writes  one’s  Friend’s  Life,  by  A. 

Chalmers,  Esq.  ........  532 

XI.  Mr.  Boswell’s  Original  Dedication  and  Advertisements  of  the  Tour 

to  the  Hebrides  . . . • . . . . . 534 

XII  Catalogue  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  Pros’ Works  ....  534 


GENERAL  APPENDIX 


No.  1. 

Recollections  of  Dr.  Johnson  by  Miss 
Reynolds. 

Mr.  Palmer’s  papers  contain  two  manu- 
scripts i one  of  Miss  Reynold’s  Recollec- 
tions, both  in  her  own  handwriting , nearly 
the  same  in  substance , but  differing  a good 
deal  as  to  the  order , and  something  as  to 
the  handling , of  the  various  topics . Miss 
Reynolds’s  best  style  was , as  Dr.  Johnson 
himself  hinted  to  her , not  a clear  one , and 
in  those  rambling  Recollections  scattered 
over  separate  sheets  of  paper , there  is  a good 
deal  of  tautology  and  confusion , through 
which  the  Editor  has  had  some  difficulty  in 
discovering  any  thing  like  order.  He  has , 
however , made  an  arrangement  which , if  not 
quite  satisfactory , is  at  least  intelligible. 
These  Recollections  tell  little  that  is  new , 
but  they  confirm  and  explain , and  occa- 
sionally throw  a useful  light  on  some  interest- 
ing points  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  manners  and 
character:  and  although  they  have  not  the 
advantage  of  having  been  written  while  the 
matters  were  quite  fresh  in  Miss  Reynolds’s 
mind , the  long  and  cordial  intimacy  be- 
tween her  and  Dr.  Johnson  entitles  them 
to  as  much  confidence  as  can  be  placed  in 
Recollections. — Ed. 

The  first  time  I was  in  company  with  Dr. 
Johnson,  which  was  at  Miss  Cotterel’s,  I well 
remember  the  flattering  notice  he  took  of  a lady 
present,  on  her  saying  that  she  was  inclined  to 
estimate  the  morality  of  every  person  according 
as  they  liked  or  disliked  Clarissa  Harlowe.  He 
was  a great  admirer  of  Richardson’s  works  in 
general,  but  of  Clarissa  he  always  spoke  with 
the  highest  enthusiastic  praise.  He  used  to  say 
that  it  was  the  first  book  in  the  world  for  the 
knowledge  it  displays  of  the  human  hearts. 

“Yet  of  the  author  I never  heard  him  speak 
with  any  degree  of  cordiality,  but  rather  as  if  im- 

Eressed  with  some  cause  of  resentment  against 
im  ; and  this  has  been  imputed  to  something  of 
‘-ealousy,  not  to  say  envy,  on  account  of  Richard- 
son’s having  engrossed  the  attentions  and  affec- 
tionate assiduities  of  several  very  ingenious  lite- 
rary ladies,  whom  he  used  to  call  his  adopted 
daughters,  and  for  whom  Dr.  Johnson  had  con- 


I  [Mr.  Gwatkin’s  copy  of  these  Recollections  spems  to 
have  been  extracted  and  abridged  from  the  originals  by 
another  hand. — Ed.] 
a [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  245. — Ed.] 


ceived  a paternal  affection  (particularly  for  two  o < 
them,  Miss  Carter  and  Miss  Mulso,  now  Mrs. 
Chapone),  previous  to  their  acquaintance  with 
Richardson,  and  it  was  said  that  he  thought  him- 
self neglected  by  them  on  his  account. 

“ Dr  Johnson  set  a higher  value  upon  female 
friendship  than  perhaps  most  men  3,  which  may 
reasonably  be  supposed  was  not  a little  enhanced 
by  his  acquaintance  with  those  ladies,  if  it  was 
not  originally  derived  from  them.  To  their  soci- 
ety, doubtless,  Richardson  owed  that  delicacy  of 
sentiment,  that  feminine  excellence,  as  I may  say, 
that  so  peculiarly  distinguishes  his  writings  from 
those  of  his  own  sex  in  general,  how  high  soever 
they  may  soar  above  the  other  in  the  more  digni- 
fied paths  of  literature,  in  scientific  investigations, 
and  abtruse  inquiries. 

“ Dr.  Johnson  used  to  repeat,  with  very  appa- 
rent delight,  some  lines  of  a poem  written  by  Miss 
Mulso : 

‘ Say,  Stella,  what  is  love,  whose  cruel  power 
Robs  virtue  of  content,  and  youth  of  joy  1 
What  nymph  or  goddess,  in  what  fatal  hour, 
Produced  to  light  the  mischief-making  boy  1 
Some  say,  by  Idleness  and  Pleasure  bred, 

The  smiling  babe  on  beds  of  roses  lay : 

There  with  soft  honey’d  dews  by  Fancy  fed, 

His  infant  beauties  open’d  on  the  day. 4 * 

“ Dr.  Johnson  had  an  uncommon  retentive 
memory  for  every  thing  that  appeared  to  him 
worthy  of  observation.  Whatever  he  met  with 
in  reading,  particularly  poetry,  I believe  he  seldom 
required  a revisal  to  be  able  to  repeat  verbatim. 
If  not  literally  so,  his  deviations  were  generally 
improvements.  This  was  the  case,  in  some  re- 
spects, in  Shenstone’s  poem  of  the  ‘ Inn,’  which  I 
learned  from  hearing  Dr.  Johnson  repeat  it ; and 
I was  surprised,  on  seeing  it  lately  among  the 
authour’s  works  for  the  first  time,  to  find  it  so  dif- 
ferent. One  stanza  he  seems  to  have  extempo- 
rized himself : 

1 And  once  again  I shape  my  way 

Through  rain , through  shine , through  thick  and  thin , 
Secure  to  meet , at  close  of  day , 

A kind  reception  at  an  inn.' 

“ He  always  read  amazingly  quick,  glancing 


3 1“  In  his  conversation  with  ladies,  he  had  such  a fe- 
licity as  would  put  vulgar  gallantry  out  of  countenance. 
Of  the  female  mind  he  conceived  a higher  opinion  than 
many  men,  and,  though  he  was  never  suspected  of  a 
blamable  intimacy  with  any  individual  of  them  (see 
ante , p.  432),  had  a great  esteem  for  the  sex.  The  defect 
in  his  powers  of  sight  rendered  him  totally  insensible  to 
the  charms  of  beauty ; but  he  knew  that  beauty  was  the 
attribute  of  the  sex,  and  treated  all  women  with  such  an 
equal  complacency  as  flattered  every  one  into  a belief 
that  she  had  her  share  of  that  or  some  more  valuable  en- 
dowment. In  his  discourses  with  them  his  compliments 
had  ever  a neat  and  elegant  turn : they  were  never  di- 
rect, but  always  implied  the  merit  they  were  intended  to 
attest.” — Hawkins's  Life , p.  309. — Ed.] 

4 [Johnson  paid  the  first  of  those  stanzas  the  great  and 
undeserved  compliment  of  quoting  it  in  his  Dictionary, 
under  the  word  “Quatrain.” — Ed.] 


492 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


his  eye  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of  the  page  in 
an  instant.  If  he  made  any  pause,  it  was  a com- 
pliment to  the  work ; and  after  seesawing  i over 
it  a few  minutes,  generally  repeated  the  passage, 
especially  if  it  was  poetry. 

“One  day,  on  taking  up  Pope’s  ‘Essay  on 
Man,’  a particular  passage  seemed  more  than 
ordinary  to  engage  his  attention ; so  much  so 
indeed  that,  contrary  to  his  usual  custom,  after  he 
had  left  the  book  and  the  seat  in  which  he  was 
sitting,  he  returned  to  revise  it,  turning  over  the 
pages  with  anxiety  to  find  it,  and  then  repeated, 

* Passions,  though  selfish,  if  their  means  be  fair, 

List  under  Reason,  and  deserve  her  care : 

Those  that,  imparted,  court  a nobler  aim, 

Exalt  their  kind,  and  take  some  virtue’s  name.’ 

Epis.  ii.  v.  96. 

His  task,  probably,  was  the  whole  paragraph,  but 
these  lines  only  were  audible. 

“ He  seemed  much  to  delight  in  reciting  verses, 
particularly  from  Pope.  Among  the  many  I have 
had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  him  recite,  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  ‘ Dunciad  ; ’ and  his  Epistle  to  Jervas, 
seemed  to  claim  his  highest  admiration. 

‘ Led  by  some  rule  that  guides,  but  not  constrains, 

And  finish’d  more  through  happiness  than  pains 2 

he  used  to  remark,  was  a union  that  constituted 
the  ultimate  degree  of  excellence  in  the  fine  arts. 

“ Two  lines  also  from  Pope’s  ‘ Universal  Pray- 
er’ I have  heard  him  quote,  in  very  serious  con- 
versation, as  his  theological  creed  : 

‘ And  binding  Nature  fast  in  fate, 

Left  free  the  human  will.’ 

“ Some  lines  also  he  used  to  repeat  in  his  best 
manner,  written  in  memory  of  Bishop  Boulter  3, 
which  I believe  are  not  much  known. 

Some  write  their  wrongs  in  marble ; he,  more  just, 
Stoop’d  down  serene  and  wrote  them  in  the  dust ; 

Trod  under  foot,  the  sport  of  every  wind. 

Swept  from  the  earth,  and  blotted  from  his  mind. 

There,  secret  in  the  grave,  he  bade  them  lie, 

And  grieved  they  could  not  ’scape  the  Almighty’s  eye.’ 

“ A lady  who  had  learnt  them  from  Dr.  John- 
son thought  she  had  made  a mistake,  or  had  forgot 
some  words,  as  she  could  not  make  out  a reference 
to  there,  and  mentioned  it  to  him.  * No,’  he  said, 
‘ she  had  not ; ’ and  after  seesawing  a few  mi- 
nutes, said  something  that  indicated  surprise,  that 
he  should  not  have  made  the  same  remark 
before. 

“ Some  time  after,  he  told  the  lady  that  these 
lines  were  inserted  in  the  last  edition  of  his  Dic- 
tionary, under  the  word  sport  4. 

“Of  Goldsmith’s  Traveller  he  used  to  speak  in 
terms  ot  the  highest  commendation.  A lady  5 I 
remember,  who  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  Dr. 
Johnson  read  it  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  on 


l 'A  lady  said  pleasantly  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  strange 
movement,  or  oscillation  while  reading,  that  “ his  head 
swung  seconds." — Miss  Hawkins's  Memoirs , vol.  ii.  p. 
216.— Ed.] 

3 Epistle  to  Jervas.— Miss  Reynolds. 

3 I By  Dr.  Madden.  See  ante , v.  i.  p.  137. — Ed.] 

4 [They  are  so.  We  see  in  this  case,  and  that  of  Miss 
Mulso  (ante,  p.  491),  that  Dr.  Johnson’s  personal  partial- 
ities induced  him  to  quote  in  his  Dictionary  authors  who 
‘ had  no  business  there.”  See  ante , v.  i.  p.  137,  the  mo- 
tive of  his  gratitude  to  Madden. — Ed.] 

5 [Miss  Reynolds  herself. — Ed.] 


its  first  coming  out,  to  testify  her  admiration  of  it, 
exclaimed,  ‘ 1 never  more  shall  think  Dr.  Gold- 
smith ugly.’  In  having  thought  so,  however,  she 
was  by  no  means  singular  ; an  instance  of  which 
I am  rather  inclined  to  mention,  because  it  in- 
volves a remarkable  one  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  ready 
wit : for  this  lady,  one  evening  being  in  a large 
party,  was  called  upon  after  supper  for  her  toast, 
and  seeming  embarrassed,  she  was  desired  to  give 
the  ugliest  man  she  knew  ; and  she  immediately 
named  Dr.  Goldsmith,  on  which  a lady  6 on  the 
other  side  of  the  table  rose  up  and  reached  across 
to  shake  hands  with  her,  expressing  some  desire 
of  being  better  acquainted  with  her,  it  being  the 
first  time  they  had  met ; on  which  Dr.  Johnson 
said,  ‘ Thus  the  ancients,  on  the  commencement 
of  their  friendships,  used  to  sacrifice  a beast  be- 
twixt them.’ 

“Sir  Joshua,  1 have  often  thought,  never  gave 
a more  striking  pro’of  of  his  excellence  in  portrait 
painting,  than  in  giving  dignity  to  Dr.  Goldsmith’s 
countenance,  and  yet  preserving  a strong  likeness. 
But  he  drew  after  his  mind,  or  rather  his  genius, 
if  I may  be  allowed  to  make  that  distinction, 
assimilating  the  one  with  his  conversation,  the 
other  with  his  works. 

“ Dr.  Goldsmith’s  cast  of  countenance,  and  in- 
deed his  whole  figure  from  head  to  foot,  impressed 
every  one  at  first  sight  with  an  idea  of  his  being  a 
low  mechanic — particularly,  I believe,  a journey- 
man tailor.  A little  concurring  instance  of  this  I 
well  remember.  One  day  at  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds’s, in  company  with  some  gentlemen  and 
ladies,  he  was  relating  with  great  indignation  an 
insult  he  had  just  received  from  some  gentleman 
he  had  accidentally  met  (I  think  at  a coffee-house). 
‘The  fellow,’  he  said,  ‘ took  me  for  a tailor  i ’ on 
which  all  the  party  either  laughed  aloud  or  showed 
they  suppressed  a laugh. 

“ Dr.  Johnson  seemed  to  have  much  more  kind- 
ness for  Goldsmith,  than  Goldsmith  had  for  him. 
He  always  appeared  to  be  overawed  by  Johnson, 
particularly  when  in  company  with  people  of  any 
consequence,  always  as  if  impressed  with  some 
fear  of  disgrace,  and  indeed  well  he  might.  1 
have  been  witness  to  many  mortifications  he  has 
suffered  in  Dr.  Johnson’s  company  : one  day  in 
particular,  at  Sir  Joshua’s  table,  a gentleman  to 
whom  he  was  talking  his  best  stopped  him,  in  the 
midst  of  his.  discourse,  with  ‘ Hush  ! hush  ! Dr. 
Johnson  is  going  to  say  something.’ 

“ At  another  time,  a gentleman  who  was  sitting 
between  Dr.  Johnson  and  Dr.  Goldsmith,  and 
with  whom  he  had  been  disputing,  remarked  to 
another,  loud  enough  for  Goldsmith  to  hear  him, 
‘ That  he  had  a fine  time  of  it,  between  Ursa  major 
and  Ursa  minor  7 ! ’ 

“Mr.  Baretti  used  to  remark  (with  a smile) 
that  Dr.  Johnson  always  talked  his  best  to  the  la- 
dies. But  indeed  that  was  his  general  practice  to 

6 Mrs.  Cholmondely. — Miss  Reynolds. 

7 [The  Editor  has  preserved  this  specimen,  as  a striking 
instance  of  the  easy  fabrication  of  what  are  called  anec- 
dotes, and  of  how  little  even  the  best  authorities  can  be 
lelied  on  in  such  matters.  The  real  anecdote  was  ot 
Doctor  Major  and  Doctor  Minor  (see  ante , vol.  i.  p. 
353),  by  no  means  so  happy  as  the  fabrication,  and  the 
title  of  Ursa  Major  was  applied  to  Johnson  by  old  Lord 
Auchinlech  (ante,  p.  459).  From  these  two  facts  the 
pleasant  fallacy  quoted  by  Miss  Reynolds  was  no  doubt 
compounded.— Ed.] 


MISCELLANEOUS  ANECDOTES. 


493 


at(  who  would  furnish  him  with  a subject  worthy 
ot  lis  discussion  ; for,  what  was  very  singular  in 
him,  he  would  rarely,  if  ever,  begin  any  subject 
himself,  but  would  sit  silent  1 till  something  was 
particularly  addressed  to  him,  and  if  that  happen- 
ed to  lead  to  any  scientific  or  moral  inquiry,  his 
benevolence,  I believe,  more  immediately  incited 
him  to  expatiate  on  it  for  the  edification  of  the  ig- 
norant than  for  any  other  motive  whatever. 

“ One  day,  on  a lady’s  telling  him  that  she  had 
read  Parnell’s  ‘Hermit’  with  dissatisfaction,  for 
she  could  not  help  thinking  that  thieves  and  mur- 
derers, who  were  such  immediate  ministers  from 
heaven  of  good  to  man,  did  not  deserve  such  pun- 
ishments as  our  laws  inflict,  Dr.  Johnson  spoke 
such  an  eloquent  oration,  so  deeply  philosophical, 
as  indeed  afforded  a most  striking  instance  of  the 
truth  of  Baretti’s  observation,  but  of  which,  to  my 
great  regret,  I can  give  no  corroborating  proof, 
my  memory  furnishing  me  with  nothing  more 
than  barely  the  general  tendency  of  his  arguments, 
which  was  to  prove,  that  though  it  might  be  said 
that  wicked  men,  as  well  as  the  good,  were  min- 
isters of  God,  because  in  the  moral  sphere  the 
good  we  enjoy  and  the  evil  we  suffer  are  admin- 
istered to  us  by  man,  yet,  as  infinite  goodness 
could  not  inspire  or  influence  man  to  act  wicked- 
ly, but,  on  the  contrary,  it  was  his  divine  property 
to  produce  good  out  of  evil,  and  as  man  was  en- 
dowed with  free-will  to  act,  or  to  refrain  from  act- 
ing wickedly,  with  knowledge  of  good  and  evil, 
with  conscience  to  admonish  and  to  direct  him  to 
choose  the  one  and  to  reject  the  other,  he  was, 
therefore,  as  criminal  in  the  sight  of  God  and  of 
man,  and  as  deserving  punishment  for  his  evil 
deeds,  as  if  no  good  had  resulted  from  them. 

“ And  yet,  though,  to  the  best  of  my  remem- 
brance, this  was  the  substance  of  Dr.  Johnson’s 
discourse  in  answer  to  the  lady’s  observation,  I 
am  rather  apprehensive  that  in  some  respects  it 
may  be  thought  inconsistent  with  his  general  as- 
sertions, that  man  was  by  nature  much  more  in- 
clined to  evil  than  to  good.  But  it  would  ill  be- 
come me  to  expatiate  on  such  a subject. 

“ Yet  what  can  be  said  to  reconcile  his  opinion 
of  the  natural  tendency  of  the  human  heart  to  evil 
with  his  own  zealous  virtuous  propensions  ? No- 
thing perhaps,  at  least  by  me,  but  that  this  opin- 
ion, I believe,  was  founded  upon  religious  princi- 
ples relating  to  original  sin  ; and  I well  remember 
that,  when  disputing  with  a person  on  this  subject, 
who  thought  that  nature,  reason,  and  virtue  were 
the  constituent  principles  of  humanity,  he  would 
say,  ‘ Nay,  nay,  if  man  is  by  nature  prompted  to 
act  virtuously,  all  the  divine  precepts  of  the  gos- 
pel, all  its  denunciations,  all  the  laws  enacted  by 
man  to  restrain  man  from  evil,  had  been  needless.’ 

“ It  is  certain  that  he  would  scarcely  allow  any 
one  to  Feel  much  for  the  distresses  of  others  ; or 
whatever  he  thought  they  might  feel,  he  was  very 
apt  to  impute  to  causes  that  did  no  honour  to  hu- 
man nature.  Indeed  I thought  him  rather  too 
fond  of  Rochefoucault  maxims. 

“ The  very  strict  watch  he  apparently  kept 
over  his  mind  seems  to  correspond  with  his  tho- 
rough conviction  of  nature’s  evil  propensions  ; but 
it  might  be  as  likely  in  consequence  of  his  dread 
of  those  peculiar  ones,  whatever  they  were,  which 


l  [See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  345?— Ed.] 


attended,  or  rather  constituted  his  mental  malady, 
which,  I have  observed,  might  probably  have  in- 
cited him  so  often  to  pray  ; and  I impute  it  to  the 
same  cause,  that  he  so  frequently,  with  great  ear- 
nestness, desired  his  intimate  acquaintance  to  pray 
for  him,  apparently  on  very  slight  occasions  ol 
corporeal  disorder. 

[Here  followed  an  expression  of  surprise  at  his 
having  desired  a prayer  from  Dr.  Dodd,  and  sev 
eral  particulars  of  that  story,  already  amply  told 
ante,  pp.  104  et  seq.,  and  118.] 

“ And  another  axiom  of  his,  of  the  same  tenden- 
cy, was,  that  the  pains  and  miseries  incident  to 
human  life  far  outweighed  its  happiness  and  good. 
[Yol.  i.  p.  521  J.] 

“But  indeed  much  may  be  said  in  Dr.  John- 
son’s justification,  supposing  this  notion  should 
not  meet  with  universal  approbation,  having,  it  is 
probable,  imbibed  them  in  the  early  part  of  his 
life  when  under  the  pressure  of  adverse  fortune, 
and  in  every  period  of  it  under  the  still  heavier 
pressure  and  more  adverse  influence  of  Nature 
herself ; for  I have  often  heard  him  lament  that 
he  inherited  from  his  father  a morbid  disposition 
both  of  body  and  of  mind — an  oppressive  melan- 
choly, to hich  robbed  him  of  the  common  enjoyments 
of  life  3. 

“ Indeed  he  seemed  to  struggle  almost  inces- 
santly with  some  mental  evil,  and  often  by  the 
expression  of  his  countenance  and  the  motion  ol 
his  lips  appeared  to  be  offering  up  some  ejacula- 
tion to  Heaven  to  remove  it.  But  in  Lent,  or 
near  the  approach  of  any  great  festival,  he  would 
generally  retire  from  the  company  to  a coiner  ol 
the  room,  but  most  commonly  behind  a window- 
curtain,  to  pray,  and  with  such  energy,  and  in  so 
loud  a whisper,  that  every  word  was  heard  dis- 
tinctly, particularly  the  Lord’s  Prayer  and  the 
Apostles’  Creed,  with  which  he  constantly  con- 
cluded his  devotions.  Sometimes  some  words 
would  emphatically  escape  him  in  his  usual  tone 
of  voice  4. 

“ At  these  holy  seasons  he  secluded  himselt 
more  from  society  than  at  other  times,  at  least 
from  general  and  mixed  society  ; and  on  a gen- 
tleman’s sending  him  an  invitation  to  dinner  on 
Easter  Eve  he  was  highly  offended,  and  expressed 
himself  so  in  his  answer. 

“ Probably  his  studious  attention  to  the  secret 
workings  of  his  peculiar  mental  infirmity,  to- 
gether with  his  experience  of  divine  assistance  co- 
operating with  his  reasoning  faculties,  to  repel 
its  force,  may  have  proved  in  the  highest  degree 
conducive  to  the  exaltation  of  his  piety,  and  the 
pre-eminence  of  his  wisdom.  And  I think  it 
equally  probable,  that  all  his  natural  defects  were 
conducive  to  that  end  ; for  being  so  peculiarly  de- 
barred from  the  enjoyments  of  those  amusements 
which  the  eye  and  the  ear  afford,  doubtless  he 
sought  more  assiduously  for  those  gratifications 
which  scientific  pursuits  or  philosophic  meditation 
bestow. 


2 [Where  passages  from  these  “ Recollections  ” have 
been  introduced  in  the  text  of  the  preceding  volume, 
these  marks  refer  to  the  places  where  they  are  to  be 
found. — Ed.] 

3 [This  last  paragraph  was  originally  written,  “ terri 
f lying  melancholy , which  he  was  sometimes  apprehensive 
bordered  on  insanity.'1  This  Miss  Reynolds  softened 
into  the  remark  as  it  stands  above. — Ed.] 

4 [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  333. — Ed.] 


494 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


“ These  defects  sufficiently  account  for  his  in- 
sensibility of  the  charms  of  music  and  of  paint- 
ing, being  utterly  incapable  of  receiving  any  de- 
light from  the  one  or  the  other,  particularly  from 
ainting,  his  sight  being  more  deficient  than  his 
earing. 

“ Of  the  superficies  of  the  fine  arts,  or  visible 
objects  of  taste,  he  could  have  had  but  an  imper- 
fect idea  ; but  as  to  the  invisible  principles  of  a 
natural  good  taste,  doubtless  he  was  possessed  of 
these  in  the  most  eminent  degree,  and  I should 
have  thought  it  a strange  inconsistency  indeed  in 
his  character,  had  he  really  wanted  a taste  for 
music  ; but  as  a proof  that  he  did  not,  I think  I 
had  need  only  mention,  that  he  was  remarkably 
fond  of  Dr.  Burney’s  History  of  Music  1,  and  that 
he  said  it  showed  that  the  authour  understood  the 
philosophy  of  music  better  than  any  man  that  ever 
wrote  on  that  subject. 

“ It  is  certain  that,  when  in  the  company  of 
connoisseurs,  whose  conversation  has  turned 
chiefly  upon  the  merits  of  the  attractive  charms  of 
painting,  perhaps  of  pictures  that  were  immedi- 
ately under  their  inspection,  Dr.  Johnson,  I have 
thought,  used  to  appear  as  if  conscious  of  his  un- 
becoming situation,  or  rather,  I might  say,  suspi- 
cious that  it  was  an  unbecoming  situation. 

“ But  it  was  observable,  that  he  rather  avoided 
the  discovery  of  it,  for  when  asked  his  opinion  of 
the  likeness  of  any  portrait  of  a friend,  he  has 
generally  evaded  the  question,  and  if  obliged  to 
examine  it,  he  has  held  the  picture  most  ridicu- 
lously, quite  close  to  his  eye,  just  as  he  held  his 
book.  But  he  was  so  unwilling  to  expose  that  de- 
fect, that  he  was  much  displeased  with  Sir  Joshua, 
I remember,  for  drawing  him  with  his  book  held 
in  that  manner,  which,  I believe,  was  the  cause  of 
that  picture  being  left  unfinished  2. 

“On  every  occasion  that  had  the  least  tendency 
to  depreciate  religion  or  morality,  he  totally  dis- 
regarded all  forms  or  rules  of  good-breeding,  as 
utterly  unworthy  of  the  slightest  consideration. 

“ But  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  sometimes 
suffered  this  noble  principle  to  transgress  its  due 
bounds,  and  to  extend  even  to  those  who  were 
any  ways  connected  with  the  person  who  had  of- 
fended him. 

“ His  treatment  of  Mr.  Israel  Wilkes  [related 
ante , p.  72,]  was  mild  in  comparison  of  what  a 
gentleman  3 met  with  from  him  one  day  at  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds’s,  a barrister-at-law  and  a man 
of  fashion, who,  on  discoursing  with  Dr.  (then  Mr.) 
Johnson  on  the  laws  and  government  of  different 
nations  (I  remember  particularly  those  of  Venice), 
and  happening  to  speak  of  them  in  terms  of  high 
approbation:  ‘Yes,  sir,’ says  Johnson, ‘all  re- 
publican rascals  think  as  you  do.’  How  the  con- 
versation ended  I have  forgot,  it  was  so  many  years 
ago  ; but  that  he  made  no  apology  to  the  gentle- 
man 1 am  very  sure,  nor  to  any  person  present, 
for  such  an  outrage  against  society. 


1 [Miss  Reynolds  will  hardly  convince  any  one  that 
Dr.  Johnson  was  fond  of  music  by  proving  that  he  was 
fond  of  his  friend  Dr.  Burney’s  History  of  Music.  The 
truth  is,  he  held  both  painting  and  music  in  great  con- 
tempt, because  his  organs  afforded  him  no  adequate  per- 
ception of  either. — Ed.] 

2 [This  however,  or  a similar  picture,  was  finished  ind 
engraved  as  the  frontispiece  of  Murphy’s  edition  of  Dr. 
Johnson’s  works.— Ed.  1 

3 Mr.  Elliot. — Miss  Reynold* 


“ Of  latter  years  he  grew  much  more  compan 
ionable,  and  I have  heard  him  say,  that  he  knew 
himself  to  be  so.  ‘ In  my  younger  days,’  he 
would  say,  ‘ it  is  true  I was  much  inclined  to  treat 
mankind  with  asperity  and  contempt ; but  I found 
it  answered  no  good  end.  I thought  it  wiser  and 
better  to  take  the  world  as  it  goes.  Besides,  as  I 
have  advanced  in  life  I have  had  more  reason  to 
be  satisfied  with  it.  Mankind  have  treated  me 
with  more  kindness,  and  of  course  I have  more 
. kindness  for  them.’ 

“ In  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  indeed,  his  cir- 
cumstances were  very  different  from  what  they 
were  in  the  beginning.  Before  he  had  the  pen- 
sion, he  literally  dressed  like  a beggar  4 ; and 
from  what  I have  been  told,  he  as  literally  lived 
as  such ; at  least  as  to  common  conveniences 
in  his  apartments,  wanting  even  a chair  to 
sit  on,  particularly  in  his  study,  where  a gentle- 
man who  frequently  visited  him  whilst  writing 
his  Idlers  constantly  found  him  at  his  desk,  sitting 
on  one  with  three  legs  ; and  on  rising  from  it,  he 
remarked  that  Dr.  Johnson  never  forgot  its  de 
feet,  but  would  either  hold  it  in  his  hand  or  place 
it  with  great  composure  against  some  support, 
taking  no  notice  of  its  imperfection  to  his  visitor. 
Whether  the  visitor  sat  on  a chair,  or  on  a pile  of 
folios  5,  or  how  he  sat,  I never  remember  to  have 
been  told. 

“ It  was  remarkable  in  Dr.  Johnson,  that  no 
external  circumstances  ever  prompted  him  to 
make  any  apology,  or  to  seem  even  sensible  of 
their  existence.  Whether  this  was  the  effect  of 
philosophick  pride,  or  of  some  partial  notion  of  his 
respecting  high-breeding,  is  doubtful.  Strange  as 
it  may  appear,  he  scrupled  not  to  boast,  that  ‘ no 
man  knew  the  rules  of  true  politeness  better  than 
himself;’  and  stranger  still,  * that  no  man  more 
attentively  practised  them.’ 

“He  particularly  piqued  himself  upon  his  nice 
observance  of  ceremonious  punctilios  towards  la 
dies.  A remarkable  instance  of  this  was  his 
never  suffering  any  lady  to  walk  from  his  house 
to  her  carriage,  through  Bolt-court,  unattended  by 
himself  to  hand  her  into  it  (at  least  I have  reason 
to  suppose  it  to  be  his  general  custom,  from  his 
constant  performance  of  it  to  those  with  whom 
he  was  the  most  intimately  acquainted)  ; and  if 
any  obstacle  prevented  it  from  driving  off,  there 
he  would  stand  by  the  door  of  it,  and  gather  a 
mob  around  him  ; indeed,  they  would  begin  to 
gather  the  moment  he  appeared  handing  the  lady 
down  the  steps  into  Fleet-street.  But  to  describe 
his  appearance — his  important  air — that  indeed 
cannot  be  described  ; and  his  morning  habiliments 
would  excite  the  utmost  astonishment  in  my  read- 

4 [See  post,  in  Miss  Hawkins’s  Anecdotes,  how  differ 
ent  his  appearance  was  after  the  pension. — Ed.] 

5 [“  He  had  a large  but  not  a splendid  library,  near 
5000  volumes.  Many  authours,  not  in  hostility  with  him, 
presented  him  with  their  works.  But  his  study  did  not 
contain  half  his  books.  He  possessed  the  chair  that  be- 
longed to  the  Ciceronian  Dr.  King  of  Oxford,  which  was 
given  him  by  his  friend  Vansittart.  It  answers  the  pur- 
poses of  reading  and  writing,  by  night  or  by  day ; and  is 
as  valuable  in  all  respects  as  the  chair  of  Ariosto,  as  dc 
lineated  in  the  preface  to  Hoole’s  liberal  translation  ot 
that  poet.  Since  the  rounding  of  this  period,  intelligence 
is  brought  that  this  literary  chair  is  purchased  by  Mr 
Hoole.  Relicks  are  venerable  things,  and  are  only  not  tv 
be  worshipped.  On  the  reading-chair  of  Mr.  Speaker 
Onslow,  a part  of  this  historical  sketch  was  written.”^- 
Tyers.— Ed.] 


MISCELLANEOUS  ANECDOTES. 


495 


er,  that  a man  in  his  senses  could  think  of  step- 
ping outside  his  door  in  them,  or  even  to  be  seen 
at  home ! Sometimes  he  exhibited  himself  at  the 
distance  of  eight  or  ten  doors  from  Bolt-court,  to 
get  at  the  carriage,  to  the  no  small  diversion  of  the 
populace  i.  And  I am  certain  that,  to  those  who 
love  laughing,  a description  of  his  dress  from  head 
to  foot  would  be  highly  acceptable,  and  in  general 
I believe  be  thought  the  most  curious  part  of  my 
book  ; but  I forbear,  out  of  respect  to  his  memory, 
to  give  more  than  this  slight  intimation  of  it ; for, 
having  written  a minute  description  of  his  figure, 
from  his  wig  to  his  slippers,  a thought  occurred 
that  it  might  probably  excite  some  person  to  de- 
lineate it,  and  I might  have  the  mortification  to  see 
it  hung  up  at  a printshop  as  the  greatest  curiosity 
ever  exhibited. 

“ His  best  dress  was,  in  his  early  times,  so  very 
mean,  that  one  afternoon,  as  he  was  following 
some  ladies  up  stairs,  on  a visit  to  a lady  of  fash- 
ion (Miss  Cotterel2),  the  servant,  not  knowing 
him,  suddenly  seized  him  by  the  shoulder,  and  ex- 
claimed, ‘ Where  are  you  going  ? * striving  at  the 
same  time  to  drag  him  back  ; but  a gentleman  3 
who  was  a few  steps  behind  prevented  her  from 
doing  or  saying  more,  and  Mr.  Johnson  growled 
all  the  way  up  stairs,  as  well  he  might.  He 
seemed  much  chagrined  and  discomposed.  Un- 
luckily, whilst  in  this  humour,  a lady  of  high 
rank  4 happening  to  call  upon  Mis3  Cotterel,  he 
was  most  violently  offended  with  her  for  not  in- 
troducing him  to  her  ladyship,  and  still  more  so 
for  her  seeming  to  show  more  attention  to  her  than 
to  him.  After  sitting  some  time  silent,  meditating 
how  to  down  Miss  Cotterel,  he  addressed  himself 
to  Mr.  Reynolds,  who  sat  next  him,  and,  after  a 
few  introductory  words,  with  a loud  voice  said,  * I 
wonder  which  of  us  two  could  get  most  money  at 
his  trade  in  one  week,  were  we  to  work  hard  at 
it  from  morning  till  night.’  I do  n’t  remember 
the  answer ; but  I know  that  the  lady,  rising 
soon  after,  went  away  without  knowing  what 
trade  they  were  of.  She  might  probably  suspect 
Mr.  Johnson  to  be  a poor  authour  by  his  dress  ; 
and  because  the  trade  of  neither  a blacksmith,  a 
porter,  or  a chairman,  which  she  probably  would 
nave  taken  him  for  in  the  street,  was  not  quite  so 
suitable  to  the  place  she  saw  him  in. 

“This  incident  he  used  to  mention  with  great 
glee — how  he  had  downed  Miss  Cotterel,  though 
at  the  same  time  he  professed  a great  friendship 
and  esteem  for  that  lady. 

“ It  is  certain,  for  such  kind  of  mortifications, 
he  never  expressed  any  concern  ; but  on  other  oc- 
casions he  has  shown  an  amiable  sorrow  5 for  the 

1 TSee  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  189. — Ed.] 

2 [His  acquaintance  with  this  lady  and  her  sister,  who 
married  Dean  Lewis,  continued  to  the  last  days  of  his 
life.  He  says  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  “ I 
know  not  whether  I told  you  that  my  old  friend  Mrs. 
Cotterel,  now  no  longer  Miss,  has  called  to  see  me. 
Mrs.  Lewis  is  not  well. — 2 6th  April,  1784.”  It  is  gratify- 
ing to  observe  how  many  of  Johnson’s  earliest  friends 
continued  so  to  the  last. — Ed.] 

3 [Sir  Joshua  (then  Mr.)  Reynolds. — Ed.] 

4 Lady  Fitzroy. — Miss  Reynolds.  [See  ante,  v.  i.  p. 
104,  where  this  story  is  told  of  the  Duchess  of  Argyll  and 
another  lady  of  high  rank : that  other  lady  was  no  doubt 
the  person  erroneously  designated  by  Miss  Reynolds  as 
Lady  Fitzroy.  She  probably  was  Elizabeth  Co-^by,  wife 
of  Lord  Augustus  Fitzroy,  and  grandmother  of  the*  pres- 
*nt  Duke  of  Grafton. — Ed.] 

i f “ He  repented  just  as  certainly  however,  if  he  had 


offence  he  has  given,  particularly  if  it  seemed  to 
involve  the  slightest  disrespect  to  the  church  or  to 
its  ministers. 

[Ante,  pp.  299,  40,  131,  252.] 

“ It  is  with  much  regret  that  I reflect  on  my 
stupid  negligence  to  write  down  some  of  his  dis- 
courses, his  observations,  precepts,  &c.  The  fol- 
lowing few  short  sentences  only  did  I ever  take 
any  account  of  in  writing ; and  these,  which  I 
lately  found  in  an  old  memorandum  pocket-book, 
of  ancient  date,  were  made  soon  after  the  com- 
mencement of  my  acquaintance  with  him.  A few 
others,  indeed,  relating  to  the  character  of  the 
French  (ante,  p.  19),  were  taken  viva  voce,  the  day 
after  his  arrival  from  France,  Nov.  14,  1775,  in- 
tending them  for  the  subject  of  a letter  to  a friend 
in  the  country. 

“ Talking  on  the  subject  of  scepticism : — 
“Johnson.  ‘The  eyes  of  the  mind  are  like 
the  eyes  of  the  body  ; they  can  see  only  at  such 
a distance:  but  because  we  cannot  see  beyond 
this  point,  is  there  nothing  beyond  it  ?’ 

“Talking  of  the  want  of  memory: — 

“ Johnson.  ‘ No,  sir,  it  is  not  true ; in  general 
every  person  has  an  equal  capacity  for  reminis- 
cence, and  for  one  thing  as  well  as  another,  other- 
wise it  would  be  like  a person  complaining  that 
he  could  hold  silver  in  his  hand,  but  could  not 
hold  copper.’ 

“ A Gentleman.  ‘ I think  when  a person 
laughs  alone  he  supposes  himself  for  the  moment 
with  company.’  Johnson.  ‘ Yes,  if  it  be  true 
that  laughter  is  a comparison  of  self-superiority, 
you  must  suppose  some  person  with  you.’ 

“ ‘ No,  sir,’  he  once  said,  ‘ people  are  not  born 
with  a particular  genius  for  particular  employ- 
ments or  studies,  for  it  would  be  like  saying  that 
a man  could  see  a great  way  east,  but  could  not 
west.  It  is  good  sense  applied  with  diligence 
to  what  was  at  first  a mere  accident,  and  which, 
by  great  application,  grew  to  be  called,  by  the 
generality  of  mankind,  a particular  genius.’ 

“ Some  person  advanced,  that  a lively  imagina- 
tion disqualified  the  mind  from  fixing  steadily  upon 
objects  which  required  serious  and  minute  investi- 
gation. Johnson.  ‘It  is  true,  sir,  a vivacious 
quick  imagination  does  sometimes  give  a confused 
idea  of  things,  and  which  do  not  fix  deep  ; though, 
at  the  same  time,  he  has  a capacity  to  fix  them  in 
his  memory  if  he  would  endeavour  at  it.  It  being 
like  a man  that,  when  he  is  running,  does  not 
make  observations  on  what  he  meets  with,  and 
consequently  is  not  impressed  bv  them  ; but  he 
has,  nevertheless,  the  power  of  stopping  and  in- 
forming himself.’ 

“ A gentleman  was  mentioning  it  as  a remark 
of  an  acquaintance  of  his,  ‘ that  he  never  knew 
but  one  person  that  was  completely  wicked.’ 
Johnson.  ‘Sir,  I don’t  know  what  you  mean 
by  a person  completely  wicked.’  Gentleman. 
‘Why,  any  one  that  has  entirely  got  rid  of  all 
shame.’  Johnson.  ‘How  is  he,  then,  com- 
pletely wicked  ? He  must  get  rid  too  of  all  con- 
science.’ Gentleman.  ‘ I think  conscience 
and  shame  the  same  thing.’  Johnson.  ‘ I am 

been  led  to  praise  any  person  or  thing  by  accident  more 
than  lie  thought  it  deserved ; and  was  on  such  occasions 
comically  earnest  to  destroy  the  praise  or  pleasure  he  had 
unintentionally  given.” — Piozzi's  Anecdotes , p.  75 


496 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


surprised  to  hear  you  oay  so  ; they  spring  from 
two  different  sources,  and  are  distinct  perceptions: 
one  respects  this  world,  the  other  the  next.’  A 
Lady.  ‘ 1 think,  however,  that  a person  who  has 
got  rid  of  shame  is  in  a fair  way  to  get  rid  of  con- 
science.’ Johnson.  ‘Yes,  ’tis  a part  of  the 
way,  I grant ; but  there  are  degrees  at  which  men 
stop,  some  for  the  fear  of  men,  some  for  the  fear 
of  God  : shame  arises  from  the  fear  of  men, 
conscience  from  the  fear  of  God.’ 

“Dr.  Johnson  seemed  to  delight  in  drawing 
characters ; and  when  he  did  so  con  amove,  de- 
lighted every  one  that  heard  him.  Indeed  I can- 
not say  I ever  heard  him  draw  any  con  odio,  though 
he  professed  himself  to  be,  or  at  least  to  love,  a 
good  hater.  But  I have  remarked  that  his  dislike 
of  any  one  seldom  prompted  him  to  say  much 
more  than  that  the  fellow  is  a blockhead,  a poor 
creature,  or  some  such  epithet. 

“ I shall  never  forget  the  exalted  character  he 
drew  of  his  friend  Mr.  Langton,  nor  with  what 
energy,  what  fond  delight,  he  expatiated  in  his 
praise,  giving  him  every  excellence  that  nature 
could  bestow,  and  every  perfection  that  humanity 
could  acquire  1.  A literary  lady  was  present,  Miss 
H.  More,  who  perhaps  inspired  him  with  an  un- 
usual ardour  to  shine,  which  indeed  he  did  with 
redoubled  lustre,  deserving  himself  the  praises  he 
bestowed  ; not  but  I have  often  heard  him  speak 
in  terms  equally  high  of  Mr.  Langton,  though 
more  concisely  expressed. 

“ This  brings  to  my  remembrance  the  unparal- 
leled eulogium  which  the  late  Lord  Bath  made  on 
a lady  he  was  intimately  acquainted  with,  in 
speaking  of  her  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  His 
lordship  said  that  he  did  not  believe  that  there 
ever  was  a more  perfect  human  being  created,  or 
ever  would  be  created,  than  Mrs.  Montagu.  I 
give  the  very  words  I heard  from  Sir  Joshua’s 
mouth;  from  whom  also  1 heard  that  he  repeated 
them  to  Mr.  Burke — observing  that  Lord  Bath 
could  not  have  said  more,  ‘ And  I do  not  think 
that  he  said  too  much,’  was  Mr.  Burke’s  reply.  I 
have  also  heard  Dr.  Johnson  speak  of  this  lady  in 
.erms  of  high  admiration.  [Ante,  p.  66.] 

“ On  the  praises  of  Mrs.  Thrale  he  used  to  dwell 
with  a peculiar  delight,  a paternal  fondness,  ex- 
pressive of  conscious  exultation  in  being  so  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  her.  One  day,  in  speaking 
of  her  to  Mr.  Harris,  authour  of  ‘ Hermes,’  and 
expatiating  on  her  various  perfections, — the  solid- 
ity of  her  virtues,  the  brilliancy  of  her  wit,  and  the 
strength  of  her  understanding,  &c. — he  quoted 
some  lines  (a  stanza  I believe,  but  from  what  au- 
thour I know  not),  with  which  he  concluded  his 
most  eloquent  eulogium,  and  of  these  I retained 
but  the  two  last  lines  2: 

Virtues — of  such  a generous  kind, 

Good  in  the  last  recesses  of  the  mind.’ 

“ I«.  will  doubtless  appear  highly  paradoxical  to 
the  generality  of  the  world  to  say,  that  few  men, 
in  hts  ordinary  disposition,  or  common  frame  of 
mind,  could  be  more  inoffensive  than  Dr.  John- 
son ; yet  surely  those  who  knew  his  uniform 
benevolence,  and  its  actuating  principles — steady 
virtue,  and  true  holiness — will  readily  agree  with 

t I See  ante,  pp.  141  and  379. — Ed.] 

j Being  so  particularly  engaged  as  not  to  be  able  to  at- 
tend to  tbcm  sufficiently. — Miss  Rkynolds. 


me,  that  peace  and  good-will  towards  man  were 
the  natural  emanations  of  his  heart. 

“ When  travelling  with  a lady  3 in  Devonshire, 
in  a post-chaise,  near  the  churchyard  of  Wear, 
near  Torrington,  in  which  she  saw  the  verdant 
monument  of  maternal  affection  described  in  the 
Melancholy  Tale,  and  heard  the  particular  circum- 
stances relating  to  the  subject  of  it ; and  as  she 
was  relating  them  to  Dr.  Johnson,  she  heard  him 
heave  heavy  sighs  and  sobs,  and  turning  round 
she  saw  his  dear  face  bathed  in  tears  ! A circum- 
stance he  had  probably  forgotten  when  he  wrote 
at  the  end  of  the  manuscript  poem  with  his  cor- 
recting pen  in  red  ink,  I know  not  when  I have 
been  so  much  affected. 

“ I believe  no  one  has  described  his  extraordi- 
nary gestures  or  anticks  4 with  his  hands  and  feet, 
particularly  when  passing  over  the  threshold  of  a 
door,  or  rather  before  he  would  venture  to  pass 
through  any  doorway.  On  entering  Sir  Joshua’s 
house  with  poor  Mrs.  Williams,  a blind  lady  who 
lived  with  him,  he  would  quit  her  hand,  .or  else 
whirl  her  about  on  the  steps  as  he  whirled  and 
twisted  about  to  perform  his  gesticulations  ; and 
as  soon  as  he  had  finished,  he  would  give  a sudden 
spring,  and  make  such  an  extensive  stride  over 
the  threshold,  as  if  he  was  trying  for  a wager  how 
far  he  could  stride,  Mrs.  Williams  standing  grop- 
ing about  outside  the  door,  unless  the  servant 
took  hold  of  her  hand  to  conduct  her  in,  leaving 
Dr.  Johnson  to  perform  at  the  parlour  door  much 
the  same  exercise  over  again. 

“ But  it  was  not  only  at  the  entrance  of  a door 
that  he  exhibited  such  strange  manoeuvres,  but 
across  a room  or  in  the  street  with  company,  he 
has  stopped  on  a sudden,  as  if  he  had  recollected 
his  task,  and  began  to  perform  it  there,  gathering 
a mob  round  him  ; and  when  he  had  finished 
would  hasten  to  his  companion  (who  probably 
had  walked  on  before)  with  an  air  of  great  satis- 
faction that  he  had  done  his  duty  ! 

“ On  Sunday  morning,  as  I was  walking  with 
him  in  Twickenham  meadows,  he  began  his  an- 
ticks both  with  his  feet  and  hands,  with  the  latter 
as  if  he  was  holding  the  reins  of  a horse  like  a 
jockey  on  full  speed.  But  to  describe  the  strange 
positions  of  his  feet  is  a difficult  task  ; sometimes 
he  would  make  the  back  part  of  his  heels  to  touch, 
sometimes  his  toes,  as  if  he  was  aiming  at  making 
the  form  of  a triangle,  at  least  the  two  sides  ot 
one.  Though,  indeed,  whether  these  were  his 
gestures  on  this  particular  occasion  in  Twicken- 
ham meadows  I do  no  recollect,  it  is  so  long  since ; 
but  I well  remember  that  they  were  so  extraordi- 
nary that  men,  women,  and  children  gathered 
round  him,  laughing.  At  last  we  sat  down  on 
some  logs  of  wood  by  the  river  side,  and  they 
nearly  dispersed ; when  he  pulled  out  of  his 
pocket  ‘ Grotius  de  Veritate  Religionis ,’  over 
which  he  seesawed  at  such  a violent  rate  as  to 
excite  the  curiosity  of  some  people  at  a distance 
to  come  and  see  what  was  the  matter  with  him. 


3 [Miss  Reynolds  herself ; and  the  Melancholy  Tale 
was  probably  a poem  which  he  had  written  on  this 
event,  whatever  it  was. — Ed.] 

4 [Mr.  Boswell  frequently  (vol.  i.  pp.  56  and  325)  and 
Mr.  Whyte  (ante,  vol.  i.  pp.  215  and  510),  have  described 
his  gestures  very  strikingly,  though  not  quite  in  so  much 
detail’as  Miss  Reynolds.  Mr  Boswell’s  description  she 
must  have  seen. — Ed.] 


MISCELLANEOUS  ANECDOTES. 


497 


“ He  always  carried  a religious  treatise  m his 
pocket  on  a Sunday,  and  he  used  to  encourage 
me  to  relate  to  him  the  particular  parts  of  Scrip- 
ture I did  not  understand,  and  to  write  them  down 
as  they  occurred  to  me  in  reading  the  Bible. 

“ As  we  were  returning  from  the  meadows  that 
day,  I remember  we  met  Sir  John  Hawkins, 
whom  Dr.  Johnson  seemed  much  rejoiced  to  see; 
and  no  wonder,  for  I have  often  heard  him  speak 
of  Sir  John  in  terms  expressive  of  great  esteem 
and  much  cordiality  of  friendship.  On  his  asking 
Dr.  Johnson  when  he  had  seen  Dr.  Hawkesworth, 
he  roared  out  with  great  vehemency,  ‘ Hawkes- 
worth is  grown  a coxcomb,  and  I have  done  with 
hirn.’  We  drank  tea  that  afternoon  at  Sir  J. 
Hawkins’s,  and  on  our  return  I was  surprised  to 
hear  Dr.  Johnson’s  minute  criticism  on  Lady  Haw- 
kins’s dress,  with  every  part  of  which  almost  he 
found  fault.  [Ante,  p.  69.] 

“ Few  people  (l  have  heard  him  say)  under- 
stood the  art  of  carving  better  than  himself ; but 
that  it  would  be  highly  indecorous  in  him  to  at- 
tempt it  in  company,  being  so  nearsighted,  that  it 
required  a suspension  of  his  breath  during  the 
operation. 

“ It  must  be  owned  indeed  that  it  was  to  be 
regretted  that  he  did  not  practise  a little  of  that 
delicacy  in  eating,  for  he  appeared  to  want  breath 
more  at  that  time  than  usual. 

“ It  is  certain  that  he  did  not  appear  to  the  best 
advantage  at  the  hour  of  repast ; but  of  this  he  was 
perfectly  unconscious,  owing  probably  to  his  being 
totally  ignorant  of  the  characteristic  expressions  of 
the  human  countenance,  and  therefore  he  could 
have  no  conception  that  his  own  expressed  when 
most  pleased  any  thing  displeasing  to  others  ; for, 
though,  when  particularly  directing  his  attention 
towards  any  object  to  spy  out  defects  or  perfec- 
tions, he  generally  succeeded  better  than  most 
men  ; partly,  perhaps,  from  a desire  to  excite  ad- 
miration of  his  perspicacity,  of  which  he  vras  not 
a little  ambitious — yet  1 have  heard  him  say,  and 
I have  often  perceived,  that  he  could  not  distin- 
guish any  man’s  face  half  a yard  distant  from  him, 
not  even  his  most  intimate  acquaintance.  [Ante, 
pp.  187,  and  286.] 

“ Though  it  cannot  be  said  that  he  was  in  man- 
ners gentle,  yet  it  justly  can  that  he  was  in  affec- 
tions mild,  benevolent,  and  compassionate  ; and 
to  this  combination  of  character  may  I believe  be 
ascribed  in  a great  measure  his  extraordinary  ce- 
lebrity ; his  being  beheld  as  a phenomenon  or 
wonder  of  the  age  ! 

“ And  yet  Dr.  Johnson’s  character,  singular  as 
it  certainly  was  from  the  contrast  of  his  mental 
endowments  with  the  roughness  of  his  manners, 
was,  I believe,  perfectly  natural  and  consistent 
throughout ; and  to  those  who  were  intimately 
acquainted  with  him  must  I imagine  have  ap- 
peared so.  For  being  totally  devoid  of  all  deceit, 
free  from  every  tinge  of  affectation  or  ostentation, 
and  unwarped  by  any  vice,  his  singularities,  those 
strong  lights  and  shades  that  so  peculiarly  distin- 
guish his  character,  may  the  more  easily  be  traced 
to  their  primary  and  natural  causes. 

“ The  luminous  parts  of  his  character,  his  soft 
affections,  and  I should  suppose  his  strong  intel- 
lectual powers,  at  least  the  dignified  charm  or  ra- 
diancy of  them,  must  be  allowed  to  owe  their  ori- 
vot,.  ii.  63 


gin  to  his  strict,  his  rigid  principles  of  religion  and 
virtue  ; and  the  shadGwy  parts  of  his  character, 
his  rough,  unaccommodating  manners,  were  in 
general  to  be  ascribed  to  those  corporeal  defects 
that  I have  already  observed  naturally  tended  tc 
darken  his  perceptions  of  what  may  be  called  pro- 
priety and  impropriety  in  general  conversation  j 
and  of  course  in  the  ceremonious  or  artificial 
sphere  of  society  gave  his  deportment  so  contrast 
ingan  aspect  to  the  apparent  softness  and  general 
uniformity  of  cultivated  manners. 

“ And  perhaps  the  joint  influence  of  these  two 
primeval  causes,  his  intellectual  excellence  and  his 
corporeal  defects,  naturally  contributed  to  give  his 
manners  a greater  degree  of  harshness  than  they 
would  have  had  if  only  under  the  influence  of  one 
of  them,  the  imperfect  perceptions  of  the  one  not 
unfrequently  producing  misconceptions  in  the 
other. 

“Besides  these,  many  other  equally  natural 
causes  concurred  to  constitute  the  singularity  ol 
Dr.  Johnson’s  character.  Doubtless  the  progress 
of  his  education  had  a double  tendency  to  brighten 
and  to  obscure  it.  But  I must  observe,  that  this 
obscurity  (implying  only  his  awkward  uncouth 
appearance,  his  ignorance  of  the  rules  of  polite- 
ness, &c.)  would  have  gradually  disappeared  at  a 
more  advanced  period,  at  least  could  have  had  no 
manner  of  influence  to  the  prejudice  of  Dr.  John- 
son’s character,  had  it  not  been  associated  with 
those  corporeal  defects  above  mentioned.  But 
unhappily  his  untaught,  uncivilized  manner 
seemed  to  render  every  little  indecorum  or  impro- 
priety that  he  committed  doubly  indecorous 
improper.” 


II. 

MISCELLANEOUS  ANECDOTES  OF  DR.  JOHN 
SON. 

r The  Editor  is  well  aware  of  the  general  inac- 
curacy of  what  are  called  anecdotes,  and  has 
accordingly  admitted  very  few  additions 
of  that  kind  to  either  the  text  or  notes  of 
this  work ; but  there  are  several  anecdotes  cur- 
rent in  literature  and  society , which  the  read- 
er may  not  be  sorry  to  see  in  this  place. 
Some  of  them  stand  on  the  authority  of  the 
relater ; some  are  confirmed  by,  or  confirm- 
atory of  anecdotes  already  told;  others 
again  require  to  be  noticed  either  for  ex- 
planation or  correction ; and  all  may  be 
considered  as  fairly  coming  within  the 
scope  of  a work  the  peculiar  object  of  which 
is  to  collect  into  one  view  all  that  can  elu- 
cidate the  biography  of  Dr.  Johnson.— 
Ed. 

SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  DR.  JOHNSON. 

from  mr.  Cumberland’s  memoirs. 

“ Who  will  say  that  Johnson  would  have  been 
such  a champion  in  literature — such  a front-rank 
soldier  in  the  fields  of  fame,  if  he  had  not  been 
pressed  into  the  service,  and  driven  on  to  glory 
with  the  bayonet  of  sharp  necessity  pointed  at  hi* 


49S 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


back  ? If  fortune  had  turned  him  into  a field  of 
clover,  he  would  have  laid  down  and  rolled  in  it. 
The  mere  manual  labour  of  writing  would  not 
have  allowed  his  lassitude  and  love  of  ease  to 
have  taken  the  pen  out  of  the  inkhorn,  unless  the 
cravings  of  hunger  had  reminded  him  that  he 
must  fill  the  sheet  before  he  saw  the  table-cloth. 
He  might  indeed  have  knocked  down  Osburnefor 
a blockhead,  but  he  w’ould  not  have  knocked  him 
down  with  a folio  of  his  own  writing.  He  would 
perhaps  have  been  the  dictator  of  a club,  and 
wherever  he  sat  down  to  conversation,  there  must 
have  been  that  splash  of  strong  bold  thought  about 
him,  that  we  might  still  have  had  a collectanea 
after  his  death ; but  of  prose  I guess  not  much,  of 
works  of  labour  none,  of  fancy  perhaps  something 
more,  especially  of  poetry,  which  under  favour  I 
conceive  was  not  his  tow-er  of  strength.  1 think 
we  should  have  had  his  Rasselas  at  all  events,  for 
he  was  likely  enough  to  have  written  at  Voltaire, 
and  brought  the  question  to  the  test,  if  infidelity 
is  any  aid  to  wit.  An  orator  he  must  have  been ; 
not  improbably  a parliamentarian,  and,  if  such, 
certainly  an  oppositionist,  for  he  preferred  to  talk 
against  the  tide.  He  would  indubitably  have  been 
no  member  of  the  Whig  Club,  no  partisan  of 
Wilkes,  no  friend  of  Hume,  no  believer  in  Mac- 
pherson  ; he  would  have  put  up  prayers  for  early 
rising,  and  laid  in  bed  all  day,  and  with  the  most 
active  resolutions  possible  been  the  most  indolent 
mortal  living.  He  was  a good  man  by  nature,  a 

freat  man  by  genius ; we  are  now  to  inquire  what 
e was  by  compulsion. 

“ Johnson’s  first  style  was  naturally  energetic, 
his  middle  style  was  turgid  to  a fault,  his  latter 
style  was  softened  down  and  harmonized  into  pe- 
riods, more  tuneful  and  more  intelligible.  His 
execution  was  rapid,  yet  his  mind  was  not  easily 
provoked  into  exertion  ; the  variety  we  find  in  his 
wTritings  was  not  the  variety  of  choice  arising  from 
the  impulse  of  his  proper  genius,  but  tasks  im- 
posed upon  him  by  the  dealers  in  ink,  and  con- 
tracts on  his  part  submitted  to  in  satisfaction  of 
the  pressing  calls  of  hungry  want  ; for  painful  as 
it  is  to  relate,  I have  heard  that  illustrious  scholar 
assert  (and  he  never  varied  from  the  truth  of  fact) 
that  he  subsisted  himself  for  a considerable  space 
of  time  upon  the  scanty  pittance  of  fourpence  half- 
penny per  day.  Alas  ! I am  not  fit  to  paint  his 
character ; nor  is  there  need  of  it ; Etiam 
mortuus  loquitur  : every  man,  who  can  buy  a 
book,  has  bought  a Boswell  : Johnson  is  known 
to  all  the  reading  world.  I also  knew  him  well, 
respected  him  highly,  loved  him  sincerely : it  was 
never  my  chance  to  see  him  in  those  moments  of 
moroseness  and  ill-humour  which  are  imputed  to 
him,  perhaps  with  truth,  for  who  would  slander 
him  ? But  I am  not  warranted  by  any  experience 
of  those  humours  to  speak  of  him  otherwise  than 
of  a friend,  who  always  met  me  with  kindness, 
and  from  whom  I never  separated  without  regret. 
When  1 sought  his  company  he  had  no  capricious 
excuses  for  withholding  it,  but  lent  himself  to 
every  invitation  with  cordiality,  and  brought 
good-humour  with  him,  that  gave  life  to  the 
circle  he  was  in. 

“He  presented  himeelf  always  in  his  fashion  of 
apparel  : a brown  coat  with  metal  buttons,  black  I 
waistcoat  and  worsted  stockings,  with  a flowing  | 


bob  wig,  was  the  style  of  his  wardrobe,  but  they 
'were  in  perfectly  good  trim,  and  with  the  ladies, 
which  he  generally  met,  he  had  nothing  of  the 
slovenly  philosopher  about  him  ; he  fed  heartily, 
but  not  voraciously,  and  was  extremely  courteous 
in  his  commendations  of  any  dish  that  pleased  his 
palate  ; he  suffered  his  next  neighbour  to  squeeze 
the  China  oranges  into  his  wine-glass  after  dinner, 
which  else  perchance  had  gone  aside  and  trickled 
into  his  shoes,  for  the  good  man  had  neither 
straight  sight  nor  steady  nerves. 

“ At  the  tea-table  he  had  considerable  demands 
upon  his  favourite  beverage,  and  I remember  when 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  at  my  house  reminded  him 
that  he  had  drank  eleven  cups,  he  replied,  ‘ Sir,  I 
did  not  count  your  glasses  of  wine,  why  should 
you  number  up  my  cups  of  tea  ?’  And  then  laugh- 
ing, in  perfect  good-humour  he  added,  ‘ Sir^  I 
should  have  released  the  lady  from  any  further 
trouble  if  it  had  not  been  for  your  remark  ; but 
you  have  reminded  me  that  I want  one  of  the 
dozen,  and  I must  request  Mrs.  Cumberland  to 
round  up  my  number.”  When  he  saw’  the  read- 
iness and  complacency  -with  which  my  wife  obey- 
ed his  call,  he  turned  a kind  and  cheerful  look 
upon  her,  and  said,  ‘Madam,  I must  tell  you  for 
your  comfort,  you  have  escaped  much  better  than 
a certain  lady  did  awhile  ago,  upon  whose  pa 
tience  I intruded  greatly  more  than  I have  done 
on  yours  ; but  the  lady  asked  me  for  no  other 
purpose  than  to  make  a zany  of  me,  and  set  me 
gabbling  to  a parcel  of  people  I knew  nothing 
of ; so,  madam,  I had  my  revenge  of  her  ; for  I 
swallowed  five-and-twenty  cups  ot  her  tea,  and  did 
not  treat  her  with  as  many  words.’  I can  only 
say  my  wife  would  have  made  tea  for  him  as 
long  as  the  New  River  could  have  supplied  her 
with  water, 

“ It  was  on  such  occasions  he  was  to  be  seen 
in  his  happiest  moments,  wThen  animated  by  the 
cheering  attention  of  friends  whom  he  liked,  he 
w’ould  give  full  scope  to  those  talents  for  narration 
in  which  I verily  think  he  was  unrivalled  both  in 
the  brilliancy  of  his  wit,  the  flow  of  his  humour, 
and  the  energy  of  his  language.  Anecdotes  ol 
times  past,  scenes  of  his  own  life,  and  characters 
of  humourists,  enthusiasts,  crack-brained  project- 
ors, and  a variety  of  strange  beings  that  he  had 
chanced  upon,  when  detailed  by  him  at  length, 
and  garnished  with  those  episodical  remarks, 
sometimes  comic,  sometimes  grave,  w hich  he 
would  throw  in  writh  infinite  fertility  of  fancy,  were 
a treat,  which  though  not  ahvays  to  be  purchased 
by  five-and-tw’enty  cups  of  tea,  1 have  often  had 
the  happiness  to  enjoy  for  less  than  half  the  num- 
ber. 

“ He  was  easily  led  into  topics  ; it  was  not 
easy  to  turn  him  from  them  ; but  who  would 
wish  it  ? If  a man  wanted  to  show  himself  off* 
by  getting  up  and  riding  upon  him,  he  w’as  sure 
to  run  restive  and  kiclT  him  off ; you  might  as 
safely  have  backed  Bucephalus,  before  Alexander 
had  lunged  him.  Neither  did  he  always  like  to 
be  over-fondled  : when  a certain  gentleman  out- 
acted  his  part  in  this  way,  he  is  said  to  have  de- 
manded of  him,  ‘ What  provokes  your  risibility, 
sir  ? Have  I said  any  thing  that  you  understand  ? 
Then  I ask  pardon  of  the  rest  of  the  company.’ 
But  this  is  Henderson’s  anecdote  of  him,  and  I 


MISCELLANEOUS  ANECDOTES. 


499 


won’t  swear  he  did  not  make  it  himself.  The 
following  apology,  however,  I myself  drew  from 
him  ; when  speaking  of  his  tour,  l observed  to 
him  upon  some  passages  as  rather  too  sharp  upon 
a country  and  people  who  had  entertained  him  so 
handsomely:  ‘Do  you  think  so,  Cumbey?’  he 
replied ; ‘ then  I give  you  leave  to  say,  and  you 
may  quote  me  for  it,  that  there  are  more  gentle- 
men in  Scotland  than  there  are  shoes.’ 

“ But  I don’t  relish  these  sayings,  and  I am  to 
blame  for  retailing  them  : we  can  no  more  judge 
of  men  by  these  droppings  from  their  lips,  than 
we  can  guess  at  the  contents  of  the  river  Nile  by 
a pitcher  of  its  water.  If  we  were  to  estimate 
the  wise  men  of  Greece  by  Laertius’s  scraps  of 
their  sayings,  what  a parcel  of  old  women  should 
we  account  them  to  have  been  ! 

« When  Mr.  Colman,  then  manager  of  Covent- 
garden  theatre,  protested  against  Goldsmith’s  last 
comedy,  when  as  yet  he  had  not  struck  upon  a 
name  for  it,  Johnson  stood  forth  in  all  his  terrors 
as  champion  for  the  piece,  and  backed  by  us,  his 
clients  and  retainers,  demanded  a fair  trial.  Col- 
man again  protested  ; but,  with  that  salvo  for  his 
own  reputation,  liberally  lent  his  stage  to  one  of 
the  most  eccentric  productions  that  ever  found 
its  way  to  it,  and  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  was  put 
into  rehearsal. 

“We  were  not  over-sanguine  of  success,  but 
perfectly  determined  to  struggle  hard  for  our  au- 
thour : we  accordingly  assembled  our  strength  at 
the  Shakspeare  Tavern  in  a considerable  body  for 
an  early  dinner,  where  Samuel  Johnson  took  the 
chair  at  the  head  of  a long  table,  and  was  the  life 
and  soul  of  the  corps : the  poet  took  post  silently 
by  his  side,  with  the  Burkes,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 
Fitzherberti,  Caleb  Whitefoord,  and  a phalanx  of 
North-British  pre-determined  applauders,  under 
the  banner  of  Major  Mills,  all  good  men  and  true. 
Our  illustrious  friend,  was  in  inimitable  glee,  and 
poor  Goldsmith  that  day  took  all  his  raillery  as 
patiently  and  complacently  as  my  friend  Boswell 
would  have  done  any  day,  or  every  day  of  his  life. 
In  the  mean  time  we  did  not  forget  our  duty,  and 
though  we  had  a better  comedy  going  on,  in 
which  Johnson  was  chief  actor,  we  betook  our- 
selves in  good  time  to  our  separate  and  allotted 
posts,  and  waited  the  awful  drawing  up  of  the 
curtain.  As  our  stations  were  pre-concerted,  so 
were  our  signals  for  plaudits  arranged  and  deter- 
mined upon  in  a manner  that  gave  every  one 
his  cue  where  to  look  for  them,  and  how  to  fol- 
low them  up. 

“We  had  amongst  us  a very  worthy  and  effi- 
cient member,  long  since  lost  to  his  friends  and 
the  world  at  large,  Adam  Drummond,  of  amiable 
memory,  who  was  gifted  by  nature  with  the  most 
sonorous,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  conta- 
gious laugh,  that  ever  echoed  from  the  human 
lungs.  The  neighing  of  the  horse  of  the  son  of 
Hystaspes  was  a whisper  to  it ; the  whole  thun- 
der of  the  theatre  could  not  drown  it.  This  kind 
and  ingenuous  friend  fairly  forewarned  us  that  he 
knew  no  more  when  to  give  his  fire  than  the  can- 
non did  that  was  planted  on  a battery.  He  desir- 
ed therefore  to  have  a flapper  at  his  elbow,  and  I 

l [A  mistake.  “ She  Stoops  to  Conquer  ” was  played 
on  Monday  the  15th  March,  1773.  Mr.  Fitzherbert  died 
early  in  17”2 — Ed.] 


I had  the  honour  to  be  deputed  to  that  office.  I 
planted  him  in  an  upper  box,  pretty  nearly  over 
the  stage,  in  full  view  of  the  pit  and  galleries,  and 
perfectly  well  situated  to  give  the  echo  all  its  play 
through  the  hollows  and  recesses  of  the  theatre. 
The  success  of  our  manoeuvres  was  complete. 
All  eyes  were  upon  Johnson,  who  sate  in  the 
front  row  of  a side  box,  and  when  he  laughed, 
every  body  thought  themselves  warranted  to  roar. 
In  the  mean  time  my  friend  Drummond  followed 
signals  with  a rattle  so  irresistibly  comic,  that, 
when  he  had  repeated  it  several  times,  the  atten- 
tion of  the  spectators  was  so  engrossed  by  his  per- 
son and  performances,  that  the  progress  of  the 
play  seemed  likely  to  become  a secondary  object, 
and  I found  it  prudent  to  insinuate  to  him  that  he 
might  halt  his  music  without  any  prejudice  to  the 
authour ; but,  alas ! it  was  now  too  late  to  rein 
him  in  ; he  had  laughed  upon  my  signal  where  he 
found  no  joke,  and  now  unluckily  he  fancied  that 
he  found  a joke  in  almost  every  thing  that  was 
said  ; so  that  nothing  in  nature  could  be  more 
mal-a-propos  than  some  of  his  bursts  every  now 
and  then  were.  These  were  dangerous  moments, 
for  the  pit  began  to  take  umbrage  ; but  we  car- 
ried our  play  through,  and  triumphed  not  only 
over  Colman’s  judgment,  but  our  own. 

“ I have  heard  Dr.  Johnson  relate  with  infinite 
humour  the  circumstance  of  his  rescuing  Gold- 
smith from  a ridiculous  dilemma  by  the  purchase- 
money  of  his  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  which  he  sold 
on  his  behalf  to  Dodsley,  and,  as  I think,  for  the 
sum  of  ten  pounds  only  2.  He  had  run  up  a debt 
with  his  landlady  for  board  and  lodging  of  some 
few  pounds,  and  was  as  his  wits’  end  how  to 
wipe  off  the  score  and  keep  a roof  over  his  head, 
except  by  closing  with  a very  staggering  proposal 
on  her  part,  and  taking  his  creditor  to  wife, 
whose  charms  were  very  far  from  alluring,  whilst 
her  demands  were  extremely  urgent.  In  this  cri- 
sis of  his  fate  he  was  found  by  Johnson  in  the  act 
of  meditating  on  the  melancholy  alternative  before 
him.  He  showed  Johnson  his  manuscript  of  The 
Vicar  of  Wakefield,  but  seemed  to  be  without 
any  plan  or  even  hope,  of  raising  money  upon 
the  disposal  of  it : when  Johnson  cast  his  eye 
upon  it,  he  discovered  something  that  gave  him 
hope,  and  immediately  took  it  to  Dodsley,  who 
paid  down  the  price  above  mentioned  in  ready 
money,  and  added  an  eventual  condition  upon  its 
future  sale.  Johnson  described  the  precautions 
he  took  in  concealing  the  amount  of  the  sum  he 
had  in  hand,  which  he  prudently  administered  to 
him  by  a guinea  at  a time.  In  the  event  he  paid 
off  the  landlady’s  score,  and  redeemed  the  person 
of  his  friend  from  her  embraces.  Goldsmith  had 
the  joy  of  finding  his  ingenious  work  succeed  be- 
yond his  hopes,  and  from  that  time  began  to  place 
a confidence  in  the  resources  of  his  talents,  which 
thenceforward  enabled  him  to  keep  his  station  in 
society,  and  cultivate  the  friendship  of  many  emi- 
nent persons,  who,  whilst  they  smiled  at  his 
eccentricities,  esteemed  him  for  his  genius  and 
good  qualities. 


2 [Another  mistake.  See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  187.  But  it 
would  really  seem  as  if  Dr.  Johnson  himself  sometimes 
varied  in  telling  this  story,  for  Hawkins,  Mrs.  Piozzi, 
Cumberland  and  Boswell,  all  have  different  versionz 
The  least  credible  seems  to  be  Cumberland’s. — Ed.  ] 


900 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


“ Garrick  was  followed  to  the  Abbey  by  a 
long  extended  train  of  friends,  illustrious  for  their 
rank  and  genius.  I saw  old  Samuel  Johnson 
standing  beside  his  grave,  at  the  foot  of  Shak- 
spear’s  monument,  and  bathed  in  tears.  A few 
succeeding  years  laid  him  in  earth  ; and  though 
the  marble  shall  preserve  for  ages  the  exact  re- 
semblance of  his  form  and  features,  his  own  strong 
pen  has  pictured  out  a transcript  of  his  mind,  that 
shall  outlive  that  and  the  very  language  which  he 
laboured  to  perpetuate.  Johnson’s  best  days 
were  dark  ; and  only  when  his  life  was  far  in  the 
decline,  he  enjoyed  a gleam  of  fortune  long  with- 
held. Compare  him  with  his  countryman  and 
contemporary  last  mentioned,  and  it  will  be  one 
instance  among  many,  that  the  man  who  only 
brings  the  muse’s  bantlings  into  the  world  has  a 
better  lot  in  it  than  he  who  has  the  credit  of  be- 
getting them. 

“Shortly  after  Garrick’s  death,  Dr.  Johnson 
was  told  in  a large  company,  ‘ You  are  recent 
from  your  Lives  of  the  Poets  : why  not  add  your 
friend  Garrick  to  the  number?  ’ Johnson’s  an- 
swer w'as,  ‘ 1 do  not  like  to  be  officious  ; but  if 
Mrs.  Garrick  will  desire  me  to  do  it,  I shall  be 
very  willing  to  pay  that  last  tribute  to  the  mem- 
ory of  the  man  I loved.’  This  sentiment  was 
conveyed  to  Mrs.  G.  but  no  answer  was  ever  re- 
ceived. 

“ The  expanse  of  matter  which  Johnson  had 
found  room  for  in  his  intellectual  storehouse,  the 
correctness  with  which  he  had  assorted  it,  and 
the  readiness  with  which  he  could  turn  to  any 
article  that  he  wanted  to  make  present  use  of, 
were  the  properties  in  him  which  1 contemplated 
with  the  most  admiration.  Some  have  called 
him  a savage  ; they  were  only  so  far  right  in  the 
resemblance,  as  that,  like  the  savage,  he  never 
came  into  suspicious  company  without  his  spear 
in  his  hand  and  his  bow  and  quiver  at  his  back. 

* * * * * l. 

“ As  a poet,  his  translations  of  Juvenal  gave 
him  a name  in  the  world,  and  gained  him  the  ap- 
lause  of  Pope.  He  was  a writer  of  tragedy,  but 
is  Irene  gives  him  no  conspicuous  rank  in  that 
department.  As  an  essayist  he  merits  more  con- 
sideration : his  Ramblers  are  in  every  body’s 
hands  ; about  them  opinions  vary,  and  I rather 
believe  the  style  of  these  essays  is  not  now  con- 
sidered as  a good  model ; this  he  corrected  in  his 
more  advanced  age,  as  may  be  seen  in  his  Lives 
of  the  Poets,  where  his  diction,  though  occasion- 
ally elaborate  and  highly  metaphorical,  is  not 
nearly  so  inflated  and  ponderous  as  in  the  Ram- 
blers. He  was  an  acute  and  able  critic  ; the  en- 
thusiastic admirers  of  Milton  and  the  friends  of 
Gray  will  have  something  to  complain  of,  but 
criticism  is  a task  which  no  man  executes  to  all 
men’s  satisfaction.  His  selection  of  a certain  pas- 
sage in  the  Mourning  Bride  of  Congreve,  which 
he  extols  so  rapturously,  is  certainly  a most  un- 
fortunate sample  ; but  unless  the  oversights  of  a 
critic  are  less  pardonable  than  those  of  other  men, 
we  may  pass  this  over  in  a work  of  merit,  which 
abounds  in  beauties  far  more  prominent  than  its 
defects,  and  much  more  pleasing  to  contempla  e. 
in  works  professedly  of  fancy  he  is  not  very  co- 

l [Here  followed  the  passage  introduced  ante , p.  429, 
Ed.] 


pious  ; yet  in  his  Rasselas  we  have  much  to  ad- 
mire,and  enough  to  make  us  wish  for  more.  It  is  the 
work  of  an  illuminated  mind,  and  offers  many 
wise  and  deep  reflections,  clothed  in  beautiful  and 
harmonious  diction.  We  are  not  indeed  familiar 
with  such  personages  as  Johnson  had  imagined 
for  the  characters  of  his  fable,  but  if  we  are  not  ex- 
ceedingly interested  in  their  story,  we  are  infinite- 
ly gratified  with  their  conversation  and  remarks. 
In  conclusion,  Johnson’s  era  was  not  wanting  in 
men  to  be  distinguished  for  their  talents,  yet  if 
one  was  to  be  selected  out  as  the  first  great  litera- 
ry character  of  the  time,  I believe  all  voices  would 
concur  in  naming  him.  Let  me  here  insert  the 
following  lines,  descriptive  of  his  character,  though 
not  long  since  written  by  me,  and  to  be  found  in 
a public  print : 

“ On  Samuel  Johnson. 

‘ Herculean  strength  and  a Stentorian  voice, 

Of  wit  a fund,  of  words  a countless  choice : 

In  learning  rather  various  than  profound, 

In  truth  intrepid,  in  religion  sound : 

A trembling  form  and  a distorted  sight, 

But  firm  in  judgment  and  in  genius  bright ; 

In  controversy  seldom  known  to  spare, 

But  humble  as  the  publican  in  prayer ; 

To  more  than  merited  his  kindness,  kind, 

And,  though  in  manners  harsh,  of  friendly  mind; 
Deep  tinged  with  melancholy’s  blackest  shade, 

And,  though  prepared  to  die,  of  death  afraid- 
Such  Johnson  was  ; of  him  with  justice  vain, 

When  will  this  nation  see  his  like  again  I ” 


Lord  Chedworth,  in  his  Letters  to  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Crompton,  (p.  222.)  relates  the  follow- 
ing Anecdote. 

“ When  I was  last  in  town  I dined  in  compa- 
ny with  the  eminent  Mr.  C.  2,  of  whom  I did  not 
form  a high  opinion.  He  asserted  ihat  Dr.  John- 
son originally  intended  to  abuse  Paradise  Lost, 
but  being  informed  that  the  nation  would  not  bear 
it,  he  produced  the  critique  which  now  stands  in 
the  Life  of  Milton,  and  which  he  admitted  to  be 
excellent.  I contended  that  Dr.  Johnson  had 
there  expressed  his  real  opinion,  which  no  man 
was  less  afraid  of  delivering  than  Dr.  Johnson, 
that  the  critique  was  written  con  amoi-e,  and  that 
the  work  w as  praised  writh  such  a glow  of  fond- 
ness, and  the  grounds  of  that  praise  were  so  fully 
and  satisfactorily  unfolded,  that  it  was  impossible 
Dr.  Johnson  should  not  have  felt  the  whole  of  the 
work,  which  he  had  so  liberally  and  rationally 
commended.  It  came  out  afterwards  that  Dr. 
Johnson  had  disgusted  Mr.  C[oxe].  He  had 
supped  at  Thrale’s  one  night,  when  he  sat  near 
the  upper  end  of  the  table,  and  Dr.  Johnson  near 
the  low'er  end  ; and  having  related  a long  story 
which  had  very  much  delighted  the  company,  in 
the  pleasure  resulting  from  which  relation  Dr. 
Johnson  had  not  (from  his  deafness  and  the  dis- 
tance at  which  he  sat)  participated,  Mrs.  Thrale 
desired  him  to  retell  it  to  the  Doctor.  Cfoxe] 
complied,  and  going  dowrn  to  the  bottom  of  the 
table,  bawled  it  over  again  in  Dr.  Johnson's  ear : 
when  he  had  finished,  Johnson  replied,  ‘ So,  sir, 
and  this  you  relate  as  a good  thing:  ’ at  which 
C[oxe]  fired.  He  added  to  us,  ‘Now  it  was  a 
good  thing,  because  it  was  about  the  King  of  Po 

2 [Mr.  Crompton  informs  tbe  Editor,  that  this  was  the 
Rev.  William  Coze,  who  had  recently  published  his 
travels.— Ed.1 


MISCELLANEOUS  ANECDOTES. 


601 


land.’  Of  the  value  of  the  story,  as  he  did  not 
relate  it,  I cannot  judge ; but  I am  sure  you  will 
concur  with  me  that  it  was  not  therefore  necessa- 
rily a good  thing  because  it  was  about  a king.  1 
think  Johnson’s  behaviour  was  indefensibly  rude, 
but  from  the  sample  I had  of  C[oxe]’s  conversa- 
tion, I am  led  to  suspect  that  Johnson’s  censure 
was  not  unfounded.” 


ANECDOTES  OF  DR.  JOHNSON. 

BY  MR.  WICKIN8,  OF  LICHFIELD. 

From  the  Gentleman* s Magazine , vol.  xciii.  p.  389.') 

\Dr.  Harwood  informs  the  Editor,  that  Mr. 
Wickins  was  a respectable  draper  in  Lich- 
field. It  is  very  true  that  Dr.  Johnson  was 
accustomed  to  call  on  him  during  his  visits 
to  his  native  town.  The  garden  attached 
to  his  house  was  ornamented  in  the  manner 
he  describes,  and  no  doubt  was  ever  enter- 
tained of  the  exactness  of  his  anecdotes. — 
Ed.] 

“ Walking  one  day  with  him  in  my  garden  at 
Lichfield,  we  entered  a small  meandering  shrub- 
bery, whose  ‘ Vista  not  lengthened  to  the  sight,’ 
ave  promise  of  a larger  extent.  I observed  that 
e might  perhaps  conceive  that  he  was  entering 
an  extensive  labyrinth,  but  that  it  would  prove  a 
deception,  though  I hoped  not  an  unpardonable 
one.  ‘ Sir,’  said  he,  ‘ do  n’t  tell  me  of  deception  ; 
a lie,  sir,  is  a lie,  whether  it  be  a lie  to  the  eye  or 
a lie  to  the  ear.’ 

“Passing on  we  came  to  an  urn  which  I had 
erected  to  the  memory  of  a deceased  friend.  I 
asked  him  how  he  liked  that  urn — it  was  of  th« 
true  Tuscan  order.  ‘ Sir,’  said  he, ‘ 1 hate  them  t ; 
they  are  nothing,  they  mean  nothing,  convey  no 
ideas  but  ideas  of  horror — would  they  were  beaten 
to  pieces  to  pave  our  streets  ! ’ 

“We  then  came  to  a cold  bath.  I expatiated 
upon  its  salubrity.  ‘Sir,’  said  he,  ‘how  do  you 
do  ? ’ ‘ Very  well,  I thank  you,  Doctor.’  ‘ Then, 

sir,  let  well  enough  alone,  and  be  content.  I hate 
immersion.’  Truly,  as  FalstafF  says,  the  Doctor 
‘ would  have  a sort  of  alacrity  at  sinking  2.’ 
“Upon  the  margin  stood  the  Venus  de  Medicis. 
‘ So  stands  the  statue  that  enchants  the  world.’ 

‘ Throw  her,’  said  he,  ‘ into  the  pond  to  hide  her 
nakedness,  and  to  cool  her  lasciviousness.’ 

“He  then,  with  some  difficulty,  squeezed  him- 
self into  a root  house,  when  his  eye  caught  the 
following  lines  from  Parnell : 

1  Go  search  among  your  idle  dreams, 

Your  busy,  or  your  vain  extremes, 

And  find  a life  of  equal  bliss, 

Or  own  the  next  began  in  this.’ 

“The  Doctor,  however,  not  possessing  any 
silvan  ideas,  seemed  not  to  admit  that  heaven 
could  be  an  Arcadia. 

“ I then  observed  him  with  Herculean  strength 
tagging  at  a nail  which  he  was  endeavouring  to 
extract  from  the  bark  of  a plum  tree  ; and  having 
accomplished  it,  he  exclaimed,  ‘There,  sir,  I have 

1 [See  a similar  sentiment  on  the  occasion  of  Mr  Myd- 
dleton’s  urn  to  himself,  ante , p.  113. — Ei>/| 

2 [A  mistake ; he  was  a good  swimmer.  See  ante,  p. 

94— Ed.) 


done  some  good  to-day ; the  tree  might  have  fes 
tered.  I make  a rule,  sir,  to  do  some  good  every 
day  of  my  life.’ 

“ Returning  through  the  house,  he  stepped  into 
a small  study  or  book-room.  The  first  book  he 
laid  his  hands  upon  was  Harwood’s 3 ‘Liberal 
Translation  of  the  New  Testament.’  The  pas- 
sage which  first  caught  his  eye  was  from  that  sub 
lime  apostrophe  in  St.  John,  upon  the 
raising  of  Lazarus,  ‘ Jesus  wept ;’  which  35  hn’ 
Harwood  had  conceitedly  rendered  ‘ and 
Jesus,  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  burst  into  a flood 
of  tears.’  He  contemptuously  threw  the  book 
aside,  exclaiming,  ‘ Puppy  ! ’ I then  showed  him 
Sterne’s  Sermons.  ‘ Sir,’  said  he,  ‘do  you  ever 
read  any  others  ? ’ ‘Yes,  Doctor ; I read  Sher- 
lock, Tillotson,  Beveridge,  and  others.’  ‘ Ay,  sir, 
there  you  drink  the  cup  of  salvation  to  the  bot 
tom  ; here  you  have  merely  the  froth  from  the 
surface.’ 

“ Within  this  room  stood  the  Shakspearean 
mulberry  vase,  a pedestal  given  by  me  to  Mr. 
Garrick,  and  which  was  recently  sold,  with  Mr. 
Garrick’s  gems,  at  Mrs.  Garrick’s  sale  at  Hamp- 
ton. The  Doctor  read  the  inscription  : 

‘Sacred  to  Shakspeare, 

And  in  honour  of 
David  Garrick,  Esq. 

The  Ornament — the  Reformer 
Of  the  British  Stage.’ 

“ ‘ Ay,  sir ; Davy,  Davy  loves  flattery,  but  here 
indeed  you  have  flattered  him  as  he  deserves, 
paying  a just  tribute  to  his  merit.’  ” 

“In  Boswell’s  Life  of  Dr.  John-  g.  W.  L. 
son,”  says  another  correspondent  of  Gent.  Mag.  v 
the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  “he 4 xciv.  p.  386. 
relates,  that  Garrick  being  asked  by  Johnson 
what  people  said  of  his  Dictionary,  told  him,  that 
among  other  animadversions,  it  was  objected  that 
he  cited  authorities  which  were  beneath  the  dig- 
nity of  such  a work,  and  mentioned  Richardson. 
‘ Nay,’  said  Johnson,  ‘ I have  done  worse  than 
that ; I have  cited  thee,  David.’  This  anecdote 
induced  me  to  turn  over. the  leaves  of  his  Dic- 
tionary, that  I might  note  the  citations  from 
each  writer.  Two  only  I found  from  Garrick, 
viz. 

1 Our  bard’s  a fabulist , and  deals  in  fiction.*  . 

‘ I know  you  all  expect,  from  seeing  me, 

Some  formal  lecture,  spoke  with  prudish  face.’ 

The  quotations  from  Richardson  are  at  least 
eighty  in  number;  almost  all  of  which  are  from 
his  Clarissa.” 

“ Dr.  Brocklesby  5,  a few  days  before  Green, 
the  death  of  Dr.  Johnson,  found  on  the  v.  xciii 
table  Dr.  Kippis’s  account  of  the  Disputes  P-592- 
of  the  Royal  Society.  Dr.  J.  inquired  of  his 
physician  if  he  had  read  it,  who  answered  in  the 
negative.  ‘ You  are  at  no  loss,  sir.  It  is  pool 

3 [The  reader  must  bear  in  mind  that  this  Doctor  Ed 
ward  Harwood,  the  same  menioned  by  Mr.  Cradock 
and  who  has  been  dead  many  yeais,  is  not  to  be  con 
founded  with  Dr.  Thomas  Harwood,  of  Lichfield,  who  is 
now  alive,  and  whose  information  is  quoted  at  the  head 
of  this  article. — Ed.] 

4 [It  was  Mr.  Langton  who  related  it,  on  the  authority 
of  J.  G.  Cooper.  See  ante , p.  243. — Ed.] 

5 [This  and  the  four  following  anecdotes  are  told  by 
Mr.  Green  of  Litchfield.  See  ante , p.  44. — Ed  J 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


003 

stuff,  indeed,  a sad  unscholar-like  performance. 
I could  not  have  believed  that  that  man  would 
have  written  so  ill.’ 

“ He  then  said,  ‘ Dr.  Brocklesby,  do  you  think 
there  is  a possibility  that  I should  recover  ? ’ 
‘ What  nature  may  do  I cannot  say,  but  art  has 
done  her  utmost.’  ‘ How  long  do  you  think  I 
may  live ? ’ ‘I  cannot  precisely  say,  perhaps  a 
few  days.’  ‘ That  is  honest  and  friendly.  Do 
you  think  I can  live  a week?  ’ ‘No.’  ‘ Do  you 

think  I can  live  six  days  ? ’ ‘Perhaps  so.’  ‘Then 
I will  take  no  more  physic ; and  now  you  will 
say  I have  killed  myself  i.’ 

“Being  desired  to  call  in  Dr.  Warren,  he  said, 
‘ they  might  call  in  any  body  they  pleased  ; ’ and 
Warren  was  called.  At  his  going  away, ‘You 
have  come  in,’  said  Dr.  Johnson,  ‘ at  the  eleventh 
hour  ; but  you  shall  be  paid  the  same  with  your 
fellow-labourers.  Francis,  put  into  Dr.  Warren’s 
coach  a copy  of  the  English  Poets.’ 

“ Some  years  before,  some  person  in  a company 
at  Salisbury,  of  which  Dr.  Johnson  was  one, 
vouched  for  the  company,  that  there  was  nobody 
in  it  afraid  of  death. — ‘ Speak  for.  yourself,  sir; 
for  indeed  I am.’  ‘I  did  not  say  of  dying,’  re- 
plied the  other  ; ‘ but  of  death,  meaning  its  con- 
sequences.’ ‘ And  so  I mean,’  rejoined  the 
Doctor ; ‘lam  very  seriously  afraid  of  the  con- 
sequences.’ ” 

“ Mr.  Nichols  was  present  when 
v)x\.  p 500  Mr.  Henderson,  the  actor,  had  the 
honour  of  being  introduced  to  Dr. 
Johnson,  and  was  highly  entertained  by  the  in- 
terview. The  conversation  turning  on  the  merits 
of  a certain  dramatic  writer,  Johnson  said,  ‘ I 
never  did  the  man  an  injury  ; but  he  would  per- 
sist in  reading  his  tragedy  to  me.’  When  Hen- 
derson was  taking  his  leave,  he  invited  him  with 
much  earnestness  to  come  again  frequently.  ‘ The 
oftener  you  call  on  me,  sir,  the  more  welcome  will 
your  visits  be.’  ” 

“ A literary  lady,  expressing  to  Dr.  Johnson 
her  approbation  of  his  Dictionary,  and,  in  partic- 
ular, her  satisfaction  at  his  not  having  admitted 
into  it  any  improper  words — ‘ No,  madam,’  replied 
he ; ‘ I hope  I have  not  daubed  my  fingers.  I 
find,  however,  that  you  have  been  looking  for 
them.’ 

“ Boswell,  in  his  minute  and  entertaining  ac- 
count of  Johnson’s  Life,  has  omitted  to  mention, 
that,  when  the  Doctor  first  came  to  London  with 
his  pupil,  Garrick,  they  borrowed  five  pounds  on 
their  joint  note  of  Mr.  Wilcocks,  the  bookseller 
in  the  Strand.” 

“ The  mention  of  Johnson’s  name,”  writes  Sir 
Joseph  Mawbey,  “reminds  me  of  an  anecdote  of 
him  which  1 had  from  Garrick,  with  whom  I be- 
longed to  a summer  club  for  many  years  (till  he 
died),  first  held  at  the  assembly-house  at  Walton 
Bridge,  and  afterwards  at  Hampton.  I believe 
Mr.  Boswell  does  not  mention  this  anecdote  in  his 
account  of  Johnson. 

“Whilst  Johnson  was  sitting  in  one  of  the  cof- 
fee-houses at  Oxford,  about  the  time  when  he  had 
a doctor’s  degree  conferred  on  him  by  the  Univer- 


sity, some  young  men  approached  him  with  a 
view  to  entertainment.  They  knew  the  subject 
of  Scotch  poetry  and  Scotch  literature  would  call 
him  forth.  They  talked  of  Ossian,  and  Home’s 
tragedy  of  Douglas ; and  one  of  them  repeated 
some  verses  from  the  latter  ; after  which  he  called 
out,  ‘ There’s  imagery  for  you,  Dr.  Johnson  ! 
There ’s  description  ! Did  you  ever  know  any 
man  write  like  that?’  Johnson  replied,  with 
that  tone  of  voice  and  motion  of  head  a*id  body 
for  which  he  was  remarkable,  and  which  Garrick 
used  to  mimick  inimitably,  ‘ Yes,  sir,  many  a 
man,  many  a woman,  and  many  a child  2.’  ” 

“ The  first  visit  Goldsmith  ever  received 
from  Dr.  Johnson  was  on  May  31, 1761  3 ; Q^g 
when  he  gave  an  invitation  to  him  and 
much  other  company,  many  of  them  literary  men, 
to  a supper  in  his  lodgings.  Dr.  Percy,  bishop  of 
Dromore,  one  of  the  company  then  invited,  being 
intimate  with  the  great  lexicographer,  was  de 
sired  to  call  upon  him  and  take  him  with  him. 
As  they  went  together,  the  former  was  much 
struck  with  the  studied  neatness  of  Johnson’s 
dress.  He  had  on  a new  suit  of  clothes,  a new 
wig  nicely  powdered,  and  every  thing  about  him 
so  perfectly  dissimilar  from  his  usual  habits  and 
appearance,  that  his  companion  could  not  help 
inquiring  the  cause  of  this  singular  transforma- 
tion. ‘ Why,  sir,’  said  Johnson,  ‘ I hear  that 
Goldsmith,  who  is  a very  great  sloven,  justifies 
his  disregard  of  cleanliness  and  decency  by  quot- 
ing my  practice,  and  I am  desirous  this  night  to 
show  him  a better  example.’  ” 

“ Dr.  Johnson’s  friendship  for  Mrs.  Rev.  Mr. 
Elizabeth  Aston  4 commenced  at  the  Parker‘ 
palace  in  Lichfield,  the  residence  of  Mr.  Walmes- 
ley : with  Mrs.  Gastrel  he  became  acquainted  in 
London,  at  the  house  of  her  brother-in-law,  Mr. 
Hervey.  During  the  Doctor’s  annual  visits  to  his 
daughter-in-law,  Lucy  Porter,  he  spent  much  of 
his  time  at  Stow-hill,  where  Mrs.  Gastrel  and 
Mrs.  Elizabeth  Aston  resided.  They  were  the 
daughters  of  Sir  Thomas  Aston,  of  Aston-hall  in 
Cheshire,  of  whom  it  is  said,  that  being  applied 
to  for  some  account  of  his  family,  to  illustrate  the 
History  of  Cheshire,  he  replied.  ‘ that  the  title  and 


2 [I  have  quoted  this  anecdote  solely  with  the  view  of 
showing  to  how  little  credit  hearsay  anecdotes  are  in 
general  entitled.  Here  is  a story  published  by  Sir  Joseph 
Mawbey,  a member  of  the  house  of  commons,  and  a per- 
son every  way  worthy  of  credit,  who  says  he  had  it  from 
Garrick.  Now  mark — Johnson’s  “ visit  to  Oxford  about 
the  time  of  his  doctor’s  degree”  was  in  1754,  the  first 
time  he  had  been  there  since  he  left  the  university ; but 
Douglas  was  not  acted  till  1756.  and  Ossian  not  published 
till  1760.  Every  one  knows  that  Dr.  Johnson  said  of  Os- 
sian that  “ many  men,  many  women,  and  many  children 
might  have  written  it.”  All  therefore  that  is  new  in  Sir 
Joseph  Mawbey’s  story  is  false.  Mr.  Tyers  related  the 
same  story,  Gentleman's  Magazine , 1785,  p.  86 ; but  did 
not  lay  the  scene  with  such  minute  inaccuracy  as  Sir  Jo- 
seph did. — Ed.J 

3 [It  was  also  in  this  year,  1761,  that  Goldsmith  pub 
lished  the  “ Vicar  of  Wakefield.”  (See  ante , vol.  ) p. 
188.  n.)  This  leads  the  Editor  to  observe  a more  serious 
inaccuracy  of  Mrs.  Piozzi  than  Mr.  Boswell  notices,  when 
she  says  Johnson  left  her  table  to  go  and  sell  the  “ Vicar 
of  Wakefield”  for  Goldsmith.  Now  Dr.  Johnson  was 
not  acquainted  with  the  Thrales  till  1765.  four  years  aftei 
the  book  had  been  published. — Ed.1 

4 [The  following  anecdotes  are  told  by  Mr.  Parker  from 
the  relation  of  Mrs.  Aston  and  her  sister. — Eb.] 


l [See  ante,  page  422  —Ed.] 


MISCELLANEOUS  ANECDOTES. 


003 


estate  h?4  descended  from  father  to  son  for  thirty 
generations,  and  that  he  believed  they  were 
neither  much  richer  nor  much  poorer  than  they 
were  at  first.’ 

“ He  used  to  say  of  Dr.  Hunter,  master  of  the 
free  grammar  school,  Lichfield,  that  he  never 
taught  a boy  in  his  life — he  whipped  and  they 
learned.  Hunter  was  a pompous  man,  and  never 
entered  the  school  without  his  gown  and  cassock, 
and  his  wig  full-dressed.  He  had  a remarkably 
stern  look,  and  Dr.  Johnson  said  he  could  tremble 
at  the  sight  of  Miss  Seward,  she  was  so  like  her 
grandfather. 

“ Mrs.  Gastrel  was  on  a visit  at  Mr.  Hervey’s, 
in  London,  at  the  time  that  Johnson  was  writing 
the  Rambler  ; the  printer’s  boy  would  often  come 
after  him  to  their  house,  and  wait  while  he  wrote 
off  a paper  for  the  press  in  a room  full  of  company. 
A great  portion  of  the  Lives  of  the  Poets  was 
written  at  Stow-hill ; he  had  a table  by  one  of  the 
window^  which  was  frequently  surrounded  by 
five  or  six  ladies  engaged  in  work  or  conversation. 
Mrs.  Gastrel  had  a very  valuable  edition  of  Bai- 
ley’s Dictionary,  to  which  he  often  referred.  She 
told  him  that  Miss  Seward  said  that  he  had  made 
poetry  of  no  value  by  his  criticism.  ‘ Why,  my 
dear  lady,’  replied  he,  ‘ if  silver  is  dirty,  it  is  not 
the  less  valuable  for  a good  scouring.’ 

“ A large  party  had  one  day  been  invited  to 
meet  the  Doctor  at  Stow-hill ; the  dinner  waited 
far  beyond  the  usual  hour,  and  the  company  were 
about  to  sit  down,  when  Johnson  appeared  at  the 
great  gate  ; he  stood  for  some  time  in  deep  con- 
templation, and  at  length  began  to  climb  it,  and, 
having  succeeded  in  clearing  it,  advanced  with 
hasty  strides  towards  the  house.  On  his  arrival 
Mrs.  Gastrel  asked  him,  ‘ If  he  had  forgotten  that 
there  was  a small  gate  for  foot  passengers  by  the 
side  of  the  carriage  entrance.’  ‘ No,  my  dear  lady, 
by  no  means,’  replied  the  Doctor  ; ‘ but  I had  a 
mind  to  try  whether  I could  climb  a gate  now  as 
I used  to  do  when  I was  a lad.’ 

“ One  day  Mrs.  Gastrel  set  a little  girl  to  repeat 
to  him  Cato’s  soliloquy,  which  she  went  through 
very  correctly.  The  Doctor,  after  a pause,  asked 
the  child  ‘ What  was  to  bring  Cato  to  an  end  ?’ 
She  said  it  was  a knife.  ‘ No  my  dear,  it  was 
not  so.’  ‘ My  aunt  Polly  said  it  was  a knife.’ 

‘ Why,  aunt  Polly’s  knife  may  do,  but  it  was  a 
dagger,  my  dear.’  He  then  asked  her  the 
meaning  of  ‘ bane  and  antidote,’  which  she  was 
unable,  to  give.  Mrs.  Gastrel  said,  ‘You  can- 
not expect  so  young  a child  to  know  the  meaning 
of  such  words.’  He  then  said,  ‘ My  dear,  how 
many  pence  are  there  in  sixpence  ?’  ‘I  cannot 
tell,  sir,’  was  the  half  terrified  reply.  On  this, 
addressing  himself  toMrs.  Gastrel,  he  said,  ‘Now, 
my  dear  lady,  can  any  thing  be  more  ridiculous 
than  to  teach  a child  Cato’s  soliloquy,  who  does 
not  know  how  many  pence  there  are  in  sixpence?’ 

“The  ladies  at  Stow-hill  would  occasionally 
rebuke  Dr.  Johnson  for  the  indiscriminate  exercise 
of  his  charity  to  all  who  applied  for  it.  ‘ There 
was  that  woman,’  said  one  of  them,  ‘ to  whom 
you  yesterday  gave  half-a-crown,  why  she  was  at 
church  to-day  in  long  sleeves  and  ribbons,’ 

‘ Well,  my  dear,’  replied  Johnson,  ‘ and  if  it  gave 
the  woman  pleasure,  why  should  she  not  wear 
them  ? ’ 


“ He  had  long  promised  tc  write  Mr.  Walmes- 
ley’s  epitaph,  and  Mrs.  W.  waited  for  it,  in  order 
to  erect  a monument  to  her  husband’s  memory  ; 
procrastination,  however,  one  of  the  Doctor’s  few 
failings,  prevented  its  being  finished ; he  was  en- 
gaged upon  it  in  his  last  illness,  and  when  the 
physicians,  at  his  own  request,  informed  him  of 
his  danger,  he  pushed  the  papers  from  before  him, 
saying,  ‘ It  was  too  late  to  write  the  epitaph  of 
another  when  he  should  so  soon  want  one  him- 
self.’ ” 

“ The  late  Mr.  Crauford,  of  Hyde-Park- 
corner  1,  being  engaged  to  dinner, where  Dr.  Ed* 

Johnson  was  to  be,  resolved  to  pay  bis  court  to 
him,  and  having  heard  that  he  preferred  Donne’s 
Satires  to  Pope’s  version  of  them,  said,  ‘ Do  you 
know,  Dr.  Johnson,  that  I like.  Dr.  Donne’s 
original  satires  better  than  Pope’s.’  Johnson 
said,  ‘ Y/ell,  sir,  I can’t  help  that.’ 

“ Miss  Johnson,  one  of  Sir  Joshua’s  nieces 
(afterwards  Mrs.  Deane),  was  dining  one  day  at 
her  uncle’s  with  Dr.  Johnson  and  a large  party  : 
the  conversation  happening  to  turn  on  music 
Johnson  spoke  very  contemptuously  of  that  art’ 
and  added,  ‘that  no  man  of  talent,  or  whose  mind’ 
was  capable  of  better  things,  ever  would  or  could 
devote  his  time  and  attention  to  so  idle  and  frivo- 
lous a pursuit.’  The  young  lady,  who  was  very 
fond  of  music,  whispered  her  next  neighbour,  ‘I 
wonder  what  Dr.  Johnson  thinks  of  King  David.’ 
Johnson  overheard  her,  and,  with  great  good 
humour  and  complacency,  said,  ‘ Madam,  I thank 
you;  I stand  rebuked  before  you,  and  promise 
that,  on  one  subject  at  least,  you  shall  never  hear 
me  talk  nonsense  again.’ 

“The  honours  of  the  University  of  Cambridge 
were  once  2 performed,  to  Dr.  Johnson,  bv  Dr. 
Watson,  the  late  Bishop  of  Llandaff,  and 'then 
Professor  of  Chemistry,  &c.  After  having  spent 
the  morning  in  seeing  all  that  was  worthy  of  notice, 
the  sage  dined  at  his  conductor’s  table,  which  was 
surrounded  by  various  persons,  all  anxious  to  see 
so  remarkable  a character,  but  the  moment  was 
not  favourable ; he  had  been  wearied  by  his 
previous  exertions,  and  would  not  talk.  After  the 
party  had  dispersed  he  said,  ‘I  was  tired,  and 
would  not  take  the  trouble,  or  I could  have  set 
them  right  upon  several  subjects,  sir  ; for  instance, 
the  gentleman  who  said  he  could  not  imagine  how 
any  pleasure  could  be  derived  from  hunting,  the 
reason  is,  because  man  feels  his  own  vacuity'less 
in  action  than  when  at  rest.’ 

“Mr.  Williams,  the  Rector  of  Wellesbourne, 
in  Warwickshire,  mentioned  having  once,  when  a 
young  man,  performed  a stage-coach  journey  with 
Dr.  Johnson,  who  took  his  place  in  the  vehicle, 
provided  with  a little  book,  which  his  companion 
soon  discovered  to  be  Lucian  ; he  occasionally 
threw  it  aside,  if  struck  by  any  remark  made  by 
his  fellow  travellers,  and  poured  forth  his  know- 
ledge and  eloquence  in  a full  stream,  to  the  de- 
light and  astonishment  of  his  auditors.  Acci- 
dentally the  first  subject  which  attracted  him  was 
the  digestive  faculties  of  dogs,  from  whence  he 


l [Commonly  called  Fish  Crauford.— Ed.] 

. n Watson  was  J1  fAlovv  of  Trinity:  see  ante , vol. 
1.  P.  216,  an  account  of  this  visit  to  Cambridge,  which  o* 
curred  in  Feb.  1765.— Ed  1 


504 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


branched  off  as  to  the  powers  of  digestion  in 
various  species  of  animals,  discovering  such  stores 
of  information,  that  this  particular  point  might 
have  been  supposed  to  have  formed  his  especial 
study,  and  so  it  was  with  every  other  subject 
started  : the  strength  of  his  memory  was  not  less 
astonishing  than  his  eloquence  ; he  quoted  from 
various  authours,  either  in  support  of  his  own  ar- 
gument or  to  confute  those  of  his  companions,  as 
readily  and,  apparently,  as  accurately  as  if  the 
works  had  been  in  his  hands.  The  coach  halted, 
as  usual,  for  dinner,  which  seemed  to  be  a deeply 
interesting  business  to  Johnson,  who  vehemently 
attacked  a dish  of  stewed  carp,  using  his  fingers 
only  in  feeding  himself  1. 

“Bishop  Percy  was  at  one  time  on  a very  inti- 
mate footing  with  Dr.  Johnson,  and  the  Doctor 
one  day  took  JPercy’s  2 little  daughter  upon  his 
knee,  and  asked  her  what  she  thought  of  ‘Pil- 
grim’s Progress  ? ’ The  child  ansVered  that  she 
had  not  read  it.  ‘ No,’  replied  the  Doctor,  ‘ then 
I would  not  give  one  farthing  for  you,’  and  he  set 
her  down  and  took  no  further  notice  of  her. 

Mrs.  “Dr.  Mudge  used  to  relate,  as  a proof 
Rose  3.  0f  Dr>  Johnson’s  quick  discernment  into 
character  4: — When  he  was  on  a visit  to  Dr. 
Mudge  at  Plymouth,  the  inhabitants  of  the  Dock 
(now  Devonport)  were  very  desirous  of  their  town 
being  supplied  with  water,  to  effect  which  it  was 
necessary  to  obtain  the  consent  of  the  corporation 
of  Plymouth  ; this  was  obstinately  refused,  the 
Dock  being  considered  as  an  upstart.  And  a ri- 
val, Alderman  Tolcher,  who  took  a very  strong 
part,  called  one  morning,  and  immediately  opened 
on  the  subject  to  Dr.  Johnson,  who  appeared  to 
give  great  attention,  and,  when  the  alderman  had 
ceased  speaking,  replied,  ‘You  are  perfectly 
right,  sir  ; I would  let  the  rogues  die  of  thirst,  for 
I hate  a Docker  from  my  heart.’  The  old  man 
went  away  quite  delighted,  and  told  all  his  ac- 
quaintances how  completely  ‘ the  great  Dr.  John- 
son was  on  his  side  of  the  question.’ 

“ It  was  after  the  publication  of  the  Lives  of 
the  Poets  that  Dr.  Farr,  being  engaged  to  dine 
with  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  mentioned,  on  coming 
in,  that,  in  his  way,  he  had  seen  a caricature, 
which  he  thought  clever,  of  the  nine  muses  flog- 
ging Dr.  Johnson  round  Parnassus.  The  admi- 
rers of  Gray  and  others,  who  thought  their  favour- 
ites hardly  treated  in  the  Lives,  were  laughing  at 
Dr.  Farr’s  account  of  the  print,  when  Dr.  Johnson 
was  himself  announced  : Dr.  Farr  being  the  only 
stranger,  Sir  Joshua  introduced  him,  and,  to  Farr’s 
infinite  embarrassment,  repeated  what  he  had  just 
been  telling  them.  Johnson  was  not  at  all  surly 

] [Mr.  Boswell,  ante , p.  381,  mentions  another  in- 
stance, in  which  Dr.  Johnson  surprised  his  accidental 
companions  in  a stage-coach  with  the  force  of  his  conver- 
sation and  the  goodness  of  his  appetite. — Ed.] 

2 [Afterwards  Mrs.  Isted,  of  Ecton,  Northamptonshire. 
—Ed.] 

3 [Mrs.  Rose,  who  has  obligingly  communicated  these 
anecdotes,  is  the  daughter  of  Dr.  Farr,  of  Plymouth,  and 
the  daughter-in-law  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  old  friend,  D. 
Rose,  of  Chiswick. — Ed.] 

4 [This  story  is  told  by  Mr.  Boswell,  and  commented 
upon  by  Mr.  Blakeway  (ante,  vol.  i.  p.  164),  as  if  Dr. 
Johnson  had  seriously  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  con- 
test ; whereas  Dr.  Mudge,  more  naturally,  represents 
him  as  flattering,  with  an  ironical  vehemence,  the  preju- 
dices of  the  worthy  alderman,  who  is  known,  from  other 
circumstances,  to  have  been  ol  a very  zealous  disposi- 
tion.— Ed.1 


on  the  occasion,  but  said,  turning  to  Dr.  Farr, 

‘ Sir,  I am  very  glad  to  hear  this.  I hope  the 
day  will  never  arrive  when  I shall  neither  be  the 
object  of  calumny  or  ridicule,  for  then  I shall  be 
neglected  and  forgotten  5.’ 

“ It  was  near  the  close  of  his  life  that  two  young 
ladies,  who  were  warm  admirers  of  his  works, 
but  had  never  seen  himself,  went  to  Bolt-court, 
and,  asking  if  he  was  at  home,  were  shown  up 
stairs,  where  he  was  writing.  He  laid  down  his 
pen  on  their  entrance,  and,  as  they  stood  before 
him,  one  of  the  females  repeated  a speech  of  some 
length,  previously  prepared  for  the  occasion.  It 
was  an  enthusiastic  effusion,  which,  when  the 
speaker  had  finished,  she  panted  for  her  idol’s  re- 
ply. What  was  her  mortification  when  all  he  said 
was  ‘ Fiddle-de-dee,  my  dear.’ 

“ Much  pains  were  taken  by  Mr.  Hayley’s 
friends  to  prevail  on  Dr.  Johnson  to  read  ‘ The 
Triumphs  of  Temper,’  when  it  was  in  its  zenith ; 
at  last  he  consented,  but  never  got  beyond  the 
two  first  pages,  of  which  he  uttered  a few  words 
of  contempt  that  I have  now  forgotten.  They 
were,  however,  carried  to  the  authour,  who  re- 
venged himself  by  pourtraying  Johnson  as  Rum- 
ble in  his  comedy  of  ‘ The  Mausoleum,’  and  sub- 
sequently he  published,  without  his  name,  a ‘ Di- 
alogue in  the  Shades  between  Lord  Chesterfield 
and  Dr.  Johnson,’  more  distinguished  for  malig- 
nity than  wit.  Being  anonymous,  and  possessing 
very  little  merit,  it  fell  still-born  from  the  press  6. 

“ Dr.  Johnson  sent  his  ‘ Life  of  Lord  Lyttleton  ’ 
in  MSS  to  Mrs.  Montague,  who  was  much  dis- 
satisfied with  it,  and  thought  hen  friend  every  way 
underrated,  but  the  Doctor  made  no  alteration. 
When  he  subsequently  made  one  of  a party  at 
Mrs.  Montague’s,  he  addressed  his  hostess  two  or 
three  times  after  dinner,  with  a view  to  engage 
her  in  conversation  : receiving  only  cold  and  briet 
answers,  he  said,  in  a low  voice,  to  General  Paoli, 
who  sat  next  him,  and  who  told  me  the  story, 
‘ You  see,  sir,  I am  no  longer  the  man  for  Mrs. 
Montague.’ 

“ Mrs.  Piozzi  related  to  me,  that  when  Dr. 
Johnson  one  day  observed,  that  poets  in  general 
preferred  some  one  couplet  they  had  written  to  any 
other,  she  replied,  that  she  did  not  suppose  he  had 
a favourite  ; he  told  her  she  was  mistaken — he 
thought  his  best  lines  were  : — 

‘ The  encumber’d  oar  scarce  leaves  the  hostile  coast, 
Through  purple  billows  and  a floating  host.  7’  ” 

“ Dr.  Johnson  8,  in  his  conversation  with  pa 
Dr.  Parr,  repeatedly  and  earnestly  avowed 

5 [This  was  his  usual  declaration  on  all  such  occasions. 
If  Johnson  had  been  an  amateur  authour,  abuse  and  even 
criticism  would  no  doubt  liaye  given  him  pain,  but,  to  an 
authour  by  profession,  and  one  who,  for  so  many  years, 
had  lived  by  his  pen,  the  greatest,  misfortune  would  be 
neglect ; for  his  daily  bread  depended  on  the  sensation 
his  works  might  create  (see  ante,  p.  204).  This  obser- 
vation will  bp  found  applicable  to  many  other  cases. — Ed.  I 

6 [See  ante,  p.  402-3,  where  it  will  be  seen  that,  be- 
sides the  character  of  Rumble  and  the  Dead  Dialogue, 
Hayley  vented  his  spleen  in  a correspondence  with  Miss 
Seward,  which  that  lady,  or  some  of  her  confidants,  chose 
to  publish,  and  which,  instead  of  affecting  the  reputation 
of  Dr.  Johnson,  only  cover  the  names  of  the  two  writera 
with  indelible  ridicule. — Ed.] 

7 [These  lines  are  in  the  Vanity  cf  Human  Wishes 
line  102. — Ed.] 

8 [These  three  anecdotes,  or  rather  memoranda  rtf  Dr 
Parr’s,  were  communicated  by  his  biographer  Dr  John 
stone,  of  Birmingham.— Ed  ] 


MISCELLANEOUS  ANECDOTES. 


50f> 


his  opinion,  that  accents  ought  not  to  be  omitted 
by  any  editor  of  Greek  authours,  or  any  modern 
writers  of  Greek  verse,  or  Greek  prose. 

“ Johnson  said  Gray  ‘ walked  on  tiptoe.’  The 
same  thought  is  in  Gtuintilian  and  in  Seneca, 
‘ quo  quisque  ingenio  minus  valet,  hoc  se  magis 
attolere  et  dilitare  conatur:  ut  stutura  breves  in 
digitoj  eriguntur,  et  plura  infirmi  mirantur.’ — 
Gtuintilian,  by  Rollin,  Lib.  ii.  cap.  3.  Seneca  also 
says,  ‘in  edito  stat  admirabilis,  celsus,  magnitu- 
dinis  verae.  Non  exsurgit  in  plantas,  nec  summis 
ambulat  digitis,  eorum  more,  qui  mendacio  statu- 
ram  adjuvant,  longioresque  quam  sunt,  videri  vo- 
lunt : contentus  est  magnitudine  sua.’ — Epist.  iii. 

“ ‘ A wit  among  lords,  and  a lord  among  wits,’ 
said  Johnson  of  Lord  Chesterfield.  ‘ Sed  tam 
contumeliosos  in  se  ridet  invicem  eloquentia  : et 
qui  stultis  eruditi  videri  volunt,  stulti  eruditis 
videntur.’ — Gtuintilian,  by  Rollin,  pa.  409,  Lib.  x. 
cap.  vii.  See  also  Pope’s  Dunciad  : 

‘ A wit  with  dunces,  and  a dunce  with  wits.’  ” 

“ Mr.  Barclay  l,  from  his  connexion 
cj(.[y  “r*  with  Mr.  Thrale,  had  several  opportunities 
of  meeting  and  conversing  with  Dr.  John- 
son. On  his  becoming  a partner  in  the  brewery, 
Johnson  advised  him  not  to  allow  his  commercial 
pursuits  to  divert  his  attention  from  his  studies. 

‘ A mere  literary  man,’  said  the  Doctor,  ‘ is  a 
dull  man  ; a man,  who  is  solely  a man  of  busi- 
ness, is  a selfish  man  ; but  when  literature  and 
commerce  are  united,  they  make  a respectable 
man.’ 

“ Mr.  Barclay  saw  Johnson  ten  days  before  he 
died,  when  the  latter  observed,  ‘ That  they  should 
never  meet  more.  Have  you  any  objection  to  re- 
ceive an  old  man’s  blessing  ? ’ Mr.  Barclay  knelt 
down,  and  Johnson  gave  him  his  blessing  with 
great  fervency. 

“Mr.  Barclay  had  never  observed  any  rudeness 
or  violence  on  the  part  of  Johnson. 

“ He  has  seen  Boswell  lay  down  his  knife  and 
fork,  and  take  out  his  tablets,  in  order  to  register 
a good  anecdote. 

“ When  Johnson  proceeded  to  the  dining-room, 
one  of  Mr.  Thrale’s  servants  handed  him  a wig 
of  a smarter  description  than  the  one  he  wore  in 
the  morning ; the  exchange  took  place  in  the  hall, 
or  passage.  Johnson,  like  many  other  men,  was 
always  in  much  better  humour  after  dinner  than 
before  2.” 

Sir  J.  “ With  all  that  asperity  of  manners 
Hawk,  with  which  he  has  been  charged,  and 
Life,  which  kept  at  a distance  many  who,  to  my 
P'  ‘ knowledge,  would  have  been  glad  of  an 
intimacy  with  him,  he  possessed  the  affections  of 
pity  and  compassion  in  a most  eminent  degree. 
In  a mixed  company,  of  which  I was  one,  the 
conversation  turned  on  the  pestilence  which  raged 
in  London  in  the  year  1665,  and  gave  occasion  to 
Johnson  to  speak  of  Dr.  Nathaniel  Hodges,  who, 
in  the  height  of  that  calamity,  continued  in  the 
city,  and  was  almost  the  only  one  of  his  pro- 

1 | The  late  Robert  Barclay,  Esq.  of  Bury  Hill,  near 
Dorking.  This  benevolent  and  excellent  man  (from  whom 
Mr.  Marklaud  derived  these  memoranda  in  1824,  died  in 
1831,  at  an  advanced  age. — Ed.] 

2 [See  ante , p.  182. — Ed.] 

vol.  ii.  64 


fession  that  had  the  courage  to  oppose  the  endea- 
vours  of  his  art  to  the  spreading  of  the  contagion. 
It  was  the  hard  fate  of  this  person,  a short  time 
after,  to  die  a prisoner  for  debt  inLudgate.  John- 
son related  this  circumstance  to  us,  with  the  tears 
ready  to  start  from  his  eyes,  and  with  great  en- 
ergy  said,  ‘ Such  a man  would  not  have  been 
suffered  to  perish  in  these  times.’  ” * • 

“ On  Johnson’s  death,  Mr.  Langton  Miss 
said  to  Sir  John  Hawkins,  ‘We  shall  now  Hawk 
know  whether  he  has  or  has  not  assisted  Mem* 
Sir  Joshua  in  his  Discourses  ; ’ but  Johnson  had 
assured  Sir  John  that  his  assistance  had  never 
exceeded  the  substitution  of  a word  or  two,  in 
preference  to  what  Sir  Joshua  had  written. 

“What  the  economy  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  house 
may  have  been  under  his  wife’s  administration  I 
cannot  tell,  but  under  Miss  Williams’s  manage- 
ment, and,  indeed,  afterwards,  when  he  was  over- 
come at  the  misery  of  those  around  him,  it  always 
deceived  my  expectation,  as  far  as  the  condition 
of  the  apartment  into  which  I was  admitted  could 
enable  me  to  judge.  It  was  not,  indeed,  his  study  ; 
amongst  his  books  he  probably  might  bring  Mag- 
liabeechi  to  recollection,  but  I saw  him  only  in 
the  decent  drawing-room  of  a house,  not  inferior 
to  others  on  the  same  local  situation,  and  with 
stout  old-fashioned  mahogany  table  and  chairs. 
He  was  a liberal  customer  to  his  tailor,  and  I can 
remember  that  his  linen  was  often  a strong  con- 
trast to  the  colour  of  his  hands. 

“ It  may  be  said  of  Johnson,  that  he  had  a pe- 
culiar feeling  of  regard  towards  his  many  and  va- 
rious friends,  and  that  he  was  to  each  what  might 
be  called  the  indenture , or  counter-part  of  what 
they  were  to  him.” 

“Dr.  Johnson  3 confessed  himself  to  Steevens 
have  been  sometimes  in  the  power  of  M°"don 
bailiffs.  Richardson,  the  authour  of  Cla-  voi,  jv. 
rissa,  was  his  constant  friend  on  such  oc-  p.  253. 
casions.  ‘ I remember  writing  to  him,’  said  John- 
son, ‘ from  a sponging  house ; and  was  so  sure  of 
my  deliverance  through  his  kindness  and  liberali- 
ty, that,  before  his  reply  was  brought,  I knew  I 
could  afford  to  joke  with  the  rascal  who  had  me 
in  custody,  and  did  so,  over  a pint  of  adulterated 
wine,  for  which,  at  that  instant,  I had  no  money  to 
pay.’ 

“It  has  been  observed  that  Johnson  had  lost 
the  sight  of  one  of  his  eyes.  Mr.  Ellis,  an  an- 
cient gentleman  now  living  (authour  of  a very 
happy  burlesque  translation  of  the  thirteenth  book 
added  to  the  jEneid  by  Maff6e  Vegio)  was  in  the 
same  condition  ; but,  some  years  after,  while  he 
was  at  Margate,  the  sight  of  his  eye  unexpectedly 
returned,  and  that  of  its  fellow  became  suddenly 
extinguished.  Concerning  the  particulars  of  this 
singular  but  authenticated  event,  Dr.  Johnson  was 

3  [The  following  anecdotes,  published  by  Mr.  Steevens, 
from  day  to  day  in  the  St.  James's  Chronicle , and  after- 
wards collected  in  the  London  Magazine,  escaped  the 
Editor’s  notice,  till  it  was  too  late  to  introduce  them  into 
the  text;  but  as  they  tell  some  new  facts,  and  relate 
others  that  have  been  already  told  in  a new  manner,  iv 
has  been  thought  right  to  preserve  them.  The  first  of 
these  anecdotes  confirms  the  justice  which  the  Editor  had 
already  endeavoured  to  do  to  the  memory  of  Richardson 
against  the  sneer  of  Murphy.  Ante,  v.  i p 131,  n 
Ed.] 


506 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


studiously  inquisitive,  and  not  with  reference  to 
his  own  case.  Though  he  never  made  use  of 
glasses  to  assist  his  sight,  he  said  he  could  recol- 
lect no  production  of  art  to  which  man  has  supe- 
rior obligations.  He  mentioned  the  name  of  the 
original  inventor  1 of  spectacles  with  reverence, 
and  expressed  his  wonder  that  not  an  individual, 
out  of -the  multitudes  who  had  profited  by  them, 
had,  through  gratitude,  written  the  life  of  so  great 
a benefactor  to  society. 

“ The  Doctor  is  known  to  have  been,  like  Sav- 
age, a very  late  visiter  ; yet  at  whatever  hour  he 
returned,  he  never  went  to  bed  without  a previous 
call  on  Mrs.  Williams,  the  blind  lady  who  for  so 
many  years  had  found  protection  under  his  roof. 
Coming  home  one  morning  between  four  and  five, 
he  said  to  her,  ‘Take  notice,  madam,  that  for 
once  I am  here  before  others  are  asleep.  As  I 
turned  into  the  court,  I ran  against  a knot  of 
bricklayers.’  ‘ You  forget,  my  dear  sir,’  replied 
she,  ‘ that  these  people  have  all  been  a-bed,  and 
are  now  preparing  for  their  day’s  work.’  ‘Is  it 
so,  then,  madam  ? I confess  that  circumstance 
had  escaped  me.’ 

“ ‘ I have  been  told,  Dr.  Johnson,’  says  a friend, 

‘ that  your  translation  of  Pope’s  Messiah  was 
made  either  as  a common  exercise  or  as  an  im- 
position for  some  negligence  you  had  been  guilty 
of  at  college.’  ‘ No,  sir,’  replied  the  Doctor.  ‘ At 
Pembroke  the  former  were  always  in  prose,  and 
to  the  latter  I would  not  have  submitted.  I wrote 
it  rather  to  show  the  tutors  what  I could  do,  than 
what  I was  willing  should  be  done.  It  answered 
my  purpose  ; for  it  convinced  those  who  were  well 
enough  inclined  to  punish  me,  that  I could  wield 
a scholar’s  weapon,  as  often  as  f was  menaced 
with  arbitrary  inflictions.  Before  the  frequency 
of  personal  satire  had  weakened  its  effect,  the 
petty  tyrants  of  colleges  stood  in  awe  of  a pointed 
remark,  or  a vindictive  epigram.  But  since 
every  man  in  his  turn  has  been  wounded,  no  man 
is  ashamed  of  a scar.’ 

“ When  Dr.  Percy  first  published  his  collection 
of  ancient  English  ballads,  perhaps  he  was  too 
avish  in  commendation  of  the  beautiful  simplicity 
and  poetic  merit  he  supposed  himself  to  discover 
in  them.  This  circumstance  provoked  Johnson 
to  observe  one  evening  at  Miss  Reynolds’s  tea- 
table,  that  he  could  rhyme  as  well,  and  as  ele- 
gantly, in  common  narrative  and  conversation. 
For  instance,  says  he, 

‘ As  with  my  hat  upon  my  head 
I walk’d  along  the  Strand, 

I there  did  meet  another  man 
With  his  hat  in  his  hand.2 

* Or,  to  render  such  poetry  subservient  to  my  own 
immediate  use, 

‘ I therefore  pray  thee,  Renny  dear, 

That  thou  wilt  give  to  me, 

With  cream  and  sugar  soften’d  well, 

Another  dish  of  tea. 


1 The  inventor  of  spectacles  is  said  to  have  been  a 
monk  at  Pisa,  who  lived  at  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury, and  whose  name  was  Spina. — Ed.  of  Lond.  Mag. 

2 [See  ante,  p.  164,  where  this  anecdote  is  told  in  the 
vague  manner  and  on  the  imperfect  authority  of  Mr. 
Cradock.  To  have  deliberately  composed  and  circulated 
a parody  on  his  friend’s  poem  would  have  been  a very 
different  thing  from  a sportive  improvisation  over  the 
tea-table. — Ed.J 


‘ Nor  fear  that  I,  my  gentle  maid, 

Shall  long  detain  the  cup, 

When  once  unto  the  bottom  I 
Have  drank  the  liquor  up. 

‘ Yet  hear,  alas ! this  mournful  truth, 

Nor  hear  it  with  a frown : — 

Thou  canst  not  make  the  tea  so  fast 
As  I can  gulp  it  down.’ 

And  thus  he  proceeded  through  several  more 
stanzas,  till  the  reverend  critic  cried  out  for  quar- 
ter. Such  ridicule,  however,  was  unmerited. 

“ ‘Night,’  Mr.  Tyers  has  told  us,  ‘ was  John- 
son’s time  for  composition.’  But  this  assertion, 
if  meant  for  a general  one,  can  be  refuted  by 
living  evidence.  Almost  the  whole  preface  to 
Shakspeare,  and  no  inconsiderable  part  of  the 
Lives  of  the  Poets,  were  composed  by  daylight, 
and  in  a room  where  a friend  3 was  employed  by 
him  in  other  investigations.  His  studies  were 
only  continued  through  the  night  when  the  day 
had  been  pre- occupied,  or  proved  too  short  for  his 
undertakings.  Respecting  the  fertility  of  his 
genius,  the  resources  of  his  learning,  and  the  ac- 
curacy of  his  judgment,  the  darkness  and  the 
light  were  both  alike. 

“ ‘ Mrs.  Thrale,’  Mr.  Tyers  also  reports,  ‘ knew 
how  to  spread  a table  with  the  utmost  plenty  and 
elegance;’  but  all  who  are  acquainted  with  this 
lady’s  domestic  history  must  know,  that  in  the 
present  instance  Mr.  Tyers’  praise  of  her  is  un- 
luckily bestowed.  Her  husband  superintended 
every  dinner  set  before  his  guests.  After  his 
death  she  confessed  her  total  ignorance  in  culin 
ary  arrangements.  Poor  Thrale  studied  an  art 
of  which  he  loved  the  produce,  and  to  which  he  ex- 
pired a martyr.  Johnson  repeatedly,  and  with  all 
the  warmth  of  earnest  friendship,  assured  him  he 
was  nimis  edax  rerum , and  that  such  unlimited  in- 
dulgence of  his  palate  would  precipitate  his  end. 

“ When  in  his  latter  years  he  was  reminded  of 
his  forcible  sarcasm  against  Bolingbroke  and 
Mallet  (v.  i.  p.  115),  the  Doctor  exclaimed,  ‘ Did 
I really  say  so?  ’ ‘Yes,  sir.’  He  replied,  ‘ 1 am 
heartily  glad  of  it.’ 

“‘You  knew  Mr.  CapeU,  Dr.  Johnson?’ 
‘Yes,  sir;  I have  seen  him  at  Garrick’s.’  ‘And 
what  think  you  of  his  abilities  ? ’ ‘ They  are  just 

sufficient,  sir,  to  enable  him  to  select  the  black 
hairs  from  the  white  ones,  for  the  use  of  the  perri- 
wig  makers.  Were  he  and  I to  count  the  grains 
in  a bushel  of  wheat  for  a wager,  he  would  cer- 
tainly prove  the  winner.’ 

“When  one  Collins,  a sleep-compelling  divine 
of  Hertfordshire,  with  the  assistance  of  counsellor 
Hardinges,  published  a heavy  half-crown  pam- 
phlet against  Mr.Steevens,  Garrick  asked  the  Doc- 
tor what  he  thought  of  this  attack  on  his  coadju- 
tor. ‘ I regard  Collins’s  performance,’  replied  John- 
son, ‘ as  a great  gun  without  powder  or  shot.’ 
When  the  same  Collins  afterwards  appeared  as 
editor  of  Capel’s  posthumous  notes  on  Shakspeare, 
with  a preface  of  his  own,  containing  the  following 
words — ‘A  sudden  and  most  severe  stroke  of  af- 
fliction has  left  my  mind  too  much  distracted  to  be 
capable  of  engaging  in  such  a task  (that  of  a further 
attack  on  Mr.Steevens),  though  lam  prompted  to 
it  by  inclination  as  well  as  duty,’  the  Doctor  asked 

3 [Mr.  Steevens  himself. — Ed.J 

4 [The  annotator  of  Shakspeare. — Ed.] 

5 [George  Hardinge. — Ed.J 


MISCELLANEOUS  ANECDOTES. 


507 


to  what  misfortune  the  foregoing  words  referred. 
Being  told  that  the  critic  had  lost  his  wife,  John- 
son added,  ‘ I believe  that  the  loss  of  teeth  may 
deprave  the  voice  of  a singer,  and  that  lameness 
will  impede  the  motions  of  a dancing  master,  but 
I have  not  yet  been  taught  to  regard  the  death  of 
a wife  as  the  grave  of  literary  exertions.  When 
my  dear  Mrs.  Johnson  expired,  I sought  relief  in 
my  studies,  and  strove  to  lose  the  recollection  of 
her  in  the  toils  of  literature.  Perhaps,  however, 
I wrong  the  feelings  of  this  poor  fellow.  His  wife 
might  have  held  the  pen  in  his  name.  Hinc  illce 
lachrymal.  Nay,  I think  I observe,  throughout 
his  two  pieces,  a woman’s  irritability,  with  a 
woman’s  impotence  of  revenge.’  Yet  such  were 
Johnson’s  tender  remembrances  of  his  own  wife, 
that  after  her  death,  though  he  had  a whole  house 
at  command,  he  would  study  nowhere  but  in  a 
garret.  Being  asked  the  reason  why  he  chose  a 
situation  so  incommodious,  he  answered,  ‘ Because 
in  that  room  only  I never  saw  Mrs.  Johnson.  ’ 

“ ‘ Though  you  brought  a tragedy,  sir,  to  Dru- 
ry-lane,  and  at  one  time  were  so  intimate  with 
Garrick,  you  never  appeared  to  have  much  thea- 
trical acquaintance.  ’ ‘ Sir,  while  I had,  in  com- 

mon with  other  dramatic  authours,  the  liberty  of 
the  scenes,  without  considering  my  admission  be- 
hind them  as  a favour,  I was  frequently  at  the 
theatre.  At  that  period  all  the  wenches  knew 
me,  and  dropped  me  a curtsy  as  they  passed  on 
to  the  stage.  But  since  poor  Goldsmith’s  last 
comedy  i,  I scarce  recollect  having  seen  the  in- 
side of  a playhouse.  To  speak  the  truth,  there  is 
small  encouragement  there  for  a man  whose  sight 
and  hearing  are  become  so  imperfect  as  mine.  I 
may  add,  that,  Garrick  and  Henderson  excepted, 

I never  met  with  a performer  who  had  studied 
his  art,  or  could  give  an  intelligible  reason  for 
what  he  did  2.  ’ 

“ On  the  night  before  the  publication  of  the 
first  edition  of  his  Shakspeare,  he  supped  with 
some  friends  in  tlie  Temple,  who  kept  him  up, 

‘ nothing  loth,  ’ till  past  five  the  next  morning. 
Much  pleasantry  was  passing  on  the  subject  of 
commentatorship,  when,  all  on  a sudden,  the  Doc- 
tor, looking  at  his  watch,  cried  out,  “ This  is  sport 
to  you,  gentlemen  ; but  you  do  not  consider  there 
are  at  most  only  four  hours  between  me  and  crit- 
icism.’ 

. “ Once,  and  but  once,  he  is  known  to  have  had 
too  much  wine ; a circumstance  which  he  him- 
self discovered,  on  finding  one  of  his  sesquipeda- 
lian words  hang  fire.  He  then  started  up,  and 
gravely  observed,  ‘ I think  it  time  we  should  go 
to  bed.’ 

“ If  ‘ a little  learning  is  a dangerous  thing’  on 
any  speculative  subject,  it  is  eminently  more  so 
in  the  practical  science  of  physic.  Johnson  was 
too*  frequently  his  own  doctor.  In  October,  just 
before  he  came  to  London,  he  had  taken  an 
unusual  dose  of  squills,  but  without  effect.  He 
swallowed  the  same  quantity  on  his  arrival  here, 
and  it  produced  a most  violent  operation.  He  did 
not,  as  he  afterwards  confessed,  reflect  on  the  dif- 
ference between  the  perished  and  inefficacious 


1 [See  ante , p.  499. — Ed.1 

2 [This  was  probably  before  his  acquaintance  with  Mr. 
Kemble  and  Mrs.  Siddons,  which  took  dace  only  the 
vear  before  hia  death,  anti , p.  359. — Ed 


vegetable  he  found  in  the  country,  and  the  fresh 
and  potent  one  of  ih'e  same  kind  he  was  sure  to 
meet  with  in  town.  ‘ You  find  me  at  present,’ 
says  he,  ‘ suffering  from  a prescription  of  my  own. 
When  I am  recovered  from  its  consequences,  and 
not  till  then,  I shall*know  the  true  state  of  my 
natural  malady.’  From  this  period,  he  took  no 
medicine  without  the  approbation  of  Heberden. 
What  follows  is  known  by  all,  and  by  all  lament- 
ed— ere  now  perhaps — even  by  the  prebends  of 
Westminster  3. 

“ Johnson  asked  one  of  his  executors,  a few 
days  before  his  death,  ‘Where  do  you  intend  to 
bury  me  ? ’ He  answered,  ‘In  Westminster  Ab- 
bey.’ ‘ Then,’  continued  he,  ‘ if  my  friends  think 
it  worth  while  to  give  me  a stone,  let  it  be  placed 
over  me  so  as  to  protect  my  body.’ 

“On  the  Monday  after  his  decease  he  was  in- 
terred in  Westminster  Abbey.  The  corpse  was 
brought  from  his  house  in  Bolt-court  to  the  hearse, 
preceded  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Butt  and  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Strahan,  about  twelve  o’clock.  The  following 
was  the  order  of  the  procession : 

“ Hearse  and  six. 

“ The  executors,  viz.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Sir 
John  Hawkins,  and  William  Scott,  LL.  D.  in  a 
coach  and  four. 

“ Eight  coaches  and  four,  containing  the  Lite- 
rary Club,  and  others  of  the  Doctor’s  friends,  in- 
vited by  the  executors  ; viz.  Dr.  Burney,  Mr.  Ma- 
lone, Mr.  Steevens,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Strahan,  Mr. 
R.yland,  Mr.  Hoole,  Dr.  Brocklesby,  Mr.  Cruik- 
shanks,  Mr.  Nichols,  Mr.  Low,  Mr.  Paradise, 
General  Paoli,  Count  Zenobia,  Dr.  Butter,  Mr. 
Holder,  Mr.  Seward,  Mr.  Metcalf,  Mr.  Sastres, 
Mr.  Des  Moulins,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Butt,  Dr. Horsley, 
Dr.  Farmer,  Dr.  Wright ; to  whom  may  be  add- 
ed, Mr.  Cooke  (who  was  introduced  by  Dr. 
Brocklesby),  and  the  Doctor’s  faithful  servant, 
Francis  Barber. 

“Two  coaches  and  four,  containing  the  pall- 
bearers, viz.  Mr.  Burke,  Mr.  Wyndham,  Sir 
Charles  Bunbury,  Sir  Joseph  Banks,  Mr.  Colman, 
and  Mr.  Langton. 

“After  these  followed  two  mourning  coaches 
and  four,  filled  with  gentlemen,  who,  as  volunteers, 
honoured  themselves  by  attending  this  funeral. 
These  were  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hoole,  the  Rev.  Mr. 
East,  Mr.  Henderson,  Mr.  Mickle,  Mr.  Sharp, 
Mr.  C.  Burney,  and  Mr.  G.  Nichol. 

“ Thirteen  gentlemen’s  carriages  closed  the 
procession,  which  reached  the  Abbey  a little  be- 
fore one. 

“ The  corpse  was  met  at  the  west  door  by  the 
prebendaries  in  residence,  to  the  number  of  six, 
in  their  surplices  and  doctor’s  hoods ; and  the 
officers  of  the  church,  and  attendants  on  the  fune 
ral,  were  then  marshalled  in  the  following  order  • 
“ Two  vergers. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Strahan. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Butt. 

The  Body. 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  as  chief  mourner  and  an 
executor. 

Sir  John  Hawkins  and  Dr.  Scott,  as  executors. 

The  rest  two  and  two. 

3 [This  sarcasm  against  the  prebendaries  of  Westmin 
ster,  and  particularly  against  Johnson’s  friend  Dr.  Tay 
lor,  who  was  one  of  them,  will  be  explained  p“esent‘y.— 
Ed.] 


608 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


“ The  body  then  proceeded  to  the  south  cross, 
and,  in  view  of  the  three  executois,  was  deposited 
by  the  side  of  Mr.  Garrick,  with  the  feet  opposite 
to  the  monument  of  Shakspeare. 

“ The  Reverend  Dr.  Taylor  performed  the 
burial  service,  attended  by  s<3mc  gentlemen  of  the 
Abbey  ; but  it  must  be  regretted  by  all  who  con- 
tinue to  reverence  the  hierarchy,  that  the  cathe- 
dral service  was  withheld  1 from  its  invariable 
friend  ; and  the  omission  was  truly  offensive  to  the 
audience  at  large.”  • 

“ When  Mrs.  Thrale  was  going  to  visit  some 
country  friends,  Dr.  Johnson  gave  her  the  following 
excellent  advice  : ‘ Do  not  make  them  speeches. 
Unusual  compliments,  to  which  there  is  no  stated 
and  prescriptive  answer,  embarrass  the  feeble, 
who  know  not  what  to  say,  and  disgust  the  wise, 
who,  knowing  them  to  be  false,  suspect  them 
to  be  hypocritical.’ 

“ 2 Dr.  Johnson  was  no  complainer  of  ill  usage. 
I never  heard  him  even  lament  the  disregard 
shown  to  Irene,  which  however  was  a violent 
favourite  with  him  ; and  much  was  he  offended 
when  having  asked  me  once,  ‘ what  single  scene 
afforded  me  most  pleasure  of  all  our  tragic  drama,  ’ 
I,  little  thinking  of  his  play’s  existence,  named, 

1 How  this  omission  happened,  we  are  unable  to  ac- 
count. Perhaps  the  executors  should  have  asked  for  it; 
but  at  ail  events  it  should  have  been  performed.  That 
the  fees  for  opening  the  ground  were  paid,  was  a matter 
of  indispensable  necessity;  and  there  can  be  no  doubt, 
from  the  liberality  of  the  present  dean  and  chapter,  but 
they  will  be  returned,  as  was  offered  in  the  case  of  Dry- 
den,  and  was  done  in  that  of  St.  Evremond,  who  “ died,” 
says  Atterbury,  “ renouncing  the  Christian  religion ; ” 
yet  the  church  of  Westminster  thought  fit,  in  honour 
to  his  memory,  to  give  his  body  room  in  the  Abbey, 
and  allow  him  to  be  buried  there  gratis , so  far 
as  the  chapter  were  concerned,  though  he  left  800/. 
sterling  behind  him,  which  is  thought  every  way  an  un- 
accountable piece  of  management.  How  striking  the 
contrast  between  St.  Evremond  and  Johnson ! — Stee- 
vens.  [See  ante , p.  450,  Mr.  Tyers’s  note.  It  is  sup- 
posed that  the  fees  were  not  returned,  and  it  is  to  be 
added,  that  all  Dr.  ’Johnson’s  friends,  but  especially  Mr. 
Malone  and  Mr.  Steevens,  were  indignant  at  the  mean 
and  selfish  spirit  which  the  dean  and  chapter  exhibited 
on  this  occasion  ; but  they  were  especially  so  against  Dr. 
Taylor,  not  only  for  not  having  prevailed  on  his  colleagues 
to  show  more  respect  to  his  old  friend,  but  for  the  un- 
feeling manner  in  which  he  himself  performed  the  burial 
service.  It  must,  on  the  other  hand,  be  confessed  that 
Lord  St.  Helens  corroborates  the  suspicion  noticed  by  Mr. 
Boswell  (ante,  p.  124),  that  Johnson’s  attention  to  Taylor 
was  prompted  rather  by  the  hopes  of  a legacy  than  by 
any  very  sincere  friendship ; for  his  lordship  says  that  it 
was  well  known  at  Ashbourne  that  Taylor  used  to  con- 
trive to  let  some  of  his  familiar  friends  discover,  as  if  by 
accident , that  he  had  remembered  them  in  his  will ; and 
there  was  reason  to  suppose  that  he  had  for  some  time 
practised  a similar  device  upon  Johnson.  It  seems  cer- 
tain that  the  intercourse  between  these  old  friends,  never 
very  cordial  or  well  assorted,  had  become  less  frequent 
in  the  latter  years  of  Johnson’s  life ; and  that  Taylor  was 
not  seen  at  the  death-bedside,  nor  honoured  by  a legacy 
of  remembrance  in  the  will  of  his  oldest  friend. — The 
following  passag  •,  in  one  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  letters  to  Mrs. 
Thrale,  which  no  doubt  relates  to  Dr.  Taylor,  gives  us 
no  great  idea  of  his  elegance  or  literature,  nor  of  John- 
son’s regard  for  him : — “ [Taylor)  has  let  out  another 
pound  of  blood,  and  is  come  to  town,  brisk  and  vigorous, 
fierce  and  fell,  to  drive  on  his  law-suit.  Nothing  in  all 
life  now  can  be  more  profligate  than  what  he  is  ; and 
if  in  case  that  so  be,  that  they  persist  for  to  resist  him, 
he  is  resolved  not  to  spare  no  money,  nor  no  time.  He 
is,  I believe,  thundering  away.  His  solicitor  has  turned 
iiim  off;  and  I think  it  not  unlikely  that  he  will  tire  his 
lawyers.  But  now  do  n’t  you  talk.” — Ed.] 

2 [Some  scattered  anecdotes  by  Mrs.  Piozzi  having  been 
by  mistake  omitted  in  what  might  have  been  a fitter 
place,  arc  added  here  that  the  collection  may  be  complete. 
— Ed.1 


perhaps  with  hasty  impropriety,  ‘ the  dialogue  be- 
tween Syphax  and  Juba,  in  Addison’s  Cato.’ 
‘ Nay,  nay,’  replied  he,  ‘ if  you  are  for  declama- 
tion, I hope  my  two  ladies  have  the  better  of  them 
all.’  This  piece,  however,  lay  dormant  many 
years,  shelfed  (in  the  manager’s  phrase)  from  the 
time  Mr.  Peter  Garrick  presented  it  first  on  Fleet- 
wood’s table,  to  the  hour  when  his  brother  David 
obtained  due  influence  on  the  theatre,  on  which  it 
crawled  through  nine  nights,  supported  by  cor- 
dials, but  never  obtaining  popular  applause.  I 
asked  him  then  to  name  a better  scene ; he  pitched 
on  that  between  Horatio  and  Lothario,  in  Rowe’s 
Fair  Penitent ; but  Mr.  Murphy  showed  him  after- 
wards that  it  was  borrowed  from  Massinger,  and 
had  not  the  merit  of  originality. 

“ He  was  once  angry  with  his  friend  Dr.  Tay- 
lor of  Ashbourne,  for  recommending  to  him  a 
degree  of  temperance,  by  which  alone  his  life 
could  have  been  saved,  and  recommending  it  in 
his  own  unaltered  phrase  too,  with  praiseworthy 
intentions  to  impress  it  more  forcibly.  This 
quarrel,  however,  if  quarrel  it  might  be  called, 
which  was  mere  sullen  ness  on  one  side  and  sor- 
row on  the  other,  soon  healed  of  itself,  mutual  re- 
proaches having  never  been  permitted  to  widen 
the  breach,  and  supply,  as  is  the  common  prac- 
tice among  coarser  disputants,  the  original  and 
perhaps  almost  forgotten  cause  of  dispute.  After 
some  weeks,  Johnson  sent  to  request  the  sight  of 
his  old  companion,  whose  feeble  health  held  him 
away  for  some  weeks  more,  and  who,  when  he 
came,  urged  that  feebleness  as  an  excuse  for  ap- 
pearing no  sooner  at  the  call  of  friendship  in  dis- 
tress ; but  Johnson,  who  was  then,  as  he  express- 
ed it,  not  sick  but  dying,  told  him  a story  of  a la- 
dy, who  many  years  before  lay  expiring  in  such 
tortures  as  that  cruel  disease,  a cancer,  naturally 
produces,  and  begged  the  conversation  of  her 
earliest  intimate  to  soothe  the  incredible  sufferings 
of  her  body,  and  relieve  the  approaching  terrors 
of  her  mind  ; but  what  was  the  friend’s  apology 
for  absence?  ‘ Oh,  my  dear,’  said  she,  ‘ I have 
really  been  so  plunged  and  so  pained  of  late  by 
a nasty  whitlow,  that  indeed  it  was  quite  im- 
possible for  me  till  to-day  to  attend  my  Lucy’s 
call.’  I think  this  was  not  more  than  two  days 
before  his  dissolution. 

“ Some  Lichfield  friends  fancied  that  he  had 
half  a mind  to  die  where  he  was  born,  but  that 
the  hope  of  being  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey 
overpowered  the  inclination  ; but  Dr.  Johnson 
loved  London,  and  many  people  then  in  London, 
whom  I doubt  not  he  sincerely  wished  to  see 
again,  particularly  Mr.  Sastres  3,  for  whose  person 
some  of  the  following  letters  manifest  a strong  af- 
fection, and  of  whose  talents  I have  often  heard 
him  speak  with  great  esteem.  That  gentleman 
has  told  me,  that  his  fears  of  death  ended  with 
his  hope  of  recovery,  and  that  the  latter  days  of 
his  life  passed  in  calm  resignation  to  God’s  will, 
and  a firm  trust  in  his  mercy. 

“He  burned  many  letters  in  the  last  week,  1 
am  told  ; and  those  written  by  his  mother  drew 
from  him  a flood  of  tears,  when  the  paper  they 


3 [Sastres  was  the  countryman  and  friend  of  Piozzi, 
and  the  lady  therefore  wishes  to  attribute  to  Dr.  Johnson 
an  extraordinary  fondness  for  Signor  Sastres,  as  if  it  gave 
some  degree  of  countenance  to  her  own  miserable  folly 
—Ed.] 


MISCELLANEOUS  ANECDOTES. 


509 


were  written  on  was  all  consumed.  Mr.  Sastres 
saw  him  cast  a melancholy  look  upon  their  ashes, 
which  he  took  up  and  examined,  to  See  if  a word 
was  still  legible.  Nobody  has  ever  mentioned 
what  became  of  Miss  Aston’s  letters,  though  he 
once  told  me  himself  they  should  be  the  last  pa- 
pers he  would  destroy,  and  added  these  lines  with 
a very  faltering  voice  : 

Then  from  his  closing  eyes  thy  form  shall  part, 

And  the  last  pang  shall  tear  thee  from  his  heart ; 

Life’s  idle  business  at  one  gasp  be  o’er, 

I'he  muse  forgot,  and  thou  beloved  no  more.’  ” 

Piozzi  “ Edition  to  his  pleasantry  about  the 
Anec.’  French  academy  (vol.  i.  p.  555),  it  may 
be  told  that  when  some  person  compli- 
mented him  on  his  superiority  to  the  French,  he 
replied,  ‘ Why,  what  could  you  expect,  dear  sir, 
from  fellows  that  eat  frogs  ? ’ 

“ When  Mr.  Rose,  of  Hammersmith  i,  con- 
tending for  the  preference  of  Scotch  writers  over 
the  English,  after  having  set  up  his  authours  like 
nine-pins,  while  the  Doctor  kept  bowling  them 
down  again  ; at  last,  to  make  sure  of  victory,  he 
named  Ferguson  upon  Civil  Society,  and  praised 
the  book  for  being  written  in  a new  manner.  ‘ I 
do  not,’  said  Johnson,  ‘ perceive  the  value  of  this 
new  manner  ; it  is  only  like  Buckinger  2,  who  had 
no  hands,  and  so  wrote  with  his  feet.’ 

“ When  I (Mrs.  Piozzi,)  knowing  what  subject 
he  would  like  best  to  talk  on,  asked  him  how 
his  opinion  stood  towards  the  question  between 
Pascal  and  Soame  Jennings  about  number  aru 
numeration  ? as  the  French  philosopher  observes, 
that  infinity,  though  on  all  sides  astonishing,  ap- 
pears most  so  when  connected  with  the  idea  of 
number  ; for  the  notions  of  infinite  number,  and 
infinite  number  we  know  there  is,  stretches  one’s 
capacity  still  more  than  the  idea  of  infinite  space: 

‘ such  a notion  indeed,’  adds  Pascal,  ‘can  scarce- 
ly find  room  in  the  human  mind.’  The  English 
authour  on  the  other  hand  exclaims,  ‘ Let  no  man 
give  himself  leave  to  talk  about  infinite  number, 
for  infinite  number  is  a contradiction  in  terms  ; 
whatever  is  once  numbered  we  all  see  cannot  be 
infinite.’  ‘ I think,’  said  Dr.  Johnson  after  a 
pause,  ‘ we  must  settle  the  matter  thus  : numera- 
tion is  certainly  infinite,  for  eternity  might  be  em- 
ployed in  adding  unit  to  unit ; but  every  number 
is  in  itself  finite,  as  the  possibility  of  doubling  it 
easily  proves  : besides,  stop  at  what  point  you  will, 
you  find  yourself  as  far  from  infinitude  as  ever.’ 

“ His  spirit  of  devotion  had  an  energy  that  af- 
fected all  who  ever  saw  him  pray  in  private.  The 
coldest  and  most  languid  hearers  of  the  word  must 
have  felt  themselves  animated  by  his  manner  of 
reading  the  Holy  Scriptures  ; and  to  pray  by  his 
sick  bed  required  strength  of  body  as  well  as  of 
mind,  so  vehement  were  his  manners,  and  his 
tones  of  * Jce  so  pathetic. 

“ Though  Dr.  Johnson  kept  fast  in  Lent,  par- 
ticularly the  holy  week,  with  a rigour  very  dan- 
gerous to  his  general  health  ; and  had  left  off  wine 
(for  religious  motives  as  I always  believed,  though 
he  did  not  own  it),  yet  he  did  not  hold  the  commu- 

1 [I(  is  presumed  that  Mrs.  Piozzi  meant  Dr.  Rose,  of 
Chiswick. — Ed.] 

2 [A  person  born  without  hands,  who  contrived  to 
produce  ve^y  fine  specimens  of  penmanship. — Ed.] 


tation  of  offences  by  voluntaiy  penance,  or  en- 
courage others  to  practise  severity  upon  them- 
selves. He  even  once  said,  ‘ that  he  thought  it  an 
error  to  endeavour  at  pleasing  God  by  taking  the 
rod  of  reproof  out  of  his  hands  3.’ 

“ Mr.  Thrale  had  a very  powerful  influence  ovei 
the  Doctor,  and  could  make  him  suppress  many 
rough  answers  : he  could  likewise  prevail  on  him 
to  change  his  shirt,  his  coat,  or  his  plate,  almost 
before  it  became  indispensably  necessary. 

“ He  once  observed  of  a Scotch  lady  who  had 
given  him  some  kind  of  provocation  by  receiving 
him  with  less  attention  than  he  expected,  ‘ that 
she  resembled  a dead  nettle  ; if  she  were  alive  she 
would  sting.’ 

“ He  rejected  from  his  Dictionary  every  author 
ity  for  a word  that  could  only  be  gleaned  from  wri- 
ters dangerous  to  religion  or  morality — ‘ 1 would 
not,’  said  he,  ‘ send  people  to  look  in  a book  for 
words,  that  by  such  a casual  seizure  of  the  mind 
might  chance  to  mislead  it  forever.’ 

“ Dr.  Johnson  never  gave  into  ridiculous  re- 
finements either  of  speculation  or  practice,  or  suf- 
fered himself  to  be  deluded  by  specious  appear- 
ances. ‘ I have  had  dust  thrown  in  my  eyes  too 
often,’  would  he  say,  ‘ to  be  blinded  so.  Let  us 
never  confound  matters  of  belief  with  matters  of 
opinirx’  Some  one  urged  in  his  presence  the 
pref v»nce  of  hope  to  possession  ; and,  as  I re- 
mo  uber,  produced  an  Italian  sonnet  on  the  sub- 
let. ‘ Let  us  not,’ cried  Johnson,  ‘amuse  our- 
selves with  subtilties  and  sonnets,  when  speak- 
ing about  that  hope,  which  is  the  follower  of  faith 
and  the  precursor  of  eternity  ; but  if  you  only  mean 
those  air-built  hopes  which  to-day  excites  and  to- 
morrow will  destroy,  let  us  talk  away,  and  re- 
member that  we  only  talk  of  the  pleasures  of  hope  ; 
we  feel  those  of  possession,  and  no  man  in  his 
senses  would  change  the  last  for  the  first  : such 
hope  is  a mere  bubble,  that  by  a gentle  breath  may 
be  blown  to  what  size  you  will  almost,  but  n 
rough  blast  bursts  it  at  once.  Hope  is  an  amuse- 
ment rather  than  a good,  and  adapted  to  none  but 
very  tranquil  minds.’ 

“ Of  the  pathetic  in  poetry  he  never  liked  to 
speak,  and  the  only  passage  I ever  heard  him  ap- 
plaud as  particularly  tender  in  any  common  book, 
was  Jane  Shore’s  exclamation  in  the  last  act, 

‘ Forgive  me ! but  forgive  me ! ’ 

“ It  was  not  however  from  the  want  of  a sus- 
ceptible heart  that  he  hated  to  cite  tender  expres- 
sions, for  he  was  more  strongly  and  more  violently 
affected  by  the  force  of  words  representing  ideas 
capable  of  affecting  him  at  all,  than  any  other  man 
in  the  world,  I believe  ; and  when  he  would  try  to 
repeat  the  celebrated  Prosa  Ecclesiastica  pro  JSlor- 
tuis , as  it  is  called,  beginning  Dies  irce,  Dies  ilia, 
he  could  never  pass  the  stanza  ending  thus,  Tan - 
tus  labor  non  sit  cassns,  without  bursting  into  a 
flood  of  tears  ; which  sensibility  I used  to  quote 
against  him  when  he  would  inveigh  against  devo- 
tional poetry,  and  protest  that  all  religious  verses 
were  cold  and  feeble,  and  unworthy  the  subject, 
which  ought  to  be  treated  with  higher  reverence, 
he  said,  than  either  poets  or  painters  could  pre 
sume  to  excite  or  bestow.” 


3  [lie  certainly  left  it  of!  on  account  of  his  health,  bu» 
no  doubt  considered  it  a pious  duty  to  do  so,  if  it  disor- 
dered his  mind.  Ante,  vol.  i p.  226.— Ed.] 


510 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


One  of  his  friends  had  a daughter  about  fourteen 
years  old,  “ fat  and  clumsy  : and  though  the  father 
adored,  ant  1 desired  others  to  adore  her,  yet  being 
aware  perhaps  that  she  was  not  what  the  French 
call  pitrie  des  graces,  and  thinking,  I suppose,  that 
the  old  maxim,  of  beginning  to  laugh  at  yourself 
where  you  have  any  thing  ridiculous  about  you, 
was  a good  one,  he  comically  enough  called  his 
girl  Trundle  when  he  spoke  of  her ; and  many 
who  bore  neither  of  them  any  ill-will  felt  disposed 
to  laugh  at  the  happiness  of  the  appellation.  ‘ See 
now,’ said  Dr.  Johnson,  ‘what  haste  people  are 
in  to  be  hooted.  Nobody  ever  thought  of  this  fel- 
low nor  of  his  daughter,  could  he  but  have  been 
quiet  himself,  and  forborne  to  call  the  eyes  of  the 
world  on  his  dowdy  and  her  deformity.  But  it 
teaches  one  to  see  at  least,  that  if  nobody  else  will 
nickname  one’s  children,  the  parents  will  e’en  do 
it  themselves.’ 

“ He  had  for  many  years  a cat  which  he  called 
Hodge,  that  kept  always  in  his  room  at  Fleet- 
street  ; but  so  exact  was  he  not  to  offend  the  hu- 
man species  by  superfluous  attention  to  brutes, 
that  when  the  creature  was  grown  sick  and  old, 
and  could  eat  nothing  but  oysters,  Dr.  Johnson 
always  went  out  himself  to  buy  Hodge’s  dinner, 
that  Francis  the  black’s  delicacy  might  not  be 
hurt,  at  seeing  himself  employed  for  the  conve- 
nience of  a quadruped.” 

He  was  very  fond  of  travelling,  and  would  have 
gone  “ all  over  the  world  ; for  the  very  act  of  going 
forward  was  delightful  to’him,  and  he  gave  him- 
self no  concern  about  accidents,  which  he  said 
never  happened  : nor  did  the  running  away  of 
the  horses  on  the  edge  of  a precipice  between  Ver- 
non and  St.  Denys  in  France  convince  him  to  the 
contrary  ; * for  nothing  came  of  it,’  he  said,  ‘ ex- 
cept that  Mr.  Thrale  leaped  out  of  the  carriage 
into  a chalk-pit,  and  then  came  up  again,  looking 
as  white  /’  When  the  truth  was,  all  our  lives 
were  saved  by  the  greatest  providence  ever  exert- 
ed in  favour  of  three  human  creatures  ; and  the 
part  Mr.  Thrale  took  from  desperation  was  the 
likeliest  thing  in  the  world  to  produce  broken  limbs 
and  death. 

“Yet  danger  in  sickness  he  did  not  contem- 
plate so  steadily.  One  day,  when  he  thought  him- 
self neglected  by  the  non-attendance  of  Sir  Ri- 
chard Jebb,  he  conjured  me  to  tell  him  what  1 
thought  of  him,  and  I made  him  a steady,  but  as  I 
thought  a very  gentle  harangue,  in  which  I con- 
firmed all  that  the  Doctor  had  been  saying,  how  no 
present  danger  could  be  expected  ; but  that  his  age 
and  continued  ill  health  must  naturally  accelerate 
the  arrival  of  that  hour  which  can  be  escaped  by 
none.  ‘ And  this,’  said  Johnson,  rising  in  great 
anger, ‘ is  the  voice  of  female  friendship,  I suppose, 
when  the  hand  of  the  hangman  would  be  softer.’ 

“ Another  day,  when  he  was  ill,  and  exceed- 
ingly low-spirited,  and  persuaded  that  death  was 
not  far  distant,  I appeared  before  him  in  a dark- 
coloured  gown,  which  his  bad  sight,  and  worse 
apprehensions,  made  him  mistake  for  an  iron  grey. 

‘ Why  do  you  delight,’  said  he,  ‘ thus  to  thicken 
the  gloom  of  misery  that  surrounds  me?  is  not 
here  suflicient  accumulation  of  horror  without 
anticipated  mourning  ? ’ ‘ This  is  not  mourning, 

sir,’  said  I,  drawing  the  curtain,  that  the  light 
might  fall  upon  the  silk,  and  show  it  was  a purple 


mixed  with  green.  ‘Well,  well,’  replied  he, 
changing  his  voice,  ‘ you  little  creatures  should 
never  wear  those  sort  of  clothes,  however : they 
are  unsuitable  in  every  way.  What ! have  not 
all  insects  gay  colours  ? ’ 

“ He  was  no  enemy  to  splendour  of  apparel, or 
pomp  of  equipage : ‘ Life,’  he  would  say,  ‘ is 
barren  enough  surely  with  all  her  trappings  ; let 
us  therefore  be  cautious  how  we'  strip  her.’  In 
matters  of  still  higher  moment  he  once  observed, 
when  speaking  on  the  subject  of  sudden  innova- 
tion, ‘ He  who  plants  a forest  may  doubtless  cut 
down  a hedge  : yet  I could  wish  methinks  that 
even  he  would  wait  till  he  sees  his  young  plants 
grow.’ 

“His  equity  in  giving  the  character  of  living 
acquaintance  ought  not  undoubtedly  to  be  omitted 
in  his  own,  whence  partiality  and  prejudice  were 
totally  excluded,  and  truth  alone  presided  in  his 
tongue  : a steadiness  of  conduct  the  more  to  be 
commended,  as  no  man  had  stronger  likings  or 
aversions. 

“ When  Mr.  Thrale  built  the  new  library  at 
Streatham,  and  hung  up  over  the  books  the  por- 
traits of  his  favourite  friends,  that  of  Dr.  Johnson 
was  last  finished,  and  closed  the  number.”  Upon 
this  occasion  Mrs.  Thrale  summed  up  Dr.  John- 
son’s character  in  the  following  verses  : — 

“ Gigantic  in  knowledge,  in  virtue,  in  strength, 

Our  company  closes  with  Johnson  at  length  ; 

So  the  Greeks  from  the  cavern  of  Polypheme  past, 
When  wisest,  and  greatest,  Ulysses  came  last, 

To  his  comrades  contemptuous,  we  see  him  look  down 
On  their  wif  and  their  worth  with  a general  frowm. 
Since  from  Science’  proud  tree  the  rich  fruits  he  receives, 
Who  could  shake  the  whole  trunk  while  they  turn’d  a 
few  leaves. 

His  piety  pure,  his  morality  nice — 

Protector  of  virtue,  and  terror  of  vice ; 

In  these  features  Religion’s  firm  champion  display’d, 
Shall  make  infidels  fear  for  a modern  crusade. 

While  ih’  inflammable  temper,  the  positive  tongue, 

Too  conscious  of  right  for  endurance  of  wrong, 

We  suffer  from  Johnson,  contented  to  find, 

That  some  notice  we  gain  from  so  noble  a mind ; 

And  pardon  our  hurts,  since  so  often  we’ve  found 
The  balm  of  instruction  pour’d  into  the  wound. 

’Tis  thus  for  its  virtues  the  chemists  extol 
Pure  rectified  spirit,  sublime  alcohol : 

From  noxious  putrescence,  preservative  pure, 

A cordial  in  health,  and  in  sickness  a cure  ; 

But  exposed  to  the  sun,  taking  fire  at  his  rays, 

Bums  bright  to  the  bottom,  and  ends  in  a blaze." 


III. 

MISCELLANEOUS  LETTERS. 

“ DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MR.  C.  HICKMAN  1. 

“ This  letter , on  the  occasion  of  the  writer’s  be- 
ing rejected  on  his  application  for  the  situa- 
tion of  usher  to  the  grammar  school  at  Stour- 
bridge 2,  has  recently  been  printed  for  the  first 

1 [Probably  the  brother  of  the  lady  mentioned  ante , v 
i.  p.  33. — Ed.] 

2 [Dr.  Johnson  was  at  Stourbridge  school,  half-gchol 
ar,  lialf-usher,  in  1726 ; but  it  has  not  been  stated  that 
after  his  return  from  Oxford  he  attempted  to  become  an 
assistant  there.  This  letter,  however,  proves  that  he 
met  in  the  summer  of  1731  some  disappointment  at  Stour- 
bridge, and  it  was  probably  of  the  kind  above  stated. 
Vet  that  seems  to  be  a strange  subject  for  Mr.  Hickman 
to  have  asked  to  see  celebrated  in  a copy  of  verses.  The 
Editor  can  only  repeat,  that  the  years  1 c30  and  1731,  du- 
ring which  Mr.  Boswell  erroneously  imagined  that  John- 
son was  at  Oxford,  are  an  obscure  and  unexplained 
portion  of  his  life.  See  ante , vol.  i.  p.  27. — Ed.] 


MISCELLANEOUS  ANECDOTES. 


511 


time,  from  the  original , by  the  editor  of  the 
« Manchester  Herald.’  ” — Gentleman’s  Ma- 
gazine. 

“Lichfield,  30th  Oct.  1731. 

Gent.  “ Sir, — I have  so  long  neglected  to 

Mag.  v.  return  you  thanks  for  the  favours  and  as- 
lxxxiii.  sistance  I received  from  you  at  Stour- 
P‘  13'  bridge,  that  I am  afraid  you  have  now 
done  expecting  it.  1 can  indeed  make  no  apology, 
but  by  assuring  you,  that  this  delay,  whatever 
was  the  cause  of  it,  proceeded  neither  from  for- 
getfulness, disrespect,  nor  ingratitude.  Time  has 
not  made  the  sense  of  obligation  less  warm,  nor 
the  thanks  I return  less  sincere.  But  while  I am 
acknowledging  one  favour,  I must  beg  another — 
that  you  would  excuse  the  composition  of  the 
verses  you  desired.  Be  pleased  to  consider  that 
versifying  against  one’s  inclination  is  the  most  dis- 
agreeable thing  in  the  world ; and  that  one’s  own 
disappointment  is  no  inviting  subject  ; and  that 
though  the  desire  of  gratifying  you  might  have 
prevailed  over  my  dislike  of  it,  yet  it  proves  upon 
reflection  so  barren,  that  to  attempt  to  write  upon 
it,  is  to  undertake  to  build  without  materials. 

“ As  I am  yet  unemployed,  I hope  you  will,  if 
any  thing  should  offer,  remember  and  recommend, 
sir,  your  humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  MR.  ELPHINSTON  1. 

“20th  April,  1749. 

“ Sir, — I have  for  a long  time  intended 
to  answer  the  letter  which  you  were  pleased 
to  send  me,  and  know  not  why  I have  delayed  it 
so  long,  but  that  I had  nothing  particular  either 
of  inquiry  or  information  to  send  you  ; and  the 
same  reason  might  still  have  the  same  conse- 
quence, but  I find  in  my  recluse  kind  of  life,  that 
1 am  not  likely  to  have  much  more  to  say  at  one 
time  than  at  another,  and  that  therefore  I may  en- 
danger by  an  appearance  of  neglect  long  con- 
tinued, the  loss  of  such  an  acquaintance  as  I know 
not  where  to  supply.  I therefore  write  now  to 
assure  you  how  sensible  I am  of  the  kindness  you 
have  always  expressed  to  me,  and  how  much  I 
desire  the  cultivation  of  that  benevolence  which 
perhaps  nothing  but  the  distance  between  us  has 
hindered  from  ripening  before  this  time  into  friend- 
ship. Of  myself  I have  very  little  to  say,  and  of 
any  body  else  less  ; let  me  however  be  allowed 
one  thing,  and  that  in  my  own  favour — that  I am, 
dear  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  MR.  GEORGE  STRAHAN,  AT  SCHOOL. 

“ 19th  Feb.  [1763.] 

“ Dear  George, — I am  glad  that  you 
j^g8|  have  found  the  benefit  of  confidence,  and 
hope  you  will  never  want  a friend  to  whom 
you  may  safely  disclose  any  painful  secret.  The 
state  of  your  mind  you  had  not  so  concealed  but 
that  it  was  suspected  at  home,  which  I mention 
that  if  any  hint  should  be  given  you,  it  may  not 
be  imputed  to  me,  who  have  told  nothing  but  to 
vourself,  who  had  told  more  than  you  intended. 

“ I hope  you  read  more  of  Nepos,  or  of  some 


other  book,  than  you  ccnstrue  to  Mr.  Bright. 
The  more  books  you  look  into  for  your  entertain- 
ment, with  the  greater  variety  of  style  you  will 
make  yourself  acquainted.  Turner  I do  not  know ; 
but  think  that  if  Clark  be  better,  you  should 
change  it,  for  I shall  never  be  willing  that  you 
should  trouble  yourself  with  more  than  one  book 
to  learn  the  government  of  words.  What  book 
that  one  shall  be,  Mr.  Bright  must  determine.  Be 
but  diligent  in  reading  and  writing,  and  doubt  not 
of  the  success.  Be  pleased  to  make  my  compli- 
ments to  Miss  Page  and  the  gentleman.  I am, 
dear  sir,  vours  affectionately, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ to  the  same. 

“ 26th  March,  1763. 

“ Dear  sir, — You  did  not  very  soon  answer 
my  letter,  and  therefore  cannot  complain  that  I 
make  no  great  haste  to  answer  yours.  I am  well 
enough  satisfied  with  the  proficiency  that  you 
make,  and  hope  that  you  will  not  relax  the  vigour 
of  your  diligence.  I hope  you  begin  now  to  see 
that  all  is  possible  which  was  professed.  Learn- 
ing is  a wide  field,  but  six  years  spent  in  close 
application  are  a long  time  ; and  I am  still  of 
opinion,  that  if  you  continue  to  consider  know- 
ledge as  the  most  pleasing  and  desirable  of  all 
acquisitions,  and  do  not  suffer  your  course  to  be 
interrupted,  you  may  take  your  degree  not  only 
without  deficiency,  but  with  great  distinction. 

“You  must  still  continue  to  write  Latin.  This 
is  the  most  difficult  part,  indeed  the  only  part  that 
is  very  difficult  of  your  undertaking.  If  you  can 
exemplify  the  rules  of  syntax,  I know  not  whether 
it  will  be  worth  while  to  trouble  yourself  with  any 
more  translations.  You  will  more  increase  your 
number  of  words,  and  advance  your  skill  in 
phraseology,  by  making  a short  theme  or  two 
every  day  ; and  when  you  have  construed  pro- 
perly a stated  number  of  verses,  it  will  be  pleasing 
to  go  from  reading  to  composition,  and  from  com- 
position to  reading.  But  do  not  be  very  particu- 
lar about  method  ; any  method  will  do  if  there  be 
but  diligence.  Let  me  know,  if  you  please,  once 
a week  what  you  are  doing.  1 am,  dear  George, 
your  humble  servant, 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  THE  SAME. 

“ 16th  April,  1763. 

“ Dear  sir, — Your  account  of  your  proficience 
is  more  nearly  equal,  I find,  to  my  expectations 
than  your  own.  You  are  angry  that  a theme  on 
which  you  took  so  much  pains  was  at  last  a kind 
of  English  Latin  ; what  could  you  expect  more  ? 
If  at  the  end  of  seven  years  you  write  good  Latin, 
you  will  excel  most  of  your  contemporaries  : Scri- 
bendo  disces,  scribere.  It  is  only  by  writing  ill 
that  you  can  attain  to  write  well.  Be  but  diligent 
and  constant,  and  make  no  doubt  of  success. 

“ 1 will  allow  you  but  six  weeks  for  Tully’s 
Offices.  Walker’s  Particles  1 would  not  have  you 
trouble  yourself  to  learn  at  all  by  heart,  but  look 
in  it  from  time  to  time,  and  observe  his  notes  and 
remarks,  and  see  how  they  are  exemplified.  The 
translation  from  Clark’s  history  will  improve  you, 
and  I would  have  you  continue  it  to  the  end  of 
the  book. 


[See  ante , vol.  i.  ».  85. — Ed.] 


613 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


u I hope  you  read  by  the  way  at  loose  hours 
other  books,  though  you  do  not  mention  them  ; 
for  no  time  is  to  be  lost  ; and  what  can  be  done 
with  a master  is  but  a small  part  of  the  whole. 

would  have  you  now  and  then  try  at  some 
English  verses.  When  you  find  that  you  have 
mistaken  any  thing,  review  the  passage  carefully 
and  settle  it  in  your  mind. 

“Be  pleased  to  make  my  compliments,  and 
those  of  Miss  Williams,  to  all  our  friends.  I am, 
dear  sir,  yours  most  affectionately, 

“Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  THE  SAME. 

“ 20th  Sept.  1763. 

“ Dear  sir, — I should  have  answered  your 
last  letter  sooner  if  I could  have  given  you  any 
valuable  or  useful  directions ; but  I knew  not  any 
way  by  which  the  composition  of  Latin  verses 
can  be  much  facilitated.  Of  the  grammatical  part 
which  comprises  the  knowledge  of  the  measure  of 
the  foot,  and  quantity  of  the  syllables,  your  gram- 
mar will  teach  you  all  that  can  be  taught,  and 
even  of  that  you  can  hardly  know  any  thing  by 
rule  but  the  measure  of  the  foot.  The  quantity 
of  syllables  even  of  those  for  which  rules  are  given 
is  commonly  learned  by  practice  and  retained  by 
observation.  For  the  poetical  part,  which  com- 
prises variety  of  expression,  propriety  of  terms, 
dexterity  in  selecting  commodious  words,  and 
readiness  in  changing  their  order,  it  will  all  be 
produced  by  frequent  essays  and  resolute  perse- 
verance. The  less  help  you  have  the  sooner  you 
will  be  able  to  go  forward  without  help. 

“ I suppose  you  are  now  ready  for  another  au- 
thour.  I would  not  have  you  dwell  longer  upon 
one  book  than  till  your  familiarity  with  its  style 
makes  it  easy  to  you.  Every  new  book  will  for 
a time  be  difficult.  Make  it  a rule  to  write  some- 
thing in  Latin  every  day  ; and  let  me  know  what 
you  are  now  doing,  and  what  your  scheme  is  to 
do  next.  Be  pleased  to  give  my  compliments  to 
Mr.  Bright,  Mr.  Stevenson,  and  Miss  Page.  1 
am,  dear  sir,  your  affectionate  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“to  the  same. 

“ 14th  July,  1763. 

“ Dear  George, — To  give  pain  ought  always 
to  be  painful,  and  I am  sorry  that  I have  been  the 
occasion  of  any  uneasiness  to  you,  to  whom  I 
hope  never  to  [do]  any  thing  but  for  your  benefit 
or  your  pleasure.  Your  uneasiness  was  without 
any  reason  on  your  part,  as  you  had  written  with 
sufficient  frequency  to  me,  and  I had  only  ne- 
glected to  answer  them,  because  as  nothing  new 
had  been  proposed  to  your  study,  no  new  direc- 
tion or  incitement  could  be  offered  you.  But  if  it 
had  happened  that  you  had  omitted  what  you  did 
not  omit,  and  that  I had  for  an  hour,  or  a week,  or 
a much  longer  time,  though  myself  put  out  of 
your  mind  by  something  to  which  presence  gave 
that  prevalence,  which  presence  will  sometimes 
give  even  where  there  is  the  most  prudence  and 
experience,  you  are  not  to  imagine  that  my  friend- 
ship is  light  enough  to  be  blown  away  by  the  first 
cross  blast,  or  that  my  regard  or  kindness  hangs 
by  so  slender  a hair  as  to  be  broken  off  by  the 
nnfelt  weight  of  a petty  offence.  I love  you,  and 


hope  to  love  you  long.  You  have  hitherto  done 
nothing  to  diminish  my  good  will,  and  though 
you  had  done  much  more  than  you  have  supposed 
imputed  to  you,  my  good  will  would  not  have 
been  diminished. 

“ I write  thus  largely  on  this  suspicion,  which 
you  have  suffered  to  enter  into  your  mind,  because 
in  youth  we  are  apt  to  be  too  rigorous  in  our  ex- 
pectations, and  to  suppose  that  the  duties  of  life 
are  to  be  performed  with  unfailing  exactness  and 
regularity ; but  in  our  progress  through  life  we 
are  forced  to  abate  much  of  our  demands,  and  to 
take  friends  such  as  we  can  find  them,  not  as  we 
would  make  them. 

“ These  concessions  every  wise  man  is  more 
ready  to  make  to  others,  as  he  knows  that  he  shall 
often  want  them  for  himself ; and  when  he  re- 
members how  often  he  fails  in  the  observance  of 
a cultivation  of  his  best  friends,  is  willing  to  sup- 
pose that  his  friends  may  in  their  turn  neglect 
him,  without  any  intention  to  offend  him. 

“When  therefore  it  shall  happen,  as  happen  it 
will,  that  you  or  I have  disappointed  the  expecta- 
tion of  the  other,  you  are  not  to  suppose  that  you 
have  lost  me,  or  that  I intended  to  lose  you  ; 
nothing  will  remain  but  to  repair  the  fault,  and  to 
go  on  as  if  it  never  had  been  committed.  I am, 
sir,  your  affectionate  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  MISS  REYNOLDS. 

“ Oxford,  27th ’Oct.  [1768.  | 

“Your  letter  has  scarcely  come  time 
enough  to  make  an  answer  possible.  I 
wish  we  could  talk  over  the  affair.  I can- 
not go  now.  I must  finish  my  book.  I do  not 
know  Mr.  Collier  i.  I have  not  money  before- 
hand sufficient.  How  long  have  you  known 
Collier,  that  you  should  put  yourself  into  his 
hands  ? I once  told  you  that  ladies  were  timorous 
and  yet  not  cautious. 

“ if  I might  tell  my  thoughts  to  one  wdth  whom 
they  never  had  any  weight,  I should  think  it  best 
to  go  through  France.  The  expense  is  not  great  ; 
I do  not  much  like  obligation,  nor  think  the  gross- 
ness of  a ship  very  suitable  to  a lady.  Do  not  go 
till  I see  you.  I will  see  you  as  soon  as  I can. 
I am,  my  dearest,  most  sincerely  yours, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“TO  W.  s.  JOHNSON  2,  LL.  D.  STRATFORD,  CON 
NECTICUT. 

“ Johnson’s-court,  Fleet-street,  London,  March  4,  1773 

“ Sir, — Of  all  those  whom  the  vari- 
ous accidents  of  life  have  brought  within  ^Tent* 
my  notice,  there  is  scarce  any  man  whose  v 
acquaintance  I have  more  desired  to  cul-  p.  320.’ 
tivate  than  yours.  I cannot  indeed  charge 

1 Captain  Collier,  since  Sir  George,  proposed  at  that 
time  to  sail  to  the  Mediterranean  with  his  lady. — Miss 
Reynolds.  And  it  would  seem  offered  Miss  Reynolds 
a passage ; and  Miss  Reynolds  appears  to  haye  wished 
that  Johnson  might  be  of  the  party.  Sir  Joshua  had 
gone  to  the  Mediterranean  in  a similar  way  with  Cap. 
tain  Keppel. — Ed.1 

2 The  l.ate  William  Samuel  Johnson  of  Connecticut. 
This  gentleman  spent  several  years  in  England  about  the 
middle  of  the  last  century.  He  received  the  degree  of 
doctor  of  civil  law  from  the  university  of  Oxford  ; and 
this  circumstance,  together  with  the  accidental  similari- 
ty of  name,  recommended  him  to  the  acquaintance  o» 
Dr.  Samuel  Johnson.  Several  letters  passed  between 


MISCELLANEOUS  LETTERS. 


^ou  with  neglecting  me,  yet  our  mutual  inclina- 
tion could  never  gratify  itself  with  opportunities. 
The  current  of  the  day  always  bore  us  away  from 
one  another,  and  now  the  Atlantic  is  between  us. 

“ Whether  you  carried  away  an  impression  of 
me  as  pleasing  as  that  which  you  left  me  of  your- 
self, I know  not  ; if  you  did  you  have  not  forgot- 
ten me,  and  will  be  glad  that  I do  not  forget  you. 
Merely  to  be  remembered  is  indeed  a barren 
pleasure,  but  it  is  one  of  the  pleasures  which  is 
more  sensibly  felt  as  human  nature  is  more  exalted. 

“ To  make  you  wish  that  I should  have  you  in 
my  mind,  I would  be  glad  to  tell  you  something 
which  you  do  not  know  ; but  all  public  affairs  are 
rinted  ; and  as  you  and  I have  no  common  friend, 
can  tell  you  no  private  history. 

“ The  government,  I think,  grow  Stronger,  but 
I am  afraid  the  next  general  election  will  be  a 
time  of  uncommon  turbulence,  violence,  and  out- 
rage. 

“ Of  literature  no  great  product  has  appeared, 
or  is  expected  ; the  attention  of  the  people  has  for 
some  years  been  otherwise  employed. 

“ I was  told  a day  or  two  ago  of  a design 
which  must  excite  some  curiosity.  Two  ships 
are  in  preparation  which  are  under  the  command 
of  Captain  Constantine  Phipps,  to  explore  the 
northern  ocean  ; not  to  seek  the- north-east  or  the 
north-west  passage,  but  to  sail  directly  north,  as 
near  the  pole  as  they  can  go.  They  hope  to  find 
an  open  ocean,  but  I suspect  it  is  one  mass  of 
perpetual  congelation.  I do  not  much  wish  well 
to  discoveries,  for  I am  always  afraid  they  will 
end  in  conquest  and  robbery. 

“ I have  been  out  of  order  this  winter,  but  am 
grown  better.  Can  I never  hope  to  see  you  again, 
or  must  I be  always  content  to  tell  you  that  in 
another  hemisphere  I am  sir,  your  most  humble 
servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  DR.  GOLDSMITH. 

« 23d  April,  1773. 

“ Sir, — 1 beg  that  you  will  excuse  my  absence 
to  the  club  ; I am  going  this  evening  to  Oxford. 

“ I have  another  favour  to  beg.  It  is  that  I 
may  be  considered  as  proposing  Mr.  Boswell  for 
a candidate  of  our  society,  and  that  he  may  be 
considered  as  regularly  nominated.  I am,  sir, 
your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  FRANCIS  FOWKE,  ESQ. 

“ 11th  July,  1776. 

Gent.  “ Sir, — 1 received  some  weeks  ago  I 

Mag.  a collection  of  papers,  which  contain  the 
vol.  . trial  of  my  dear  friend,  Joseph  Fowke,  of 
whom  I cannot  easily  be  induced  to  think 
v'  ‘ otherwise  than  well,  and  who  seems 


them,  after  the  American  Dr.  Johnson  had  returned  to 
his  native  country  ; of  which,  however,  it  is  feared  that 
this  is  the  only  one  remaining. — Oent.  Mag. 

i [This  circumstance  enables  us  to  state  that  the  East 
Indian  friend,  mentioned  in  p.  55,  was  Mr.  Joseph  Fowke, 
and  to  guess  that  he  (and  not  one  of  the  Vansittarts,  as 
Mr.  Tyers  thought)  was  alluded  to  in  vol.  i.  p.  13G.  The 
arrival  of  this  “ collection  of  papers”  is  no  doubt  the  cu- 
rious incident  mentioned  ante , p.  57. — Ed.]  Mr.  J. 
Fowke,  who  died  about  1794,  was  born  about  the  year 
1715,  and  entered  into  the  service  of  the  East  India  Com- 
pany at  the  age  of  17.  He  remained  at  Fort  St.  George 

vol.  ii  65 


f)i3 

to  have  been  injured  by  the  prosecution  and  the 
sentence.  His  first  desire  is,  that  I should  pre- 
pare his  narrative  for  the  press  ; his  second,  that 
if  I cannot  gratify  him  by  publication,  I would 
transmit  the  papers  to  you.  To  a compliance 
with  his  first  request  I have  this  objection  ; that  1 
live  in  a reciprocation  of  civilities  with  Mr.  Hast- 
ings, and  therefore  cannot  properly  diffuse  a nar- 
rative, intended  to  bring  upon  him  the  censure  x 
the  publick.  Of  two  adversaries,  it  would  be 
rash  to  condemn  either  upon  the  evidence  of  ihe 
other ; and  a common  friend  must  keep  himself 
suspended,  at  least  till  he  has  heard  both. 

“ I am  therefore  ready  to  transmit  to  you  the 
papers,  which  have  been  seen  only  by  myself , 
and  beg  to  be  informed  how  they  may  be  con- 
veyed to  you.  I see  no  legal  objections  to  the 
publication  ; and  of  prudential  reasons, Mr. Fowki 
and  you  will  be  allowed  to  be  fitter  judges. 

“ If  you  would  have  me  send  them,  let  me  have 
proper  directions  : if  a messenger  is  to  call  for 
them,  give  me  notice  by  the  post,  that  they  may 
be  ready  for  delivery. 

“ To  do  my  dear  Mr.  Fowke  any  good  would 
give  me  pleasure  ; I hope  for  some  opportunity  of 
performing  the  duties  of  friendship  to  him,  with- 
out violating  them  with  regard  to  another.  I am, 
sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  RICHARD  BEATNIFFE,  ESQ. 

“ Bolt-Court,  Fleet-street,  14th  Feb.  1782 

“Sir, — Robert  Levet,  with  whom  I 
have  been  connected  by  a friendship  of  vol. 
many  years,  died  lately  at  my  house. 

His  death  was  sudden,  and  no  will  has  P‘ 
yet  been  found  ; I therefore  gave  notice  of  his 
death  in  the  papers,  that  an  heir,  if  he  has  any, 
may  appear.  He  has  left  very  little  ; but  of  that 
little  his  brother  is  doubtless  heir,  and  your  friend 
may  be  perhaps  his  brother.  I have  had  another 
application  from  one  who  calls  himself  his  bro- 


till  1748,  and  when  he  returned  to  England  was  offered 
the  government  either  of  Bengal  or  Madras.  This  offer 
was  by  no  means  so  advantageous  as  it  would  be  at  pres- 
ent ; Mr.  Fowke  therefore  declined  it,  and  remained  in 
England  until  1771.  At  this  period  he  returned  to  India, 
where  some  differences  of  opinion  unfortunately  occurred 
between  him  and  the  Provisional  Government,  which 
ended  in  his  being  tried  in  June,  1775,  in  the  Supreme 
Court  of  Bengal,  under  two  indictments.  In  the  first  of 
these  trials  the  verdict  was,  not  guilty.  In  the  second, 
in  which  Mr.  Fowke  was  implicated  with  Nundocomar 
and  Rada  Churn,  the  verdict  was,  “Joseph  Fowke  and 
Nundocomar,  guilty;  Rada  Churn,  not  guilty.”  In  the 
year  1788  Mr.  Fowke  finally  quitted  Bengal,  with  a re- 
commendation from  Lord  Cornwallis  to  the  Court  of 
Directors,  as  a person  entitled  to  receive  the  pension 
which  was  promised  to  their  servants  returning  from 
Bengal  out  of  employment.  This  recommendation  was, 
however,  rejected.  After  a lapse  of  some  time,  the 
claim  was  brought  forward  by  Mr.  Burke  [with  the  read 
ers  of  whose  works  the  case  of  Nundocomar  must  l>e  fa- 
miliar] in  the  House  of  Commons,  when  the  following 
resolution  was  made  in  his  favour: — 

“ Resolved,  That  it  appears  to  this  House,  that  the  said 
Joseph  Fowke  is  entitled  to  the  pension  or  allowance 
engaged  to  be  paid  by  the  East  India  Company  to  their 
servants,  under  certain  descriptions,  and  under  certain 
conditions,  expressed  in  their  letter  from  the  Court  o 
Directors  of  the  21st  of  September,  1785,  to  the  Govern- 
or-General and  Council  of  Bengal,  from  the  time  in 
which,  by  the  said  letter  of  the  21st  of  September,  1785. 
persons  described  in  the  said  letter  were  to  recei  ve  tbe 
same.” — Oent . Mag. 


M4 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


thcr  ; and  I suppose  it  is  fit  that  the  claimant 
should  give  some  proofs  of  his  relation.  I would 
gladly  know,  from  the  gentleman  that  thinks  him- 
self R.  Levett’s  brother, 

“ In  what  year,  and  in  what  parish,  R.  Levet 
was  born  ? 

“ Where  or  how  was  he  educated  ? 

“What  was  his  early  course  of  life  1 
“ What  were  the  marks  of  his  person  ; his  sta- 
ture ; the  colour  of  his  eyes  ? 

“Was  he  marked  with  the  small-pox  ? 

“ Had  he  any  impediment  in  his  speech  ? 

“ What  relations  had  he,  and  how  many  are 
now  living  ? 

“ His  answer  to  these  questions  will  show 
whether  he  knew  him  : and  he  may  then  proceed 
to  show  that  he  is  his  brother. 

“ He  may  be  sure,  that  nothing  shall  be  hastily 
wasted  or  removed.  I have  not  looked  into  his 
boxes,  but  transferred  that  business  to  a gentle- 
man in  the  neighbourhood,  of  character  above 
suspicion.  w Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  MR.  NICHOLS. 

“ 10th  January,  1783. 

1784  “ Sir, — J am  much  obliged  by  your 

p.  893.  kind  communication  of  your  account  of 
Hinckley  i.  I know  Mr.  Carte  is  one  of 
the  prebendaries  of  Lichfield,  and  for  some  time 
surrogate  of  the  chancellor.  Now  I will  put  you 
in  a way  of  showing  me  more  kindness.  I have 
been  confined  by  illness  a long  time  ; and  sick- 
ness and  solitude  make  tedious  evenings.  Come 
sometimes  and  see,  sir,  your  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ DR.  JOHNSON  TO  SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS. 

It  was  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  who  introduced 
Mr.  Crabbe’s  poem , (see  ante,  p.  329)  to 
Dr.  Johnson’s  notice , and  the  following  is 
the  letter  with  ivhich  he  returned  it,  and 
which  was  not  found  till  it  was  too  late  to 
insert  it  in  its  proper  place. — Reyn.  MS. 

“ 4th  March,  1783. 

“ Sir,—  I have  sent  you  back  Mr.  Crabbe’s 
poem,  which  I read  with  great  delight.  It  is  ori- 
ginal, vigorous,  and  elegant. 

“ The  alterations  which  I have  made  I do 
not  require  him  to  adopt,  for  my  lines  are,  pei*- 
haps,  not  often  better  than  his  own  ; but  he  may 
take  mine  and  his  own  together,  and  perhaps 
between  them  produce  something  better  than 
either. 

“ He  is  not  to  think  his  copy  wantonly  defaced. 
A wet  sponge  will  wash  all  the  red  lines  away, 
and  leave  the  page  clear. 

“His  dedication  will  be  least  liked.  It  were 
better  to  contract  it  into  a short  sprightly  ad- 
dress. 

“ I do  not  doubt  Mr.  Crabbe’s  success.  I am, 
sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 


i For  this  work  Dr.  Johnson  had  contributed  several 
nints  towards  the  Life  of  Anthony  Blackwall,  to  whom, 
when  very  young,  he  had  been  some  time  an  usher  at 
Market  Boswoith  school.  Blackwall  died  m April,  1730, 
before  Johnson  was  one  and  twenty.— Nichols. 


“ TO  JOSEPH  FOWKE,  ESQ. 

“ 19th  April,  1783. 

“ Dear  sir, — To  show  you  that  nei- 
ther length  of  time,  nor  distance  of  place,  Gem 
withdraws  you  from  my  memory,  1 have  jg®|* 
sent  you  a little  present  2,  which  will  be  p.  539. 
transmitted  by  Sir  Robert  Chambers. 

“To  your  former  letters  I made  no  answer,  be- 
cause I had  none  to  make.  Of  the  death  of  the 
unfortunate  man  (meaning  Nundocomar)  I be- 
lieve Europe  thinks  as  you  think  ; but  it  was  past 
prevention  ; and  it  was  not  fit  for  me  to  move  a 
question  in  publick  which  I was  not  qualified  to 
discuss,  as  the  inquiry  could  then  do  no  good ; and 
I might  have  been  silenced  by  a hardy  denial  of 
facts,  which,  if  denied,  I could  not  prove. 

“ Since  we  parted,  I have  suffered  much  sick- 
ness of  body  and  perturbation  of  mind.  My  mind, 
if  I do  not  flatter  myself,  is  unimpaired,  except 
that  sometimes  my  memory  is  less  ready  ; but  my 
body,  though  by  nature  very  strong,  has  giver 
way  to  repeated  shocks. 

“ Genua  labant,  vastos  quatit  ceger  ^ n 
anhelitus  artus.  This  line  might  have  v.  432, 
been  written  on  purpose  for  me.  You 
will  see,  however,  that  I have  not  totally  forsaken 
literature.  I can  apply  better  to  books  than  1 
could  in  some  more  vigorous  parts  of  my  life — at 
least  than  I did ; and  I have  one  more  reason  for 
reading — that  time  has,  by  taking  away  my  com- 
panions, left  me  less  opportunity  of  conversation. 
I have  led  an  inactive  and  careless  life  ; it  is  time 
at  last  to  be  diligent : there  is  yet  provision  to  be 
made  for  eternity. 

“ Let  me  know,  dear  sir,  what  you  are  doing. 
Are  you  accumulating  gold,  or  picking  up  dia- 
monds ? Or  are  you  now  sated  with  Indian 
wealth,  and  content  with  what  you  have  ? Hav6 
you  vigour  for  bustle,  or  tranquillity  for  inaction  ? 
Whatever  you  do,  I do  not  suspect  you  of  pilla- 
ging or  oppressing  ; and  shall  rejoice  to  see  you 
return  with  a body  unbroken,  and  a mind  uncor- 
rupted. 

“ You  and  1 had  hardly  any  common  friends, 
and  therefore  I have  few  anecdotes  to  relate  to 
you.  Mr.  Levet,  who  brought  us  into  acquaint- 
ance, died  suddenly  at  my  house  last  year,  in  his 
seventy- eighth  year,  or  about  that  age. 

Mrs.  Williams,  the  blind  lady,  is  still  with  Gent, 
me,  but  much  broken  by  a very  wearisome 
and  obstinate  disease.  She  is,  however,  p>  509. 
not  likely  to  die  ; and  it  would  delight  me 
if  you  would  send  her  some  petty  token  of  your 
remembrance  : you  may  send  me  one  too. 

“ Whether  we  shall  ever  meet  again  in  this 
world,  who  can  tell  ? Let  us,  however,  wish 
well  to  each  other  : prayers  can  pass  the  Line 
and  the  Tropics.  I am,  dear  sir,  yours  sincerely, 
“Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ TO  MR.  NICHOLS. 

“ 12th  April,  1784. 

“ Sir,— I have  sent  you  enclosed  a very  curi 
ous  proposal  from  Mr.  Hawkins,  the  son  of  Si: 
John  Hawkins,  who,  I belieVe,  will  lake  care 
that  whatever  his  son  promises  shall  be  performed. 

“ If  you  are  inclined  to  publish  this  compila- 

2 A collection  of  the  Doctor’s  Works. — Nichols. 


MISCELLANEOUS  LETTERS. 


ft!5 


tion,  the  editor  will  agree  for  an  edition  on  the 
following  terms,  which  l think  liberal  enough. 

“ That  you  shall  print  the  book  at  vour  own 
charge. 

“ That  the  sale  shall  be  wholly  for  your  benefit 
till  your  expenses  are  repaid  ; except  that  at  the 
time  of  publication  you  shall  put  into  the  hands 
of  the  editor,  without  price,  . . . copies  for  his 
fiends. 

“ That,  when  you  have  been  repaid,  the  profits 
arising  from  the  sale  of  the  remaining  copies  shall 
be  divided  equally  between  you  and  the  editor. 

“ That  the  edition  shall  not  comprise  fewer 
than  five  hundred.  I am,  sir,  your  most  humble 
servant,  “ Sam.  Johnson.  ” 

“ DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MR.  SASTRES. 

“ Ashbourne,  21st  August,  1784. 

“ Dear  sir, — I am  glad  that  a 
tersf  TOlii  ^etter  has  at  last  reached  you  ; what 
p.  405.  became  of  the  two  former,  which 

were  directed  to  Mortimer  instead 
of  Margaret- street,  I have  no  means  of  knowing, 
nor  is  it  worth  the  while  to  inquire  ; they  neither 
enclosed  bills,  nor  contained  secrets. 

“ My  health  was  for  some  time  quite  at  a 
stand,  if  it  did  not  rather  go  backwards  ; but  for 
a week  past  it  flatters  me  with  appearances  of 
amendment,  which  I dare  yet  hardly  credit.  My 
breath  has  been  certainly  less  obstructed  for  eight 
days ; and  yesterday  the  water  seemed  to  be  dis- 
posed to  a fuller  flow.  But  I get  very  little  sleep ; 
and  my  legs  do  not  like  to  carry  me. 

“ You  were  kind  in  paying  my  forfeits  at  the 
club ; it  cannot  be  expected  that  many  should 
meet  in  the  summer ; however,  they  that  continue 
in  town  should  keep  up  appearances  as  well  as 
they  can.  I hope  to  be  again  among  you. 

“ I wish  you  had  told  me  distinctly  the  mis- 
takes in  the  French  words.  The  French  is  but  a 
secondary  and  subordinate  part  of  your  design  ; 
exactness,  however,  in  all  parts  is  necessary, 
though  complete  exactness  cannot  be  attained  ; 
and  the  French  are  so  well  stocked  with  dictiona- 
ries, that  a little  attention  may  easily  keep  you 
safe  from  gross  faults ; and  as  you  work  on,  your 
vigilance  will  be  quickened,  and  your  observation 
regulated  ; you  will  better  know  your  own  wants, 
and  learn  better  whence  they  may  be  supplied. 
Let  me  know  minutely  the  whole  state  of  your 
negotiations.  Dictionaries  are  like  watches,  the 
worst  is  better  than  none,  and  the  best  cannot  be 
expected  to  go  quite  true. 

“ The  weather  here  is  very  strange  summer 
weather ; and  we  are  here  two  degrees  nearer 
the  north  than  you.  I was,  I think,  loath  to  think 
a fire  necessary  in  July,  till  I found  one  in  the 
servants’  hall,  and  thought  myself  entitled  to  as 
much  warmth  as  them. 

“ I wish  you  would  make  it  a task  to  yourself 
to  write  to  me  twice  a week  ; a letter  is  a great 
relief  to,  dear  sir,  your,  &c.” 

“ TO  THE  SAME. 

“ Ashbourne,  2d  September,  1784. 

“Dear  sir, — Your  critick  seems  to  be  an 
exquisite  Frenchman  ; his  remarks  are  nice;  they 
would  at  least  have  escaped  me.  I wish  you 


better  luck  with  your  next  specimen  ; thougn  il 
such  slips  as  these  are  to  condemn  a dictionary,  I 
know  not  when  a dictionary  will  be  made.  1 
cannot  yet  think  that  gourmander  is  wrong ; but 
I have  here  no  means  of  verifying  my  opinion. 

“ My  health,  by  the  mercy  of  God,  still  im- 
proves ; and  I have  hope  of  standing  the  English 
winter,  and  of  seeing  you,  and  reading  Petrarch 
at  Bolt-court ; but  let  me  not  flatter  myself  too 
much.  I am  yet  weak,  but  stronger  than  I was. 

“ I suppose  the  Club  is  now  almost  forsaken  ; 
but  we  shall  I hope  meet  again.  We  have  lost 
poor  Allen  ; a very  worthy  man,  and  to  me  a 
very  kind  and  officious  neighbour. 

“ Of  the  pieces  ascribed  by  Bembo  to  Virgil, 
the  Dirce  (ascribed,  I think,  to  Valerius  Cato), 
the  Copa  and  the  Moretum  are,  together  with 
the  Culex  and  Ceiris,  in  Scaliger’s  Appendix  ad 
Virgilium.  The  rest  I never  heard  the  name  of 
before. 

“ I am  highly  pleased  with  your  account  of  the 
gentleman  and  lady  with  whom  you  lodge ; such 
characters  have  sufficient  attractions  to  draw  me 
towards  them ; you  are  lucky  to  light  upon  them 
in  the  casual  commerce  of  life. 

“ Continue,  dear  sir,  to  write  to  me  ; and  let 
me  hear  any  thing  or  nothing,  as  the  chance  of 
the  day  may  be.  I am,  sir,  your,  &c.” 

“ TO  THE  SAME. 

“ Ashbourne,  16th  September,  1784. 

“ Dear  sir,— What  you  have  told  me  of 
your  landlord  and  his  lady  at  Brompton  has  made 
them  such  favourites,  that  I am  not  sorry  to  hear 
how  you  are  turned  out  of  your  lodgings,  because 
the  good  is  greater  to  them  than  the  evil  is  to  you. 

“ The  death  of  dear  Mr.  Allen  gave  me  pain. 
When  after  some  time  of  absence  I visit  a town, 
I find  my  friends  dead  ; when  I leave  a place,  I 
am  followed  with  intelligence,  that  the  friend 
whom  I hope  to  meet  at  my  return  is  swallowed 
in  the  grave.  This  is  a gloomy  scene  ; but  let 
us  learn  from  it  to  prepare  for  our  own  removal. 
Allen  is  gone  ; Sastres  and  Johnson  are  hasting 
after  him ; may  we  be  both  well  prepared  ! 

“ I again  wish  your  next  specimen  success. 
Paymistress  can  hardly  be  said  .without  a preface 
(it  may  be  expressed  by  a word  perhaps  not  in 
use,  pay  mistress). 

“ The  club  is,  it  seems,  totally  deserted  ; but  as 
the  forfeits  go  on,  the  house  does  not  suffer ; and 
all  clubs,  1 suppose,  are  unattended  in  the  sum- 
mer. We  shall,  I hope,  meet  in  winter,  and  be 
cheerful. 

“ After  this  week,  do  not  write  to  me  till  you 
hear  again  from  me,  for  I know  not  well  where  I 
shall  be  ; I have  grown  weary  of  the  solitude  of 
this  place,  and  think  of  removal.  I am,  sir, 
your,  &c.” 

“ TO  MR.  STRAHAN. 

“ 16th  October,  1784. 

“ Dear  sir, — I have  hitherto 
omitted  to  give  you  that  account  9.?™* 
of  myself,  which  the  kindness  with  1 P‘ 
which  you  have  treated  me  gives  you  a right  to 
expect. 

“ I went  away  feeble,  asthmatical,  and  dropsi- 


516 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


cal.  The  asthma  has  remitted  for  a time,  but  is 
now  very  troublesome  ; the  weakness  still  contin- 
ues, but  the  dropsy  has  disappeared  ; and  has 
twice,  in  the  summer,  yielded  to  medicine.  I 
hope  to  return  with  a body  somewhat,  however 
little,  relieved,  and  with  a mind  less  dejected. 

“ 1 hope  your  dear  lady  and  dear  little  ones 
are  all  well,  and  all  happy ; I love  them  all.  1 
am,  dear  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MR.  SASTRES. 

“ Lichfield,  20th  October,  1784. 

Sir, — You  have  abundance  of 
voMi^’  naughty  tricks ; is  this  your  way  of 
p.  410.  writing  to  a poor  sick  friend  twice  a 
week  ? Post  comes  after  post,  and 
brings  no  letter  from  Mr.  Sastres.  If  you  know 
anything,  write  and  tell  it ; if  you  know  nothing, 
write  and  say  that  you  know  nothing. 

“ What  comes  of  the  specimen  ? If  the  book- 
sellers want  a specimen,  in  which  a keen  critick 
can  spy  no  faults,  they  must  wait  for  another  gen- 
eration. Had  not  the  Crusca  faults  ? Did  not 
the  academicians  of  France  commit  many  faults? 
It  is  enough  that  a dictionary  is  better  than  others 
of  the  same  kind.  A perfect  performance  of  any 
kind  is  not  to  be  expected,  and  certainly  not  a 
perfect  dictionary. 

“ Mrs.  Desmoulins  never  writes,  and  I know 
not  how  things  go  on  at  home ; tell  me,  dear  sir, 
what  you  can. 

“ If  Mr.  Seward  be  in  town,  tell  me  his  direc- 
tion, for  I ought  to  write  to  him. 

“ I am  very  weak,  and  have  had  bad  nights. 
I am,  dear  sir,  your,  &c.” 

“ TO  THE  SAME. 

“ Lichfield,  1st  November,  1784. 

“ Dear  sir, — 1 beg  you  to  continue  the  fre- 
quency of  your  letters  ; every  letter  is  a cordial ; 
but  you  must  not  wonder  that  I do  not  answer 
with  exact  punctuality.  You  may  always  have 
something  to  tell : you  live  among  the  various  or- 
ders of  mankind,  and  may  make  a letter  from  the 
exploits,  sometimes  of  the  philosopher,  and  some- 
times of  the  pickpocket.  You  see  some  balloons 
succeed  and  some  miscarry,  and  a thousand 
strange  and  a thousand  foolish  things.  Butl  see 
nothing ; I must  make  my  letter  from  what  I feel, 
and  what  I feel  with  so  little  delight,  that  I can- 
not love  to  talk  of  it. 

“ I am  certainly  not  to  come  to  town,  but  do 
not  omit  to  write ; for  I know  not  when  I shall 
come,  and  the  loss  of  a letter  is  not  much.  I am, 
dear  sir,  your,  &c.” 

“ DR.  JOHNSON  TO  MR.  NICHOLS  1. 

‘‘27th  July,  1778. 

“ You  have  now  all  Cowley.  1 
vninti v^n 2 3 4  Sq  ^ave  been  drawn  to  a great  length  ; 

' p'  ' but  Cowley  or  [and]  Waller  never 
had  any  critical  examination  before.  I am  very 
far  advanced  in  Dryden,  who  will  be  long  too. 
The  next  great  Life  I purpose  to  be  Milton’s. 

i  [Here  follow  such  of  the  short  letters  and  notes  re- 
ferred to  by  Mr.  Boswell,  ante , p.  268,  n.  1,  as  he  did  not 
Introduce  into  hia  text. — Ed.] 


“ It  will  be  kind  if  you  will  gather  the  Lives 
of  Denham,  Butler,  and  Waller,  and  bind  them 
in  half-binding  in  a small  volume,  and  let  me 
have  it  to  show  my  friends  as  soon  as  may  be.  1 
sincerely  hope  the  press  shall  stand  no  more  2. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ August,  1778. 

“ You  have  now  the  Life  of  Dryden,  and  you 
see  it  is  very  long.  It  must,  however,  have  an 
Appendix.  1 . The  invocation  to  the  Georgicks, 
from  Milbourne.  (This  in  the  small  print).  2. 
Dryden’s  Remarks  on  Rymer  ; which  are  ready 
transcribed.  3.  Dryden’s  Letter,  from  Lambeth ; 
which  is  promised  me.” 

“26th  November,  1778. 

“Mr.  Johnson  will  hope  for  Mr.  Nichols’s 
company  to  tea,  about  six  this  afternoon,  to  talk 
of  the  Index,  and  settle  the  terms. — Monday. 

“ I am  very  well  contented  that  the  Index  is 
settled  ; for  though  the  price  is  low,  it  is  not  pe- 
nurious. Mr.  M.  having  been  for  some  time  out  of 
business,  is  in  some  little  perplexities,  from  which 
twelve  guineas  will  set  him  free.  This,  we  hope, 
you  will  advance;  and,  during  the  continuance 
of  the  work  subject  to  your  inspection,  he  desires 
a weekly  pay  ment  of  sixteen  shillings,  the  rest  to 
remain  till  it  is  completed. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ 1st  March,  1779. 

“Mr.  Johnson  purposes  to  make  his  next  at- 
tempt upon  Prior,  at  least  to  consider  him  very 
soon  ; and  desires  that  some  volumes  published 
of  his  papers,  in  two  vols.  8vo.  may  be  procured. 

“ The  Turtle  and  Sparrow  can  be  but  a fable  3. 
The  Conversation  I never  read. 

“ Sam.  Johnson.” 

“ In  examining  this  book,  I find  it  necessary  to 
add  to  the  Life  the  preface  to  the ‘British  En- 
chanters ; ’ and  you  may  add,  if  you  will,  the 
notes  on  ‘ Unnatural  Flights.’  I am,  sir,  &c. — 
Friday.” 

“ There  is  a copy  of  verses  by  Fenton  on  the 
‘ First  Fit  of  the  Gout,’  in  Pope’s  Miscellanies, 
and  I think  in  the  last  volumes  of  Dryden.  In 
Pope’s  I am  sure. 

Jlnsw.  “ I should  have  given  Fenton’s  birth  to 
Shelton  4 in  Staffordshire,  but  that  I am  afraid 
there  is  no  such  place.  The  rest  I have,  except 
his  secretaryship,  of  which  I know  not  what  to 
make.  When  Lord  Orrery  was  in  an  office, 
Lewis  was  his  secretary.  Lewis  lived  in  my 
time;  I knew  him.  The  gout  verses  were  al- 
ways given  to  Fenton,  when  I was  young,  and 


2 The  first  life  that  was  begun  at  the  press  was  that  e 
Cowley,  in  December,  1777.  The  progress  made  in  Jc 
ly,  1778,  appears  above.  Butler  was  the  Life  in  whicA 
the  Doctor  at  that  time  more  particularly  prided  himself. 
Milton  was  begun  in  January,  1779,  and  finished  in  six 
weeks. — Nichoi.s. 

3 This  refers  to  a hint  given  him  in  consequence  of 
what  is  said  in  the  Life  of  Prior,  that  of  his  “Tales  there 
are  only  four.” — Nichols. 

4 It  is  now  said  to  be  “ near  Newcastle.”  Shelton 

(near  tfJewcastle-under-Line)  is  to  be  found  in  Stafford 
shire  in  the  Index  Villaris  of  1700.— Nicholo. 


TWO  PRAYERS  BY  DR.  JOHNSON. 


Ae  was  living.  Lord  Oirery  told  me  that  Fenton 
was  his  tutor ; hut  never  thought  he  was  his  fa- 
ther’s secretary  i.  Pray  let  me  see  the  Oxford 
and  Cambridge  [Verses],  &c.  [1707].  If  you  are 
sure  it  was  published  by  Fenton,  I shall  take  no- 
tice of  it.” 

“ Mr.  Johnson  desires  Mr.  Nichols  to  send 
him  Ruffhead’s  Life  of  Pope,  Pope’s  works, 
Swift’s  works  with  Dr.  Hawkesworth’s  Life, 
Lyttelton’s  works;  and  with  these  he  hopes  to 
have  done.  The  first  to  be  got  is  Lyttelton.” 

“ Mr,  Johnson,  being  now  afchome,  desires  the 
last  leaves  of  the  criticism  on  Pope’s  epitaphs, 
and  he  will  correct  them.  Mr.  N.  is  entreated  to 
save  the  proof  sheets  of  Pope,  because  they  are 
promised  to  a lady  3,  who  desires  to  have  them.” 

“ In  reading  Rowe  in  your  edition,  which  is 
very  impudently  called  mine,  I observed  a little 
piece  unnaturally  and  odiously  obscene.  I was 
offended,  but  was  still  more  offended  when  I could 
not  find  it  in  Rowe’s  genuine  volumes  4.  To  ad- 
mit it,  had  been  wrong ; to  interpolate  it,  is  surely 
worse.  If  I had  known  of  such  a piece  in  the 
whole  collection,  I should  have  been  angry.  What 
can  be  done  ? ” 

“ 24th  May,  1780. 

“Mr.  Johnson  is  obliged  to  Mr.  Nichols  for 
his  communication  5,  and  must  have  Hammond 
again.  Mr.  Johnson  would  be  glad  of  Black- 
more’s  Essays  for  a few  days.” 

“ 16th  June,  1780. 

“ I have  been  out  of  order,  but  by  bleeding 
and  physick  think  I am  better,  and  can  go  again 
to  work.  Your  note  on  Broome  6 will  do  me 
much  good.  Can  you  give  me  a few  dates  for  A. 
Phillips  ? I wrote  to  Cambridge  about  them,  but 
have  had  no  answer.” 

“ Dr.  Warton  tells  me  that  Collins’s  first  piece  7 
is  in  the  Gent.  Mug.  for  August,  1739.  In  Au- 
gust there  is  no  such  thing.  Amasius  was  at  that 
time  the  poetical  name  of  Dr.  Swan,  who  transla- 
ted Sydenham.  Where  to  find  Collins  I know 
not.  I think  I must  make  some  short  addition  to 
Thomson’s  sheet,  but  will  send  it  to-day.” 

“ This  Life  of  Dr.  Young  was  written  by  a 
friend  of  his  son  [Mr.  Croft].  What  is  crossed 
with  black  is  expunged  by  the  authour  ; what  is 


1 Dr.  Johnson  retracted  this  opinion,  as  Fenton  in  his 
Life  is  styled  “ secretary.”  Fenton  was  secretary  to 
Lord  Orrery  when  he  commanded  a regiment  in  Flan- 
ders, and  was  dismissed  in  1705,  four  years  before  Dr. 
Johnson  was  born. — Nichols.  [There  is  some  mistake 
in  the  statement  of  Dr.  Johnson.  The  first  mention  of 
Lord  Orrery  was  probably  a slip  of  the  pen  for  Oxford , 
whose  secretary  Lewis  was. — Ed.J 

2 See  Lives  of  the  Poets,  vol.  iii.  p.  111. — Nichols. 

3 Probably  to  Miss  Burney. — Nichols. 

4 The  epigram  on  a lady  at  the  tragedy  of  Cato,  which 
has  not  only  appeared  in  the  works  of  Rowe,  but  has 
been  transplanted  by  Pope  into  the  “ Miscellanies  ” he 
published  in  his  own  name  and  that  of  Dean  Swift. — 
Nichols.  [This  would  have  been  a sufficient  excuse  (if 
one  were  needed)  for  the  Editor’s  omission  of  two  or  three 
indelicate  expressions  which  escaped  from  Mr.  Boswell 
in  the  course  of  his  work. — Ed.] 

5 Lives  of  the  Poets,  vol.  iii.  p.  185. — Nichols. 

6 “ Select  Collection,”  vol.  iv.  p.  283. — Nichols. 

7 Qu.  What  was  it  1— Nichols. 


617 

! crossed  with  red  is  expunged  by  me.  If  you  find 
any  thing  more  that  can  well  be  omitted,  I shall 
not  be  sorry  to  see  it  yet  shorter.” 

“ 16th  August,  1780. 

“ I expected  to  have  found  a Life  of  Lord  Lyt- 
telton prefixed  to  his  works.  Is  there  not  one  be- 
fore the  quarto  edition  ? I think  there  is  ; if  not, 
I am,  with  respect  to  him,  quite  aground.” 

“ Brighthelmstone,  26th  Oct.  1780. 

“ I think  you  never  need  send  back  the  revises 
unless  something  important  occurs.  Little  things, 
if  I omit  them,  you  will  do  me  the  favour  of  set- 
ting right  yourself.  Our  post  is  awkward,  as  you 
will  find,  and  I fancy  you  will  find  it  best  to  send 
two  sheets  at  once.” 

“ 16th  April,  1781. 

“ Mr.  Johnson  desires  Mr.  Nichols  to  send  him 
a set  of  the  last  Lives,  and  would  be  glad  to  know 
how  the  octavo  edition  goes  forward.” 

“ 10th  June,  1781. 

“ My  desire  being  to  complete  the  sets  of  Lives 
which  I have  formerly  presented  to  my  friends,  1 
have  occasion  for  a few  of  tbe  first  volumes  ; of 
which,  by  some  misapprehension,  I have  received 
a great  number,  which  I desire  to  exchange  for 
the  latter  volumes.  I wish  success  to  the  new 
edition.  Please  to  deliver  to  Mr.  Steevens  a com- 
plete set  of  the  Lives  in  12mo.” 

“ 26th  December,  1781. 

“ Mr.  Johnson,  being  much  out  of  order,  sent  in 
search  of  the  book,  but  it  is  not  found.  He  will, 
if  he  is  better,  look  himself  diligently  to-morrow. 
He  thanks  Mr.  Nichols  for  all  his  favours.” 

“ 28th  October,  1782. 

“ What  will  the  booksellers  give  me  for  this 
new  edition  ? I know  not  what  to  ask.  I would 
have  twenty-four  sets  bound  in  plain  calf,  and 
figured  with  the  number  of  the  volumes.  For  the 
rest,  they  may  please  themselves.” 


IV. 

Unpublished  Prayers  by  Dr.  Johnson. 

“ Easter  day,  15th  April,  1759. 

“ Almighty  and  most  merciful  Fa- 
ther, look  down  with  pity  upon  my  sins.  Pearson 
I am  a sinner,  good  Lord  ; but  let  not  Mss* 
my  sins  burthen  me  for  ever.  Give  me  thy  grace 
to  break  the  chain  of  evil  custom.  Enable  me  to 
shake  offidleness  and  sloth : to  will  and  to  do  what 
thou  hast  commanded,  grant  me  chaste  in 
thoughts,  words  and  actions  ; to  love  and  frequent 
thy  worship,  to  study  and  understand  thy  word  , 
to  be  diligent  in  my  calling,  that  I may  support 
myself  and  relieve  others. 

“ Forgive  me,  O Lord,  whatever  my  mother 
has  suffered  by  my  fault,  whatever  I have  done 
amiss,  and  whatever  duty  I have  neglected.  Let 
me  not  sink  into  useless  dejection  ; but  so  sanc- 
tify my  affliction,  O Lord,  that  I may  be  converted 
and  healed  ; and  that,  by  the  help  of  thy  Holy 
Spirit,  I may  obtain  everlasting  life  through  Jesus 
Christ  our  Lord. 


618 


GENERAL  APPENDIX, 


“ And  0 Lord,  so  fai  as  it  may  be  lawful,  I com- 
mend unto  thy  fatherly  goodness  my  father,  bro- 
ther, wife  and  mother,  beseeching  thee  to  make 
them  happy  for  Jesus  Christ’s  sake.  Amen.” 

“ scruples. 

Rose  “ 0 Lord,  who  wouldst  that  all  men 
MSS.  should  be  saved,  and  who  knowest  that 
without  thy  grace  we  can  do  nothing  ac- 
ceptable to  thee,  have  mercy  upon  me.  Enable 
me  to  break  the  chain  of  my  sins,  to  reject  sensu- 
ality in  thought,  and  to  overcome  and  suppress 
vain  scruples  ; and  to  use  such  diligence  in  lawful 
employment  as  may  enable  me  to  support  myself 
and  do  good  to  others.  0 Lord,  forgive  me  the 
time  lost  in  idleness ; pardon  the  sins  which  I have 
committed,  and  grant  that  I may  redeem  the  time 
mispent,  and  be  reconciled  to  thee  by  true  repen- 
tance, that  I may  live  and  die  in  peace,  and  be 
received  to  everlasting  happiness.  Take  not  from 
me,  0 Lord,  thy  holy  Spirit,  but  let  me  have  sup- 
port and  comfort  for  Jesus  Christ’s  sake.  Amen. 

“ Transc.  June  26lh,  1768.  Of  this  prayer 
there  is  no  date,  nor  can  I conjecture  when  it  w as 
composed.” 


y. 

Account  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  last  Dinner  i at 
Streatham. 

“ Oct.  6,  Die  Dominica,  1782. 
Rose  “ Lransus  sum  Streathamiae  agninum  crus 
MSS.  coctum  cum  herbis  (spinach)  comminutis, 
farcimen  farinaceum  cum  uvis  passis, 
lumbos  bovillos,  et  pullum  gallinae  Turcicae  ; et 
post  carnes  missas,  ficus,  uvas,  non  admodum 
maturas,  ita  voluit  anni  intemperies,  cum  malis 
Persicis,  iis  tamen  duris.  Non  laetus  accubui,  ci- 
bum  modic&  sumpsi,  ne  intemperantia  ad  extre- 
mum peccaretur.  Si  recte  memini,  in  men  tern 
venerunt  epulae  in  exequiis  Hadoni  celebratae. 
Streathamiam  quando  revisan  ? ” 


VI. 

A Poetical  Review  of  the  Literary  and  Moral 
Character  of  the  late  Samuel  Johnson,  ll.  d. 
with  Notes  by  John  Courtenay,  Esq. 

Man  is  thy  theme ; his  virtue,  or  his  rage, 

Drawn  to  the  life,  in  each  elaborate  page. — Waller. 

5 immensce  veluti  connexa  carince 

Cymba  minor. — Statics;?  . 

London : Printed  for  Charles  Dilly,  in  the  Poultry,  1786. 

The  following  poem  was  never  very  popu- 
lar, and  is  now  so  scarce  that  it  was  not 
without  difficulty  that  a copy  was  procur- 

1 [He  seems  to  have  taken  leave  of  the  kitchen  as  well 
as  of  the  church  at  Streatham  in  Latin.  See  ante , p.  322. 
The  phrase  “ ne  intemperanti  ad  extremum  peccare- 
tur ” is  remarkable,  and  proves  that  this,  which  at  first 
sight  looks  like  burlesque,  was  written  when  in  sober 
sadness. — Ed.] 

2 [These  two  mottos  would  suit  Mr.  Boswell’s  work 
better  than  Mr.  Courtenay’s.  The  reader  will  observe 
in  the  latter  quotation  the  original  of  Pope’s  celebrated 
and  beautiful  compliment  to  St  John. — Essay  on  Man , 
Evist.  iv.  1.  385.— Ed.] 


ed  on  this  occasion  to  print  from . Thi 
subject,  “sermoni  proprior,”  is  not  fa- 
vourable to  poetry ; the  criticism  is  some- 
times superficial  and  erroneous;  and  . the 
raillery  frequently  offends  good  feeling 
and  good  taste.  It  is,  however , with  all 
these  defects,  and,  indeed,  on.  account  of  these 
defects,  deserving  a place  in  this  collection 
of  Johnsoniana,  not  only  as  a tribute  to  the 
general  excellence  of  Dr,  Johnson’s  charac- 
ter, but  in  order  that  some  of  the  errors 
it  contains  mc^y  be  corrected. 

The  authour,  once  a considerable  person  in 
the  political  and  literary  world,  is  fading 
so  fast  from  public  memory , that  the  Edi- 
tor is  glad  to  be  able  to  present  his  read- 
ers with  the  following  biographical  no- 
tice of  Mr.  Courtenay,  from  the  pen  oj 
their  common  friend,  Sir  James  Mackintosh . 
— Ed.] 

BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE  OF  MR.  COURTENAY. 

John  Courtenay  was  so  intimate  Jackin 
a friend  of  Boswell,  and  so  long  a mem-  tosh, 
ber  of  the  club,  founded  by  Johnson, 
that  a short  account  of  him  may  not  be  misplaced 
in  this  w'ork. 

He  was  born  at  Carlingford,  in  August,  1738. 
The  first  of  his  family  in  Ireland  settled  there  ir. 
the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  and  married  a sister  of  the 
Deputy  Chichester,  as  appears  from  a monument 
at  Carrickfergus.  His  grandfather  served  under 
King  William  at  the  Boyne.  His  father,  a young 
er  son,  obtained  a situation  in  the  revenue.  He 
was  himself  educated  at  the  school  of  Dundalk, 
w'here  he  read  and  relished  the  best  waiters  of 
Greece  and  Rome  ; but  he  became  so  much  in- 
fected with  a passion  for  the  army,  or  rather,  for 
its  show  and  dissipation,  that  he  would  not  gratify 
his  father  by  pursuing  his  studies  at  the  university. 

In  1756  he  purchased  an  ensigncy,  and  seems 
to  have  combined  the  conviviality  of  the  time  with 
desultory  reading  and  careless  composition.  In 
1765,  when  on  the  eve  of  purchasing  a company, 
he  was  disappointed  by  an  accident : he  relin- 
quished the  army  in  a fit  of  ill  humour,  and  ap- 
plied the  purchase-money  to  buy  the  place  of  a 
commissary  of  musters,  thus  unfortunately  renoun- 
cing all  regular  advancement  in  a profession.  He 
married,  obtained  leave  to  sell  his  place,  and,  af- 
ter paying  his  debts,  found  himself  possessed  ot 
six  hundred  pounds. 

About  that  time  Dr.  Lucas,  a man  then  popular 
at  Dublin,  had  published  a severe  pamphlet 
against  the  sentence  of  a court-martial.  Courte- 
nay, prompted  by  old  military  feelings,  employed 
his  very  idle  hours  in  an  answer,  w hich  obtained 
some  commendation,  and  earned  for  him  the  pat- 
ronage of  Lord  Townshend,  then  lord-lieutenant 
He  soon  after  became  one  of  the  wrriters  of  the 
“ Bachelor,”  a government  paper,  conducted  by 
Simcox,  a clergyman,  but  chiefly  written  by 
Courtenay,  Marlay  3,  afterward  a bishop,  and 
Jephson4,  a dramatic  poet  of  note.  It  w’as  a 
main  part  of  the  task  of  these  advocates  of  the 

3 t Ante,  p.  283. — Ed.] 

4 [Ante,  vol.  i.  p.  260,  and  p.  397  of  this  voL — Ed.] 


COURTENAY’S  REVIEW. 


M9 


Castle  to  counteract  the  “ Baratarian  Letters,”  an 
Irish  imitation  of  Junius,  which,  attacking  the 
lord-lieutenant’s  government,  received  contribu- 
tions from  Flood,  and  first  published  Grattan’s 
character  of  Chatham.  Previous  to  the  recall  of 
the  lord-lieutenant  he  gave  Courtenay  the  place 
of  barrack-master  of  Kinsale,  and  soon  after  his 
return  to  England  appointed  him  secretary  to  the 
master-general  of  the  ordnance.  Though  in  that 
confidential  relation  to  a minister,  Courtenay 
agreed  more  in  opinion,  and  was  more  connected 
with  the  Opposition,  as  may  be  pretty  certainly 
inferred  from  his  intimacy  with  Mr.  Windham, 
than  an  oppositionist  of  more  than  common  vio- 
lence, who  used  to  meet  him  often  at  the  Thatch- 
ed-house,  as  Courtenay  said,  to  drink  a giass  to 
the  health  of  General  Washington. 

In  1780,  Lord  Townshend  gave  him  a seat  for 
Tamworth,  which  he  long  retained.  He  some- 
times made  ineffectual  attempts  to  vindicate  his 
consistency  in  voting  for  the  minister,  on  the  plea 
that  he  could  no  longer  support  the  Americans 
after  they  had  received  French  aid  ; as  if  those, 
whom  he  considered  as  exposing  themselves  to 
destruction  in  a righteous  cause,  might  not  lawful- 
ly seek  for  succour  wherever  they  could  find  it. 
This,  however,  was  the  period  of  his  chief  success 
in  parliament.  .He  was  then  invited  often  to  the 
evening  convivial  parties  of  Rigbv,  a man  of  wit 
and  pleasure : he  became  an  intimate  friend  of 
Mr.  Gerard  Hamilton,  a man  of  considerable  lit- 
erature and  of  fastidious  taste  in  his  companions, 
and  of  Boswell,  a zealous,  but  good-natured  tory. 

At  the  coalition,  in  1783,  he  was  appointed 
surveyor-general  of  the  ordnance.  After  the  ex- 
pulsion of  that  administration,  he  refused  to  retain 
the  office,  which  was  handsomely  offered  to  him 
by  the  Duke  of  Richmond  : the  letters  of  both  do 
them  credit.  Henceforwards  he  attached  himself 
to  Mr.  Fox,  during  a long  and  rigid  exclusion 
from  office.  On  one  occasion  he  took  a step  not 
believed  to  be  agreeable  to  that  great  man.  At  a 
dinner  at  Lord  Lauderdale’s,  in  Leicester-square, 
in  spring  1792,  he  put  his  name,  with  others,  of 
whom  the  present  writer  was  one,  to  the  Associ- 
ation of  the  “ Friends  of  the  People  for  the  pro- 
motion of  Parliamentary  Reform,”  saying,  as  he 
pushed  the  writing  materials  on  to  his  next  neigh- 
bour, “ There  goes  Tamworth.”  Mr.  Fox,  with 
difficulty  saved  him  from  the  necessity  of  leaving 
England  in  1796  and  in  1802,  by  procuring  a seat 
for  him. 

In  1806,  Mr.  Fox  wished  to  have  restored  him 
to  the  ordnance,  but  a high  influence  obtained 
that  place  for  another,  and  Courtenay,  after 
twenty-five  years  of  opposition,  had  a twelve- 
month’s seat  at  the  treasury. 

In  1812,  when  aged,  lonely,  infirm,  and  nearly 
bed- ridden,  he  was  rescued  from  cruel  sufferings 
by  the  generosity  of  the  late  Lord  Thanet.  Even 
in  that  situation,  when  found  at  his  dinner,  con- 
sisting of  the  claw  of  a lobster,  by  one  of  his  few 
visiters,  he  used  to  make  his  repast  a subject  of 
merriment. 

The  happy  marriages  of  two  daughters  were, 
for  a short  time,  bright  spots  in  his  little  sphere  ; 
but  though  his  life  was  unprosperous,  it  was  not, 
thanks  to  his  temper,  unhappy.  The  consolations 
of  friendship  he  deserved  and  possessed  among 
political  opponents  in  time  of  much  heat.  Mr. 


Windham  and  Lord  Stowell,  Mr.  Malone,  and 
even  Mr.  Burke,  continued  to  show  kindness  to 
him.  He  was  frequently  a guest  of  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  of  whose  table  he  gave  an  amusing  de- 
scription [which  is  inserted  ante , p.  78.] 

His  parliamentary  speeches,  by  which  he  was 
best  known,  did  injustice  to  his  powers.  He  was  in 
truth  a man  of  fine  talents,  and  of  various  accom- 
plishments, which  rendered  his  conversation  agree- 
able, as  his  good-nature  and  kind  heart  obtained 
for  him  the  attachment  of  many  excellent  friends. 
But,  from  his  speeches,  strangers  mistook  him  for 
a jester  by  profession.  Every  Irishman  has  wit, 
but  Codrtenay’s  drollery  had  not  that  polish  and 
urbanity,  of  which  pleasantry  stands  in  greater 
need  than  perhaps  any  other  endowment. 

He  fell  into  two  not  easily  forgotten  mistakes  ; 
the  one  was  a somewhat  unrefined  attack  on  Mr. 
Canning,  whom  he  mistook  for  a declaiming 
schoolboy ; the  other  was  an  attack  on  Mr.  Wil- 
berforce,  whose  meekness  and  gentleness  he  un- 
luckily regarded,  before  he  knew  him,  as  proofs 
of  want  of  wit.  The  following  extract  from  some 
criticism  on  parliamentary  speakers  written  by 
him  long  after,  is  an  agreeable  proof  that,  in  the 
case  of  Mr.  Wilberforce,  he  discovered  his  error, 
and  was  willing  to  acknowledge  the  justice  of  the 
chastisement.  “ He  (Mr.  W.)  is  quick  and  acute 
in  debate,  and  always  prompt  to  answer  and  re 
ply.  When  he  is  provoked  to  personality  (which 
seldom  happens)  he  retorts  in  a poignant  and  re- 
fined vein  of  satire,  peculiarly  his  own.”  In  the 
same  criticism  he  makes  reparation  to  Mr.  Can- 
ning, by  owning  that  “ his  wit  is  keen,”  but  he 
tries  to  excuse  himself  by  adding,  “ that  it  is  some- 
times flippant.” 

He  died  at  his  humble  lodging,  in  Duke-street, 
Portland-place,  on  the  21st  of  March,  1815,  in  the 
seventy-eighth  year  of  his  age. 

To  the  early  connexion  of  Mr.  Courtenay  with 
General  Fraser,  in  the  family  of  Lord  Towns- 
hend, the  writer  of  this  note,  (who  is  the  Gener- 
al’s grand-nephew)  owed  the  beginning  of  a 
kindness  which  lasted  till  Courtenay’s  death. 
Fraser  was  Lord  Townshend’s  aid-de-camp  at 
Quebec  in  1759,  where  by  means  of  some  French 
acquired  when  an  officer  in  the  Scotch  regiments 
in  the  service  of  the  states-general,  he  had  the 
good  fortune  to  render  a more  important  service 
than  is  usually  within  the  reach  of  an  officer  of 
the  rank  which  he  held  at  that  time.  When 
rowing  down  the  river  St.  Lawrence,  and  on  the 
point  of  landing,  the  night  before  the  battle,  they 
were  observed  by  a French  sentinel,  \fho  called 
to  him  for  “ the  word,”  which  the  British  officers 
did  not  know.  Fraser  answered  in  an  audible 
whisper  in  French,  “ Hold  your  tongue ; they 
will  overhear  us.”  The  sentinel  believed  them 
to  be  a French  reinforcement,  and  they  effected 
their  landing  without  disturbance.  He  went  with 
Lord  Townshend  to  Ireland,  and  he  was  killed  in 
Burgoyne’s  army  at  Stillwater,  near  Saratoga,  on 
the  7th  October,  1777.  His  death  has  been  af- 
fectingly  represented  by  the  pencil  and  the  pen. 

The  writer  attended  Mr.  Courtenay’s  funeral, 
almost  the  only  duty  of  a friend  and  an  executor 
which  circumstances  left  for  him  to  perform  ; un- 
less he  may  be  allowed  to  consider  as  another  oi 
these  duties  the  preffent  attempt  to  preserve  a short 
account  of  Mr.  Courtenay,  in  which  he  has  studi 


TO 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


ously  endeavoured  to  avoid  all  exaggeration,  and 
has  laboured  to  shun  that  undue  expansion  which 
he  cannot  help  considering  as  a sort  of  tacit  ex- 
aggeration.— M ackintosh. 


A generous  tear  will  Caledonia  shed  ? 

Her  ancient  foe,  illustrious  Johnson ’s  dead  : 
Mac-Ossian’s  sons  may  now  securely  rest, 

Safe  from  the  bitter  sneer,  the  cynick  jest  i. 

Lost  is  the  man,  who  scarce  deigns  Gray  to  praise, 
But  from  the  grave  callsBlackmore’s  sleeping  lays; 
A passport  grants  to  Poinfret’s  dismal  chimes, 
To  Yalden’s  hymns,  and  Watts’s  holy  rhymes  2 ; 
By  subtle  doubts  would  Swift’s  fair  fame  invade, 
And  round  his  brows  the  ray  of  glory  shade  3 ; 
With  poignant  taunt  mild  Shenstone’s  life  arraigns, 
His  taste  contemns,  and  sweetly-flowing  strains  ; 


1 “ A Scotchman  must  be  a sturdy  moralist,  who  does 
not  prefer  Scotland  to  truth.”  Johnson's  Journey  to  the 
Western  Isles  of  Scotland. — Courtenay. 

2 “The  Poems  of  Dr.  Watts  were,  by  my  recommen- 
dation, inserted  in  this  collection ; the  readers  of  which 
are  to  impute  to  me  whatever  pleasure  or  weariness  they 
may  find  in  the  perusal  of  Blackmore,  Watts,  Pom  fret, 
and  Yalden.”  Johnson's  Life  of  Watts.  The  following 
specimen  of  their  productions  may  be  sufficient  to  ena- 
ble the  reader  to  judge  of  their  respective  merits : — 

“Alas,  Jerusalem!  alas!  where ’s  now 

Thy  pristine  glory,  thy  unmatch’d  renown, 

To  which  the  heathen  monarchies  did  bow  1 
Ah,  hapless,  miserable  town ! ” 

Eleazar's  Lamentation  over  Jerusalem , 
paraphrased  by  Pomfret. 

“ Before  the  Almighty  Artist  framed  the  sky, 

Or  gave  the  earth  its  harmony, 

His  first  command  was  for  thy  light ; 

He  view’d  the  lovely  birth,  and  bless’d  it . 

In  purple  swaddling  bands  it  struggling  lay, 

Old  Chaos  then  a cheerful  smile  put  on, 

And  from  thy  beauteous  form  did  first  presage  its  own.” 
Yalden' s Hymn  to  Light. 

“ My  cheerful  soul  now  all  the  day 
Sits  waiting  here  and  sings ; 

Looks  through  the  ruins  of  her  clay, 

And  practises  her  wings. 

O,  rather  let  this  flesh  decay, 

The  ruins  wider  grow ; 

Till,  glad  to  see  the  enlarged  way, 

I stretch  my  pinions  through.” 

A Sight  of  Heaven  in  Sickness  by 
Isaac  Watts. — Courtenay. 

IThe  Editor  is  not  without  some  apprehensions,  that  he 
may  incur  a similar  censure,  for  having  recommended 
the  introduction  of  Mr.  Courtenay’s  poem  into  this  col- 
lection.—Ed.] 

3 He  seemed  to  me  to  have  an  unaccountable  prejudice 
against  Swift.  He  said  to-day,  “ I doubt  if  the  ‘Tale  of 
a Tub’  was  his;  it  has  so  much  more  thinking,  more 
knowledge^  more  power,  more  colour,  than  any  of  the 
works  that  are  indisputably  his.  If  it  was  his,  I shall 
only  say,  he  was  impar  sibi." — Boswell's  Tour  to  the 
Hebrides , p.  38.  Dr.  Johnson’s  “ unaccountable  prejudice 
against  Swift”  may  probably  be  derived  from  the  same 
source  as  Blackmore’s,  if  we  may  venture  to  form  a 
judgment  from  the  panegyrick  he  bestows  on  the  follow- 
ing groundless  invective,  expressly  aimed  at  Swift,  as  the 
authour  of  “A  Tale  of  a Tub,”  which  he  quotes  in  his 
life  of  Blackmore  : “ Several,  in  their  books,  have  many 
sarcastical  and  spiteful  strokes  at  religion  in  general ; 
while  others  make  themselves  pleasant  with  the  princi- 
ples of  the  Christian.  Of  the  last  kind,  this  age  has  seen 
a most  audacious  example  in  the  book  entitled  ‘A  Tale 
of  a Tub.’  Had  this  writing  been  published  in  a pagan 
or  popish  nation,  who  are  justly  impatient  of  all  indigni- 
ty oft'ered  to  the  established  religion  of  their  country,  no 
doubt  but  the  authour  would  have  received  the  punish- 
ment he  deserved.  But  the  fate  of  this  impious  buffoon 
is  very  different;  for,  in  a protestant  kingdom,  zealous 
of  their  civil  and  religious  immunities,  he  has  not  only 
escaped  affronts,  and  the  effects  of  publick  resentment, 
but  has  been  caressed  and  patronized  by  persons  of  great 


At  zealous  Milton  aims  his  tory  dart, 

But  in  his  Savage  finds  a moral  heart , 

At  great  Nassau  despiteful  rancour  flings 
But  pension’d  knees  ev’n  to  usurping  kings  : 
Rich,  old,  and  dying,  bows  his  laurel’d  head, 

And  almost  deigns  to  ask  superfluous  breads. 

A sceptick  once,  he  taught  the  letter’d  throng 
To  doubt  the  existence  of  famed  Ossian’s  songj 
Yet  by  the  eye  of  faith,  in  reason’s  spite, 

Saw  ghosts  and  witches,  preach’d  up  second-sight 
For  o'er  his  soul  sad  superstition  threw 
Her  gloom,  and  tinged  his  genius  with  her  hue. 
On  popish  ground  he  takes  his  high  church  station. 
To  sound  mysterious  tenets  through  the  nation  6 ; 

figure  of  all  denominations.”  The  malevolent  dulness 

of  bigotry  alone  could  have  inspired  Blackmore  with 
these  sentiments.  The  fact  is,  that  the  “ Tale  of  a Tub  ” 
is  a continued  panegyrick  on  the  Church  of  England,  and 

a bitter  satire  on  Popery,  Calvanism,  and  every  sect  of 
dissenters.  At  the  same  time  I am  persuaded,  that  every 
reader  of  taste  and  discernment  will  perceive,  in  many 
parts  of  Swift’s  other  writings,  strong  internal  proofs  of 
that  style  which  characterises  the  “Tale  of  a Tub  ; ” es- 
pecially in  the  “ Public  Spirit  of  the  Whigs.”  It  is  well 
known,  that  he  affected  simplicity,  and  studiously  avoided 
any  display  of  learning,  except  where  the  subject  made 
it  absolutely  necessary.  Temporary,  local,  and  political 
topicks  compose  too  great  a part  of  his  works ; but  in  a 
treatise  that  admitted  “ more  thinking,  more  knowledge,” 
&c.  he  naturally  exerted  all  his  powers.  Let  us  hear  the 
authour  himself  on  this  point.  “The  greatest  part  of 
that  book  was  finished  above  thirteen  years  since  (1696), 
which  is  eight  years  before  it  was  published.  The  au- 
thour was  then  young,  his  invention  at  the  height,  and 
his  reading  fresh  in  his  head.”  And  again  : “ Men  should 
be  more  cautious  in  losing  their  time,  if  they  did  but 
consider,  that  to  answer  a book  effectually  requireth 
more  pains  and  skill,  more  wit,  learning,  and  judgment 
than  were  employed  in  writing  it.  And  the  authour  as- 
sureth  those  gentlemen,  who  have  given  themselves  that 
trouble  with  him,  that  his  discourse  is  the  product  of  the 
study,  the  observation  and  the  invention  of  several  years  ; 
that  he  often  blotted  out  more  than  he  left;  and  if  his 
papers  had  not  been  a long  time  out  of  his  possession, 
they  must  still  have  undergone  more  severe  corrections.” 
“ An  Apology  for  the  Tale  of  a Tub.” — With  respect  to 
this  work  being  the  production  of  Swift,  see  his  letter  to 
the  printer,  Mr.  Benjamin  Tooke,  dated  Dublin,  June  29, 
1710,  and  Tooke’s  answer  on  the  publication  of  the 
“ Apology”  and  a new  edition  of  the  “ Tale  of  a Tub.” 
— Hawkesworth's  edition  of  Swift's  Works , 8vo.  vol.  xvi. 
p.  145.  Dr.  Hawkesworth  mentions,  in  his  preface,  that 
the  edition  of  “ A Tale  of  a Tub,”  printed  in  1710,  was  re- 
vised and  corrected  by  the  Dean  a short  time  before  his 
understanding  was  impaired,  and  that  the  corrected  copy 
was,  in  the  year  1760,  in  the  hands  of  his  kinsman,  Mr 
Dean  Swift. — Courtenay. 

4 Johnson.  “I  would  tell  truth  of  the  two  Georges, 
or  of  that  scoundrel,  King  William.”  Boswell's  Tour 
to  the  Hebrides,  ante,  v.  i.  p.  410. — Courtenay. 

5 See  his  letter  to  Lord  Thurlow,  in  which  he  seems 
to  approve  of  the  application  (though  he  was  not  previ- 
ously consulted),  thanks  his  lordship  for  having  made  it, 
and  even  seems  to  express  some  degree  of  surprise  and 
resentment  on  the  proposed  addition  to  his  pension 
being  refused. — Courtenay.  Tit  seems  very  strange, 
that  after  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  had  received  Lord  Thur 
low’s  letter  of  the  18th  Nov.  1784,  he  should  still  have 
permitted  Dr.  Johnson  and  all  his  friends  to  remain  in 
the  belief,  that  the  king  had  been  applied  to  and  had  re 
fused.  See  ante , p.  413. — Ed.] 

6 “ If  (added  Dr.  Johnson)  God  had  never  spoken  fig- 
uratively, we  might  hold  that  he  speaks  literally,  when 
he  says,  1 * * 4 5 6 This  is  my  body.’  ” Boswell's  Tour.  p.  67. 
Here  his  only  objection  to  transubstantiation  seems  to 
rest  on  the  style  of  the  scripture  being  figurative  else- 
where as  well  as  in  this  passage.  Hence  we  may  infer, 
that  he  would  otherwise  have  believed  in  it.  But  arch- 
bishop Tillotson  and  Mr.  Locke  reason  more  philosophi- 
cally, by  asserting,  that  “no  doctrine,  however  clearly 
expressed  in  scripture,  i§  to  be  admitted,  if  it  contradict 
the  evidence  of  our  senses : — For  our  evidence  for  the 
truth  of  revealed  religion  is  less  than  the  evidence  for 
the  truth  of  our  senses,  because,  even  in  the  first  author* 
of  our  religion,  it  was  no  greater;  and  it  is  evident  if 
must  diminish  in  passing  from  them  to  us,  through  the 


COURTENAY’S  REVIEW. 


521 


On  Scotland’s  kirk  he  vents  a bigot’s  gall  1, 
Though  her  young  chieftains  prophesy  like  Saul  2! 
On  Tetty’s  state  his  frighted  fancy  runs  3, 

And  Heaven’s  appeased  by  cross  unbutter’d  buns4: 
He  sleeps  and  fasts  5,  pens  on  himself  a libel  6, 
And  still  believes,  but  never  reads  the  Bible  7. 
Fame  says,  at  school,  of  scripture  science  vain, 
Bel  and  the  Dragon  smote  him  on  the  brain  8 ; 
Scared  with  the  blow,  he  shunn’d  the  Jewish  law, 
And  eyed  the  ark  with  reverential  awe  9: 

Let  priestly  Strahan,  in  a godly  fit, 

The  tale  relate,  in  aid  of  Holy  Writ ; 

Though  candid  Adams,  by  whom  David  fell  10, 
Who  ancient  miracles  sustain’d  so  well, 

To  recent  wonders  may  deny  his  aid  11, 

Nor  own  a pious  brother  of  the  trade. 

medium  of  human  testimony.”  Courtenay.  [Mr. 
Courtenay’s  sneer  at  Dr.  Johnson’s  opinion  on  transub- 
stantiation  is  surely  unmerited.  No  doubt,  if  there  were 
no  other  figurative  expressions  in  the  scriptures,  this 
single  text  must  have  been  understood  literally  by  Dr. 
Johnson,  or  any  other  man  of  common  sense  ; and  as  to 
what  Mr.  Courtenay  adds  about  the  evidence  of  our 
senses,  and  attributes  to  Mr.  Locke  and  Archbishop  Til- 
lotson,  these  writers,  and  particularly  Tillotson,  appear 
to  limit  their  assertion  to  doctrines,  the  subjects  of 
which  are  properly  within  the  evidence  of  our  senses. 
Could  Mr.  Courtenay  doubt  that  Tillotson  believed  in 
the  Trinity  ? — Yet  how  stands  that  doctrine  with  the 
mere  evidence  of  our  senses  ? — Ed.] 

1 See  his  conversation  with  Lord  Auchinleck.  Bos- 
well's Tour , ante.  vol.  i.  p.  458.— Courtenay. 

t See  the  First  Book  of  Samuel,  ch.  x.— Courtenay. 

3 “ And  I commend  to  thy  fatherly  goodness  the  soul 
of  my  departed  wife,  beseeching  thee  to  grant  her  whatever 
is  best  in  her  present  state.”  Johnson's  Meditations. — 
Courtenay. 

4 “ I returned  home,  but  could  not  settle  my  mind. 
At  last  I read  a chapter.  Then  went  down  about  six  or 
seven,  and  ate  two  cross-buns.”  Meditations , p.  154. — 
Courtenay. 

5 “ I fasted,  though  less  rigorously  than  at  other  times. 
I by  negligence  poured  some  milk  into  my  tea.”  Ibid. 
p.  146.  “ Yesterday  I fasted,  as  I have  always,  or  com- 
monly done,  since  the  death  of  Tetty:  the  fast  was 
more  painful  than  usual.” — Courtenay. 

“To  keep  a journal.  To  begin  this  day  (September 
I8th,  1766). 

“ To  spend  four  hours  in  study  every  day,  and  as  much 
more  as  I can. 

“ To  read  a portion  of  scripture  in  Greek  every  Sunday. 

“ To  rise  at  eight.— Oct.  3d.  Of  all  this  I have  done 
nothing.”  Ibid.— Courtenay. 

7 “ I resolved  last  Easter  to  read,  within  the  year,  the 
whole  Bible ; a great  part  of  which  I had  never  looked 
upon.”  Meditations. — Courtenay. 

8 “ I have  never  yet  read  the  Apocrypha.  When  1 

was  a boy  I have  read  or  heard  Bel  and  the  Dragon.” 
Meditations. — Courtenay.  [It  is  not  worth  while  to 
show  that,  in  several  of  the  foregoing  allusions,  that  verse 
above  is  often  a misrepresentation  of  the  prose  below , 
and  that  Mr.  Courtenay  plays  the  mere  verbal  critic  on 
these  expressions,  while  the  spirit  escapes  him.  If, 
indeed  (as  from  Dr.  Strahan’s  preface  might  be  believed), 
Dr.  Johnson  had  directed  the  publication  of  these  “ Med- 
itations ” as  an  example  of  his  own  piety,  or  an  incen- 
tive to  that  of  others,  Mr.  Courtenay  might  have  been 
forgiven  if  he  had  made  his  satire  still  more  poignant. 
It  is  hoped,  however,  that,  after  the  explanations  given 
(ante,  preface,  vol.  i.  p.  97,  and  ii.  p.  427),  that  Dr. 
Johnson  will  hereafter  receive  the  full  credit  for  the  piety 
which  prompted  these  “Meditations,”  without  .any  of 
the  ridicule  or  obloquy  of  having  prepared  them  for  pub- 
lication.— Ed.]  . . 

9 See  the  First  Book  of  Samuel,  ch.  v.  and  vi.,  in 
which  an  account  is  given  of  the  punishment  of  the 
Philistines  for  looking  into  the  ark. — Courtenay. 

1 0 The  Rev.  Dr.  Adams,  of  Oxford,  distinguished  for 
his  answer  to  David  Hume’s  “ Essay  on  Miracles.” — 
Courtenay. 

t l From  the  following  letter  there  is  reason  to  appre- 
hend that  Dr.  Adams  would  not  support  Mr.  Sttshan,  if 
he  should  add  this  to  the  othei  singular  anecdotes  that 
he  ha3  published  relative  to  Dr.  Johnson. 

vol  11.  66 


A coward  wish,  long  stigmatized  by  fame, 
Devotes  Maecenas  to  eternal  shame  12  j 
Religious  Johnson,  future  life  to  gain, 

Would  ev’n  submit  to  everlasting  pain  : 

How  clear,  how  strong,  such  kindred  colours  pamt 
The  Roman  epicure  and  Christian  saint! 

O,  had  he  lived  in  more  enlighten’d  times, 

When  signs  from  heaven  proclaim’d  vile  mortals’ 
crimes, 

How  had  he  groan’d,  with  sacred  horrors  pale, 
When  Noah’s  comet  shook  her  angry  tail  13 ; 
That  wicked  comet,  which  Will  Whiston  swore 
Would  burn  the  earth  that  she  had  drown’d  be- 
fore 14 ! 

Or  when  Moll  Tofts,  by  throes  parturient  vex’d, 
Saw  her  young  rabbits  peep  from  Esdras’  text  is! 

“ Oxford , 22d  Oct.  1785. 

“ Mr.  Urban. — In  your  last  month's  review  of  books , 
you  have  asserted , that  the  publication  of  Dr.  Johnson's 
‘ Prayers  and  Meditations  ’ appears  to  have  been  at  the 
instance  of  Dr.  Adams , Master  of  Pembroke  College , 
Oxford.  This , I think , is  more  than  you  are  warranted 
by  the  editor's  preface  to  say ; and  is  so  far  from  being 
true , that  Dr.  Adams  never  saw  a line  of  these  compo- 
sitions before  they  appeared  in  print , nor  ever  heard 
from  Dr.  Johnson , or  the  editor , that  any  such  existed. 
Had  he  been  consulted  about  the  publication , he  would 
certainly  have  given  his  voice  against  it : and  he  there- 
fore hopes  that  you  will  clear  him , in  as  public  a man- 
ner as  you  can,  from  being  any  way  accessary  to  it. 

“ Wm.  Adams.” — Courtenay. 

1 2 “Debilem  facito  manu, 

Debilem  pede,  coxa, 

Tuber  adstrue  gibberum ; 

Lubricos  quale  dentes, 

Vita  dum  superest,  bene  est: 

Hanc  milii,  vel  acuta 

Si  sedearn  cruce,  sustine.” — Senec.  Epist. 

Let  me  but  live,  the  famed  Maecenas  cries, 

Lame  of  both  hands,  and  lame  in  feet  and  thighs ; 

Hump-back’d  and  toothless ; — all  convulsed  with  pain, 

Ev’n  on  the  cross, — so  precious  life  remain. 

Dr.  Johnson,  in  his  last  illness,  is  said  to  have  declared 
(in  the  presence  of  Doctors  H.  and  B.)  that  he  would  pre- 
fer a state  of  existence  in  eternal  pain  to  annihilation. — 
Courtenay.  [The  Editor  finds  no  evidence  of  this,  and 
the  subsequent  testimony  of  Drs.  Ileberden  and  Brockles- 
by  inclines  him  to  disbelieve  it.  It  is  not  very  clear  here, 
whether  Mr.  Courtenay  meant  to  censure  Johnson  for  a 
“ kindred  ” wish  to  that  of  Maecenas,  or  to  praise  him  as 
a “ Christian  saint,”  for  aspiring  after  even  a painful  im- 
mortality ; but  ’tis  really  of  no  importance.  All  these  flip- 
pancies of  Mr.  Courtenay  may  be  regretted  on  his  own 
account,  but  they  -cannot  affect  the  character  of  Dr. 
Johnson. — Ed.] 

13“  This  last  comet,  which  appeared  in  the  year  1680, 
I may  well  call  the  most  remarkable  one  that  ever  ap- 
peared ; since,  besides  the  former  consideration,  I shall 
presently  show,  that  it  is  no  other  than  that  very  comet, 
which  came  by  the  earth  at  the  time  of  Noah's  deluge, 
and  which  was  the  cause  of  the  same.”  Whiston' s The- 
ory of  the  Earth , p.  188. — Courtenay. 

1 4 “ Since  575  years  appear  to  be  the  period  of  the  com- 
et that  caused  the  deluge,  what  a learned  friend,  who 
was  the  occasion  of  my  examination  of  this  matter,  sug- 
gests, will  deserve  to  be  considered ; viz.  Whether  the 
story  of  the  pheenix,  that  celebrated  emblem  of  the 
resurrection  in  Christian  antiquity,  (that  it  returns  once 
after  five  centuries,  and  goes  to  the  altar  and  city  of  the 
sun,  and  is  there  burnt ; and  another  arises  out  of  its 
ashes,  and  carries  away  the  remains  of  the  former,  &c.) 
be  not  an  allegorical  representation  of  this  comet,  which 
returns  once  after  five  centuries,  and  goes  down  to  the 
sun,  and  is  there  vehemently  heated,  and  its  outward 
regions  dissolved ; yet  that  it  flies  off  again,  and  carries 
away  what  remains  after  that  terrible  burning,  &c. ; and 
whether  the  conflagration  and  renovation  of  things, 
which  some  such  comet  may  bring  on  the  earth,  be  not 
hereby  prefigured,  I will  not  here  be  positive : but  I own, 
that  I do  not  know  of  any  solution  of  this  famous  piece 
of  mythology  and  hieroglyphics,  as  this  seems  to  be,  that 
can  be  compared  with  if.”  Ibid.  p.  196. — Courtenay. 

1 5 “ ’Tis  here  foretold  (by  Esdras)  that  there  should  be 
signs  in  the  woman ; and  before  all  ethers  this  predie' 


m 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


To  him  such  signs,  prepared  by  mystick  grace, 
Had  shown  the  impending  doom  of  Adam’s  race. 

But  who  to  blaze  his  frailties  feels  delight, 
When  the  great  Author  rises  to  our  sight  ? 

When  the  pure  tenour  of  his  life  we  view, 
Himself  the  bright  exemplar  that  he  drew  ? 
Whose  works  console  the  good,  instruct  the  wise, 
And  teach  the  soul  to  claim  her  kindred  skies. 

By  grateful  bards  his  name  be  ever  sung, 
Whose  sterling  touch  has  fix’d  the  English  tongue! 
Fortune’s  dire  weight,  the  patron’s  cold  disdain, 

“ Shook  off,  like  dew-drops  from  the  lion’s 
mane  i ; ” 

Unknown,  unaided,  in  a friendless  state  2, 
Without  one  smile  of  favour  from  the  great ; 

The  bulky  tome  his  curious  care  refines, 

Till  the  great  work  in  full  perfection  shines  : 

His  wide  research  and  patient  skill  displays 
What  scarce  was  sketch’d  in  Anna’s  golden  days3; 
What  only  learning’s  aggregated  toil 
Slowly  accomplish’d  in  each  foreign  soil  4. 

Yet  to  the  mine  though  the  rich  coin  he  trace, 

No  current  marks  his  early  essays  grace; 

For  in  each  page  we  find  a massy  store 
Of  English  bullion  mix’d  with  Latian  ore : 

In  solemn  pomp,  with  pedantry  combined, 

He  vents  the  morbid  sadness  of  his  mind  5 ; 

Mon  has  been  verified  in  the  famous  rabbit  woman  of 
Surrey,  in  the  days  of  King  George  I.  This  story  has 
been  so  unjustly  laughed  out  of  countenance,  that  I must 
distinctly  give  my  reasons  for  believing  it  to  betrue,  and 
alleging  it  here  as  the  fulfilling  of  this  ancient  prophecy 
before  us.  1st.  The  man-midwife,  Mr.  Howard,  of  Go- 
dalmi’n,  Surrey,  a person  of  very  great  honesty,  skill  and 
reputation  in  his  profession,  attested  it.  It  was  believed 
by  King  George  to  be  real ; and  it  was  also  believed  by 
my  old  friends,  the  speaker  and  Mr.  Samuel  Collet,  as 
they  told  me  themselves,  and  was  generally  by  sober  per- 
sons in  the  neighbourhood.  Nay,  Mr.  Molyneux,  the 
prince’s  secretary,  a very  inquisitive  person,  and  my  very 
worthy  friend,  assured  me  he  had  at  first  so  great  a diffi- 
dence in  the  truth  of  the  fact,  and  was  so  little  biassed  by 
the  other  believers,  even  by  the  king  himself,  that  he  would 
not  be  satisfied  till  he  was  permitted  both  to  see  and 
feel  the  rabbit,  in  that  very  passage,  whence  we  all  come 
into  this  world." — Whiston's  Memoirs , vol.  ii.  p.  110. — 
Courtenay. 

1 “ The  incumbrances  of  fortune  were  shaken  from  his 
mind,  like  dew-drops  from  the  lion’s  mane.”  Johnson's 
Preface  to  his  edition  of  Shakspeare. — Courtenay. 

2 Every  reader  of  sensibility  must  be  strongly  affected 
by  the  following  pathetic  passages  : — “ Much  of  my  life 
has  been  lost  under  the  pressures  of  disease ; much  has 
been  trifled  away,  and  much  has  always  been  spent  in 
provision  for  the  day  that  was  passing  over  me ; but  I 
shall  not  think  my  employment  useless  or  ignoble,  if  by 
my  assistance  foreign  nations  and  distant  ages  gain  ac- 
cess to  the  propagators  of  knowledge,  and  understand 
the  teachers  of  truth ; if  my  labours  afford  light  to  the 
repositories  of  science,  and  add  celebrity  to  Bacon,  to 
Hooker,  to  Milton,  and  to  Boyle.” — “In  this  work, 
when  it  shall  be  found  that  much  is  omitted,  let  it  not  be 
forgotten  that  much  likewise  is  performed  ; and  though 
no  book  was  ever  spared  out  of  tenderness  to  the  au- 
thour,  and  the  world  is  little  solicitous  to  know  whence 
proceeded  the  faults  of  that  which  it  condemns,  yet  it 
may  gratify  curiosity  to  inform  it,  that  the  English  Dic- 
tionary was  written  with  little  assistance  of  the  learned, 
and  without  any  patronage  of  the  great ; not  in  the  soft 
obscurities  of  retirement,  or  under  the  shelter  of  academ- 
ic bowers,  but  amidst  inconvenience  and  distraction,  in 
sickness  and  in  sorrow.”  Preface  to  Dr.  Johnson's 
Dictionary. — Courtenay. 

3 See  Swift’s  letter  to  Lord  Oxford  for  the  institution 
of  an  academy  to  improve  and  fix  the  English  language 
— Courtenay. 

4 The  great  French  and  Italian  Dictionaries  were  not 
he  productions  of  an  individual,  but  were  compiled  by  a 
body  of  academicians  in  each  country. — Courtenay. 

fi  “ In  times  and  regions  so  disjoined  from  each  other, 


1 n scientifick  phrase  affects  to  smile, 

Form’d  on  Brown’s  turgid  Latin-English  style* , 
Where  oft  the  abstract  in  stiff  state  presides  7, 
And  measured  numbers,  measured  periods  guides. 
But  all  propriety  his  Ramblers  mock, 

When  Betty  prates  from  Newton  and  from  Locke, 
When  no  diversity  we  trace  between 
The  lofty  moralist  and  gay  fifteen  8. — 

Yet  genius  still  breaks  through  the  encumbering 
phrase  ; 

His  taste  we  censure,  but  the  work  we  praise : 
There  learning  beams  with  fancy’s  brilliant  dyes 
Vivid  as  lights  that  gild  the  northern  skies  ; 
Man’s  complex  heart  he  bears  to  open  day, 

Clear  as  the  prism  unfolds  the  blended  ray  : 

The  picture  from  his  mind  assumes  its  hue, 

The  shade ’s  too  dark,  but  the  design  still  true. 

Though  Johnson’s  merits  thus  I freely  scan, 
And  paint  the  foibles  of  this  wondrous  man  ; 

Yet  can  I coolly  read,  and  not  admire, 

When  learning,  wit,  and  poetry  conspire 
To  shed  a radiance  o’er  his  moral  page, 

And  spread  truth’s  sacred  light  to  many  an  age  : 
For  all  his  works  with  innate  lustre  shine, 
Strength  all  his  own,  and  energy  divine : 

While  through  life’s  maze  he  darts  his  piercing 
view, 

His  mind  expansive  to  the  object  grew. 

In  judgment  keen  he  acts  the  critic’s  part, 

By  reason  proves  the  feelings  of  the  heart ; 

In  thought  profound,  in  nature’s  study  wise, 
Shows  from  what  source  our  fine  sensations  rise ; 
With  truth,  precision,  fancy’s  claims  defines, 

Aud  throws  new  splendour  o’er  the  poet’s  lines  9. 

When  specious  sophists  with  presumption  scan 
The  source  of  evil,  hidden  still  from  man  10 ; 

that  there  can  scarcely  be  imagined  any  communication 
of  sentiments,  either  by  commerce  or  tradition,  has  pre 
vailed  a general  and  uniform  expectation  of  propitiating 
God  by  corporeal  austerities,  of  anticipating  his  vengeance 
by  voluntary  inflictions,  and  appeasing  his  justice  by  a 
speedy  and  cheerful  submission  to  a less  penalty  when  a 
greater  is  incurred.”  Rambler,  No.  110. — Courtenay. 

6 The  style  of  the  “ Ramblers  ” seems  to  have  been 
formed  on  that  of  Sir  Thomas  Brown’s  “Vulgar  Errors 
and  Christian  Morals.”  “But  ice  is  water  congealed  by 
the  frigidity  of  the  air,  whereby  it  acquireth  no  new 
form,  but  rather  a consistence  or  determination  of  its 
deffluency,  and  amitteth  not  its  essence,  but  condition 
of  fluidity.  Neither  doth  there  any  thing  properly  con- 
glaciate  but  water,  or  watery  humidity,  for  the  determi- 
nation of  quicksilver  is  properly  fixation,  that  of  milk 
coagulation,  and  that  of  oil  and  unctuous  bodies  only 
incrassation.” — Ts  this  written  by  Brown  or  Johnson  ? — 
Courtenay.  [This  criticism  is  not  just,  or  at  least  not 
well  placed.  Brown  is  treating  of  scientific  effects,  and 
uses  learned  language ; any  other  writer  would  probably 
have  done  the  same : the  real  objection  is  that  which  Mr. 
Courtenay  states  afterwards — namely,  that  Johnson  uses 
these  learned  words  on  inappropriate  occasions. — Ed.] 

7 In  the  “Ramblers”  the  abstract  too  often  occurs  in- 
stead of  the  concrete ; — one  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  peculiarities. 
—Courtenay. 

8 See  “Victoria’s  Letter,”  Rambler , No.  130.  “I  was 
never  permitted  to  sleep  till  I had  passed  through  the  cos- 
metick  discipline,  part  of  which  was  a regular  lustration 
performed  with  bean-flower  water  and  inay-dews:  my 
hair  was  perfumed  with  a variety  of  unguents,  by  some  ot 
which  it  was  to  be  thickened,  and  by  others  to  be  curled. 
The  softness  of  my  hands  was  secured  by  medicated 
gloves,  and  my  bosom  rubbed  with  a pomade  prepared 
by  my  mother,  of  virtue  to  discuss  dimples  and.  clear  dis- 
colorations.”— Courtenay. 

9 See  his  admirable  “ Lives  of  the  Poets,”  and  partic 
ularly  his  disquisition  on  metaphysical  and  religious  po- 
etry.— Courtenay. 

10  See  his  review  of  Soame  Jennings’s  [Jenyns]”  Ksaay 
on  the  Origin  of  Evil;”  a masterpiece  of  composition 


COURTENAY’S  REVIEW.  523 


Revive  Arabian  talcs  1,  and  vainly  hope  * 
To  rival  St.  John  and  his  scholar,  Pope  2 • 
Though  metaphysicks  spread  the  gloom  of  night, 
By  reason’s  star  he  guides  our  aching  sight  ; 

The  bounds  of  knowledge  marks,  and  points  the 
way 

To  pathless  wastes,  where  wilder’d  sages  stray  ; 
Where,  like  a farthing  link-boy,  Jenyns  stands ; 
And  the  dim  torch  drops  from  his  feeble  hands. 

Impressive  truth,  in  splendid  fiction  drest  3, 
Checks  the  vain  wish,  and  calms  the  troubled 
breast ; 

O’er  the  dark  mind  a light  celestial  throws, 
x\nd  soothes  the  angry  passions  to  repose  : 

As  oil  effused  illumes  and  smooths  the  deep  4, 
When  round  the  bark  the  swelling  surges  sweep. — 
With  various  stores  of  erudition  fraught, 

The  lively  image,  the  deep  searching  thought, 
Slept  in  repose  ; — but  when  the  moment  press’d, 
The  bright  ideas  stood  at  once  confess’d  5 j 
Instant  his  genius  sped  its  vigorous  rays, 

And  o’er  the  lettered  world  diffused  a blaze  : 

As  womb’d  with  fire  the  cloud  electriek  flies, 

And  calmly  o’er  the  horizon  seems  to  rise ; 
Touch’d  by  the  pointed  steel,  the  lightning  flows, 
And  all  the  expanse  with  rich  effulgence  glows. 

Soft-eyed  compassion  with  a look  benign, 

His  fervent  vows  he  offer’d  at  thy  shrine  ; 

To  guilt,  to  woe,  the  sacred  debt  was  paid  6, 

And  helpless  females  bless’d  his  pious  aid  ; 


both  for  vigour  of  style  and  precision  of  ideas. — Courte- 
nay. 

1 Pope’s,  or  rather  Bolingbroke’s,  system  was  bor- 
rowed from  the  Arabian  metaphysicians. — Courtenay. 

2 The  scheme  of  the  “Essay  on  Man”  was  given  by 
Lord  Bolingbroke  to  Pope. — Courtenay.  [Dr.  Johnson 
doubted  this,  and  there  seems  good  reason  to  believe 
that  Bolingbroke’s  contribution  towards  the  Essay  on 
Man  has  been  greatly  overstated. — Ed.] 

3 See  that  sublime  and  beautiful  tale,  “ The  Prince  of 
Abyssinia,”  and  “The  Rambler,”  No.  65,  204,  &c.  &c. — 
Courtenay. 

4 “ The  world  is  disposed  to  call  this  a discovery  of 
Dr.  Franklin’s  from  his  paper  inserted  in  the  “ Philosophi- 
cal Transactions,”)  but  in  this  they  are  much  mistaken. 
Pliny,  Plutarch,  and  other  naturalists  were  acquainted 
with  it. — “Ea  natura  est  olei,  ut  lucem  afferat,  ac  tran- 
quillat  omnia,  etiam  mare,  quo  non  aliud  elementum 
implacabilius.”  Memoirs  of  the  Society  of  Manchester. 
—Courtenay. 

5 Dr.  Johnson’s  extraordinary  facility  of  composition 
is  well  known  from  many  circumstances.  He  wrote 
forty  pages  of  the  “ Life  of  Savage  ” in  one  night.  He 
composed  seventy  lines  of  his  “ Imitation  of  the  Tenth 
Satire  of  Juvenal,”  and  wrote  them  down  from  memory, 
without  altering  a word.  In  the  prologue  on  opening 
Drury-lane  theatre,  he  changed  but  one  word,  and  that 
in  compliment  to  Mr.  Garrick.  Some  of  his  “ Ramblers” 
were  written  while  the  printer’s  messenger  was  waiting 
to  carry  the  copy  to  the  press.  Many  of  the  “Idlers” 
were  written  at  Oxford : Dr.  Johnson  often  began  his 
task  only  just  in  time  not  to  miss  the  post,  and  sent 
away  the  paper  without  reading  it  over. — Courtenay. 

6 The  dignified  and  affecting  letter  written  by  him  to 
the  king  in  the  name  of  Dr.  Dodd,  after  his  condemna- 
tion, is  justly  and,  I believe,  universally  admired.  Ilia 
benevolence,  indeed,  was  uniform  and  unbounded.  I 
have  been  assured,  that  he  has  often  been  so  much 
affected  by  the  sight  of  several  unfortunate  women, 
whom  he  has  seen  almost  perishing  in  the  streets,  that 
he  has  taken  them  to  his  own  house ; had  them  attended 
with  care  and  tenderness;  and,  on  their  recovery, 
clothed,  and  placed  them  in  a way  of  life  to  earn  their 
bread  by  honest  industry. — Courtenay.  [See  ante,  p. 
k395.  Such  a circumstance  may  have  happened  once,  but 
it  is  absurd  to  represent  it  as  habitual  as  Mr.  Courtenay 
has  done.  Dr.  Johnson’s  house  never  was  without  the 
superintendence  of  a respectable  lady,  who,  of  course, 
would  not  have  tolerated  any  frequent  practice  of  such 
irregular  charity. — Ed.] 


Snatch’d  from  disease,  and  want’s  abandon’d  crew, 
Despair  and  anguish  from  their  victims  flew  : 
Hope’s  soothing  balm  into  their  bosoms  stole, 
And  tears  of  penitence  restored  the  soul. 

But  hark,  he  sings  ! the  strain  even  Pope  ad- 
mires ; 

Indignant  Virtue  her  own  bard  inspires  ; 

Sublime  as  Juvenal,  he  pours  his  lays  7, 

And  with  the  Roman  shares  congenial  praise  : — 
In  glowing  numbers  now  he  fires  the  age, 

And  Shakspeare’s  sun  relumes  the  clouded  stage  3. 

So  full  his  mind  with  images  was  fraught, 

The  rapid  strains  scarce  claim’d  a second  thought, 
And  with  like  ease  his  vivid  lines  assume 
The  garb  and  dignity  of  ancient  Rome. — 

Let  college  versemen  flat  conceits  express, 

Trick’d  out  in  splendid  shreds  of  Virgil’s  dress  ; 
From  playful  Ovid  cull  the  tinsel  phrase, 

And  vapid  notions  hitch  in  pilfer’d  lays  ; 

Then  with  mosaick  art  the  piece  combine, 

And  boast  the  glitter  of  each  dulcet  line  ; 

Johnson  adventured  boldly  to  transfuse 
His  vigorous  sense  into  the  Latian  muse  ; 

Aspired  to  shine  by  unreflected  light, 

And  with  a Roman’s  ardour  think  and  write. 

He  felt  the  tuneful  Nine  his  breast  inspire, 

And,  like  a master,  waked  the  soothing  9 lyre : 
Horatian  strains  a grateful  heart  proclaim, 

While  Sky’s  wild  rocks  resound  his  Thralia’s 
name. — 

Hesperia’s  plant,  in  some  less  skilful  hands, 

To  bloom  awhile,  factitious  heat  demands  ; 
Though  glowing  Maro  a faint  warmth  supplies, 
The  sickly  blossom  in  the  hot-house  dies  : 

By  Johnson’s  genial  culture,  art,  and  toil, 

Its  root  strikes  deep,  and  owns  a fostering  soil  ; 
Imbibes  our  sun  through  all  its  swelling  veins, 
And  grows  a native  of  Britannia’s  plains. 

How  few  distinguish’d  of  the  studious  train 
At  the  gay  board  their  empire  can  maintain  ! 

In  their  own  books  intomb’d  their  wisdom  lies  j 
Too  dull  for  talk,  their  slow  conceptions  rise  : 
Yet  the  mute  author,  of  his  writings  proud, 

For  wit  unshown  claims  homage  from  the  crowd, 
As  thread-bare  misers,  by  mean  avarice  school’d, 
Expect  obeisance  for  their  hidden  gold. — 

In  converse  quick,  impetuous  Johnson  press’d 
His  weighty  logick,  or  sarcastick  jest : 

Strong  in  the  chase,  or  nimble  in  the  turns  10, 

For  victory  still  his  fervid  spirit  burns  ; 


7 “London,”  a Satire,  and  “The  Vanity  of  Human 
Wishes,”  are  both  imitated  from  Juvenal.  On  the  pub- 
lication of  “ London  ” in  1738,  Mr.  Pope  was  so  much 
struck  by  it,  that  he  desired  Mr.  Dodsley,  his  bookseller, 
to  find  out  the  authour.  Dodsley  having  sought  him  in 
vain  for  some  time,  Mr.  Pope  said  he  would  very  soon  be 
deterre.  Afterwards  Mr.  Richardson,  the  painter,  found 
out  Mr.  Johnson,  and  Mr.  Pope  recommended  him  to 
Lord  Gower. — Courtenay. 

8 See  the  prologue  spoken  by  Mr.  Garrick  in  1747,  on 
the  opening  of  Drury-lane  theatre.— Courtenay. 

9 “ Inter  ignotce  strepitus  loqudee."  Ode  to  Mrs. 
Thrale. — Courtenay.  [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  375.— Ed.] 

1 o “ A good  continued  speech  says  Bacon  in  his *  1 2 3 4 5 6 Es- 
says’) without  a good  speech  of  interlocution,  shows 
slowness ; and  a good  reply,  or  second  speech,  without 
a good  settled  speech,  showeth  shallowness  and  weak- 
ness. As  we  see  in  beasts,  that  those  that  are  weakest 
in  the  course,  are  yet  nimblest  in  their  turn ; as  it  is  be- 
twixt the  greyhound  and  the  hare.”  If  this  observation 
be  just,  Dr.  Johnson  is  an  exception  to  the  rule  ; for  he 
was  certainly  as  strong  “ in  the  course,  as  nimble  in  tha 
turn  ; ” as  ready  in  “ reply,”  as  in  “ a settled  speech 
Courtenay.  [See  ante,  vol.  i.  p.  275.  n.  Loii  Si 


524 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


Subtle  when  wrong,  invincible  when  right, 

Arm’d  at  all  points,  and  glorying  in  his  might, 
Glad*ntor-  ke,  he  traverses  the  field, 

And  strength  and  skill  compel  the  foe  to  yield. — 
Yet  have  1 seen  him,  with  a milder  air, 

Encircled  by  the  witty  and  the  fair, 

Even  in  old  age  and  placid  mien  rejoice 
At  beauty’s  smile,  and  beauty’s  flattering  voice. — 
With  Reynolds’  pencil,  vivid,  bold,  and  true, 

So  fervent  Boswell  gives  him  to  our  view 
In  every  trait  we  see  his  mind  expand  ; 

The  master  rises  by  the  pupil’s  hand  ; 

We  love  the  writer,  praise  his  happy  vein, 

Graced  with  the  naivet6  of  the  sage  Montaigne. 
Hence  not  alone  are  brighter  parts  display’d, 

But  even  the  specks  of  character  portray’d  : 

We  see  the  Rambler  with  fastidious  smile 
Maik  the  lone  tree,  and  note  the  heath-clad  isle  ; 
But  when  the  heroick  tale  of  Flora  charms  i. 
Deck’d  in  a kilt,  he  wields  a chieftain’s  arms  : 
The  tuneful  piper  sounds  a martial  strain, 

A nd  Samuel  sings,  “ The  king  shall  have  his  ain 
Two  Georges  in  his  loyal  zeal  are  slurr’d  2, 

A gracious  pension  only  saves  the  third  ! — 

Bv  nature’s  gifts  ordain’d  mankind  to  rule, 

He,  like  a Titian,  form’d  his  brilliant  school ; 
And  taught  congenial  spirits  to  excel, 

While  from  his  lips  impressive  wisdom  fell. 

Our  boasted  Goldsmith  felt  the  sovereign  sway  ; 
To  him  we  owe  his  sweet  yet  nervous  lay. 

To  fame’s  proud  cliff  he  bade  our  Raphael  rise  ; 
Hence  Reynolds’  pen  with  Reynolds’  pencil  vies. 
With  Johnson’s  flame  melodious  Burney  glows  3, 
While  the  grand  strain  in  smoother  cadence  flows. 
And  thou,  Malone,  to  critick  learning  dear, 
Correct  and  elegant,  refined,  though  clear, 

By  studying  him,  first  form’d  that  classick  taste, 
Which  high  in  Shakspeare’s  fane  thy  statue  plac’d. 
Near  Johnson, Steevens  stands, on  scenick  ground, 
Acute,  laborious,  fertile,  and  profound. 

Ingenious  Hawkesworth  to  this  school  we  owe, 
And  scarce  the  pupil  from  the  tutor  know. 

Here  early  parts  4 accomplish’d  Jones  sublimes, 
And  science  blends  with  Asia’s  lofty  rhymes  : 
Harmonious  Jones  ! who  in  his  splendid  strains 
Sinss  Camdeo’s  sports  on  Agra’s  flowery  plains  ; 
In  Hindu  fictions  while  we  fondly  trace 
Love  and  the  Muses,  deck’d  with  Attick  graces. 
Amid  these  names  can  Boswell  be  forgot, 

Scarce  by  North  Britons  now  esteem’d  a Scot  ? 


Helens  has  since  informed  the  Editor,  that  his  father,  Mr. 
Fitzherbert,  had  confirmed  to  him  the  account  of  John- 
son’s failure  at  the  Society  of  Arts. — Ed.] 

1 The  celebrated  Flora  Macdonald.  See  Boswell’s 
Tour. — Courtenay. 

2 See  note  4,  p.  520. — Courtenay. 

3 Dr.  Burney’s  “History  of  Musick”  is  equally  dis- 
tinguished for  elegance  and  perspicuity  of  style,  and  for 
scientifick  knowledge. — Courtenay. 

4 Sir  William  Jones  produced  that  learned  and  inge- 
nious work,  “ Poeseos  Asiatic®  Commentarii,”  at  a very 
eariy  eage.— -Courtenay. 

5 “The  Hindu  God,  to  whom  the  following  poem  is 
addressed,  appears  evidently  the  same  with  the  Grecian 
Eros  and  the  Roman  Cupido.  His  favourite  place  of  re- 
port is  a large  tract  of  country  round  Agra,  and  principal- 
ly the  plains  of  Matra,  where  Krishen  also  and  the  nine 
Gopia,  who  are  clearly  the  Apollo  and  Muses  of  the 
Greeks,  usually  spend  the  night  with  music  and  dance.”  | 
Preface  to  the  Hymn  to  Camdeo , translated  from  the  i 
Hindu  language  into  Persian,  and  re-translated  by  Sir 
William  Jones.  There  can  be  little  doubt,  considering  I 
the  antiquity  and  early  civilization  of  Hindostan,  that 
both  the  philosophy  and  beaatiful  mythology  of  the 
Greeks  were  drawn  from  that  part  of  Asia. — Courtenay.  1 


Who  to  the  sage  devoted  from  his  youth, 

Imbibed  from  hum  the  sacred  love  of  truth  ; 

The  keen  research,  the  exercise  of  mind, 

And  that  best  art,  the  art  to  know  mankind. — 
Nor  was  his  energy  confined  alone 
To  friends  around  his  philosophick  throne  * 

Its  influence  wide  improved  our  letter’d  isle, 

And  lucid  vigour  mark’d  the  general  style : 

As  Nile’s  proud  waves,  swol'n  from  their  oozy  bed, 
First  o’er  the  neighbouring  meads  majestic  spread  ; 
Till  gathering  force,  they  more  and  more  expand, 
And  with  new  virtue  fertilize  the  land. 

Thus  sings  the  Muse, to  Johnson’s  memory  just, 
And  scatters  praise  and  censure  o’er  his  dust ; 
For  through  each  checker’d  scene  a contrast  ran, 
Too  sad  a proof,  how  great,  how  weak  is  man ! 
Though  o’er  his  passions  conscience  held  the  rein, 
He  shook  at  dismal  phantoms  of  the  brain  : 

A boundless  faith  that  noble  mind  debased, 

By  piercing  wit,  energic  reason  graced  : 

A generous  Briton  6,  yet  he  seem’d  to  hope 
For  James’s  grandson,  and  for  James’s  Pope’ 
Though  proudly  splenetick,  yet  idly  vain, 
Accepted  flattery,  and  dealt  disdain. — 

E’en  shades  like  these,  to  brilliancy  allied, 

May  comfort  Jools,  and  curb  the  sage’s  pride. 

Yetiearning’s  sons,  who  o’er  his  foibles  mourn 
To  latest  time  shall  fondly  view  his  urn  ; 

And  wondering  praise,  to  human  frailties  blind, 
Talents  and  virtues  of  the  brightest  kind  ; 

Revere  the  man,  with  various  knowledge  stored, 
Who  science,  arts,  and  life’s  whole  scheme  ex- 
plored ; 

Who  firmly  scorned,  when  in  a lowly  state, 

Tp  flatter  vice,  or  court  the  vain  and  great  8 ; 
Whose  heart  still  felt  a sympathetick  glow, 
Prompt  to  relieve  man’s  variegated  woe  ; 

Who  even  share  his  talents  with  his  friends  9 , 

By  noble  means  who  aimed  at  noble  ends  to ; 
Whose  ardent  hope,  intensely  fixed  on  high, 

Saw  future  bliss  with  intellectual  eye. 

Still  in  his  breast  religion  held  her  sway, 
Disclosing  visions  of  celestial  day  ; 


6 When  Dr.  Johnson  repeated  to  Mr.  Boswell  Gold 
smith's  beautiful  eulogium  on  the  English  nation,  hu 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  See  the  Dissertation  on  the 
Bravery  of  the  English  common  Soldiers,  at  the  end  of 
the  “ Idler.” — Courtenay. 

7 [This  imputation  is  very  unjust.  Dr.  Johnson  never 
“ seemed  to  hope  ” for  the  restoration  of  papal  authority 
or  the  advance  of  the  Roman  Catholic  reiision,  though 
he  very  naturally  and  properly  respected  the  latter,  as 
one  of  the  great  classes  of  Christianity. — Ed.  '1 

8 It  is  observable,  that  Dr.  Johnson  did  not  prefix  a 
dedication  to  anyone  of  his  various  works. — Courtenay. 
[“  His  character  lifted  him  into  so  much  consequence, 
that  it  occasioned  several  respectable  writers  to  dedicate 
their  works  to  him.  This  was  to  receive  more  reverence 
than  he  paid.”  Tyers.  Gent.  .Mag.  Feb.  1785,  p.  86. — 
Ed.1 

9 The  papers  in  the  “Adventurer,”  signed  with  the 
letter  T.  are  commonly  attributed  to  one  of  Dr.  John- 
son’s earliest  and  most  intimate  friends,  Mr.  Bathurst; 
but  there  is  good  reason  to  believe  that  they  were  writ- 
ten by  Dr.  Johnson,  and  given  by  him  to  his  friend.  At 
that  time  Dr.  Johnson  was  himself  engaged  in  writing 
the  “ Rambler,”  and  could  ill  afford  to  make  a present 
of  his  labours.  The  various  other  pieces  that  he  gave 
away  have  bestowed  fame,  and  probably  fortune,  on  sev- 
eral persons.  To  the  real  disgrace  of  some  of  his  cleri- 
cal friends,  forty  sermons,  w'hich  he  himself  tells  us  he 
wrrote,  have  not  yet  been  deterres. — Courtenay*  [See 
on  both  the  points  alluded  to  in  this  note  ante , vol.  i. 
p.  96;  vol.  ii.  p.  472;  vol.  i.  p.  138;  and  vol.  ii.  p.  124.-- 
Ed.] 

i o “ Who  noble  ends  by  noble  means  obtain*  Pope 


HORNE’S  CHARACTER  OF  DR.  JOHNSON. 


525 


And  gave  his  soul,  amidst  this  world  of  strife, 
The  blest  reversion  of  eternal  life  : 

By  this  dispelled,  each  doubt  and  horror  flies, 
And  calm  at  length  in  holy  peace  he  dies. 

The  sculptured  trophy,  and  imperial  bust, 
That  proudly  rise  around  his  hallow’d  dust, 

Shall  mouldering  fall,  by  Time’s  slow  hand  de- 
cay’d, 

But  the  bright  meed  of  virtue  ne’er  shall  fade. 
Exulting  genius  stamps  his  sacred  name, 
Enroll’d  for  ever  in  the  dome  of  fame. 


V1L 

[Character  of  Dr.  Johnson,  by  Dr. 
Horne,  Bishop  of  Norwich,  published  in  the 
Olla  Podrida,  and  referred  to  in  vol.  v.  p. 
453.] 

“ When  a friend  told  Johnson  that  he  was 
much  blamed  for  having  unveiled  the  weakness  of 
Pope,  ‘ Sir,’  said  he,  ‘ if  one  man  undertake  to 
write  the  life  of  another,  he  undertakes  to  exhibit 
his  true  and  real  character ; but  this  can  be  done 
only  by  a faithful  and  accurate  delineation  of  the 
particulars  which  discriminate  that  character.’ 

“ The  biographers  of  this  great  man  seem  con- 
scientiously to  have  followed  the  rule  thus  laid 
down  by  him,  and  have  very  fairly  communicated 
all  they  knew,  whether  to  his  advantage,  or  other- 
wise. Much  concern,  disquietude,  and  offence 
have  been  occasioned  by  this  their  conduct  in  the 
minds  of  many,  who  apprehend  that  the  cause  in 
which  he  stood  forth  will  suffer  by  the  infirmities 
of  the  advocate  being  thus  exposed  to  the  prying 
and  malignant  eye  of  the  world. 

“ But  did  these  persons  then  ever  suppose,  or 
did  they  imagine  that  the  world  ever  supposed, 
Dr.  Johnson  to  have  been  a perfect  character? 
Alas  ! no:  we  all  know  how  that  matter  stands,  if 
we  ever  look  into  our  own  hearts,  and  duly  watch 
the  current  of  our  own  thoughts,  works,  words, 
and  actions.  Johnson  was  honest,  and  kept  a 
faithful  diary  of  these,  which  is  before  the  public. 
Lot  any  man  do  the  same  for  a fortnight,  and 
publish  it ; and  if,  after  that,  he  should  find  him- 
self so  disposed,  let  him  ‘cast  a stone.’  At  that 
hour  when  the  failings  of  all  shall  be  made  mani- 
fest, the  attention  of  each  individual  will  be  con- 
fined to  his  own. 

“ It  is  not  merely  the  name  of  Johnson  that  is 
to  do  service  to  any  cause.  It  is  his  genius,  his 
learning,  his  good  sense,  the  strength  of  his  reason- 
ings, and  the  happiness  of  his  illustrations.  These 
all  are  precisely  what  they  were ; once  good,  and 
always  good.  His  arguments  in  favour  of  self- 
denial  do  not  lose  their  force  because  he  fasted, 
nor  those  in  favour  of  devotion  because  he  said 
his  prayers.  Grant  his  failings  were,  if  possible, 
still  greater  than  these;  will  a man  refuse  to  be 
guided  by  the  sound  opinion  of  a counsel,  or  re- 
sist the  salutary  prescription  of  a physician,  be- 
cause they  who  give  them  are  not  without  their 
faults  ? A man  may  do  so,  but  he  will  never  be 
accounted  a wise  man  for  doing  it. 

“Johnson,  it  is  said,  was  superstitious.  But 
who  shall  exactly  ascertain  to  us  what  supersti- 
tion is  ? The  Romanist  is  charged  with  it  by  the 


church  of  England  man  ; the  churchman  by  the 
presbyterian,  the  presbyterian  by  the  independent, 
all  by  the  deist,  and  the  deist  by  the  atheist.  With 
some  it  is  superstitious  to  pray  ; with  others  to  re- 
ceive the  sacrament;  with  others  to  believe  in  God. 
In  some  minds  it  springs  from  the  most  amiable 
disposition  in  the  world — ‘ a pious  awe,  and  fear 
to  have  offended  ; ’ a wish  rather  to  do  too  much 
than  too  little.  Such  a disposition  one  loves,  and 
wishes  always  to  find  in  a friend  ; and  it  cannot 
be  disagreeable  in  the  sight  of  him  who  made  us. 
It  argues  a sensibility  of  heart,  a tenderness  ol 
conscience,  and  the  fear  of  God.  Let  him  who 
finds  it  not  in  himself  beware,  lest  in  flying  from 
superstition  he  fall  into  irreligion  and  profaneness. 

“ That  persons  of  eminent  talents  and  attain- 
ments in  literature  have  been  often  complained  of 
as  dogmatical,  boisterous,  and  inattentive  to  the 
rules  of  good  breeding,  is  well  known.  But  let 
us  not  expect  every  thing  from  any  man.  There 
was  no  occasion  that  Johnson  should  teach  us  to 
dance,  to  make  bows  or  turn  compliments ; he 
could  teach  us  better  things.  To  reject  wisdom 
because  the  person  of  him  who  communicates  it 
is  uncouth,  and  his  manners  are  inelegant, — what 
is  it  but  to  throw  away  a pineapple,  and  assign 
for  a reason  the  roughness  of  its  coat?  Who 
quarrels  with  a botanist  for  not  being  an  astrono- 
mer ? or  with  a moralist  for  not  being  a mathema- 
tician? As  it  is  said,  in  concerns  of  a much 
higher  nature,  ‘Every  man  hath  his  gift — one  after 
this  manner,  and  another  after  that.’  It  is  our 
business  to  profit  by  all,  and  to  learn  of  each  that 
in  which  each  is  best  qualified  to  instruct  us. 

“That  Johnson  was  generous  and  charitable, 
none  can  deny.  But  he  was  not  always  judicious 
in  the  selection  of  his  objects : distress  was  a 
sufficient  recommendation  ; and  he  did  not  scru- 
tinize into  the  failings  of  the  distressed.  May  it 
be  always  my  lot  to  have  such  a benefactor! 
Some  are  so  nice  in  a scrutiny  of  this  kind  thal 
they  can  never  find  any  proper  objects  of  their 
benevolence,  and  are  necessitated  to  save  their 
money.  It  should  doubtless  be  distributed  in  the 
best  manner  we  are  able  to  distribute  it ; but  whal 
would  become  of  us  all,  if  he  on  whose  bounty 
all  depend  should  be  extreme  to  mark  that  which 
is  done  amiss  ? 

“ It  is  hard  to  judge  any  man,  without  a due 
consideration  of  all  circumstances.  Here  were 
stupendous  abilities  and  suitable  attainments ; but 
then  here  were  hereditary  disorders  of  body  and 
mind  reciprocally  aggravating  each  other — a 
scrofulous  frame,  and  a melancholy  temper : here 
was  a life,  the  greater  part  of  which  passed  in 
making  provision  for  the  day,  under  the  pressure 
of  poverty  and  sickness,  sorrow  and  anguish. 
So  far  to  gain  the  ascendant  over  these  as  to  do 
what  Johnson  did,  required  very  great  strength  ol 
mind  indeed.  Who  can  say  that,  in  a like  situa- 
tion, he  should  long  have  possessed  or  been  able 
to  exert  it  ? 

“ From  the  mixture  of  power  and  weakness  in 
the  composition  of  this  wonderful  man,  the  scholai 
should  learn  humility.  It  was  designed  to  correct 
that  pride  which  great  parts  and  great  learning 
are  apt  to  produce  in  their  possessor.  In  him  it 
had  the  desired  effect.  For  though  consciousness 
of  superiority  might  sometimes  induce  him  t« 


526 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


carry  >t  high  with  man  (and  even  this  was  much 
abated  Tn  the  latter  part  of  life),  his  devotions 
have  shown  to  the  whole  world  how  humbly  he 
walked  at  all  times  with  his  God. 

“ His  example  may  likewise  encourage  those 
of  timid  and  gloomy  dispositions  not  to  despond, 
when  they  reflect  that  the  vigour  of  such  an  in- 
tellect could  not  preserve  its  possessor  from  the 
depredations  of  melancholy.  They  will  cease  to 
be  surprised  and  alarmed  at  the  degree  of  their 
own  sufferings  : they  will  resolve  to  bear  with 
patience  and  resignation  the  malady  to  which 
they  find  a Johnson  subject  as  well  as  themselves : 
and  if  they  want  words  in  which  to  ask  relief  from 
him  who  alone  can  give  it,  the  God  of  mercy  and 
Father  of  all  comfort,  language  affords  no  finer 
■.han  those  in  which  his  prayers  are  conceived. 
Child  of  sorrow,  whoever  thou  art,  use  them  ; and 
oe  thankful  that  the  man  existed  by  whose  means 
thou  hast  them  to  use. 

« His  eminence  and  his  fame  must  of  course 
have  excited  envy  and  malice ; but  let  envy  and 
malice  look  at  his  infirmities  and  his  charities, 
and  they  will  quickly  melt  into  pity  and  love. 

« That  he  should  not  be  conscious  of  the  abili- 
ties with  which  Providence  had  blessed  him  was 
impossible.  He  felt  his  own  powers  ; he  felt 
what  he  was  capable  of  having  performed  ; and 
he  saw  how  little,  comparatively  speaking,  he  had 
performed.  Hence  his  apprehensions  on  the  near 
prospect  of  the  account  to  be  made,  viewed 
through  the  medium  of  constitutional  and  morbid 
melaifcholy,  which  often  excluded  from  his  sight 
the  bright*  beams  of  divine  mercy.  May  those 
beams  ever  shine  upon  us!  But  let  them  not 
cause  us  to  forget  that  talents  have  been  bestowed 
of  which  an  account  must  be  rendered,  and  that 
the  fate  of  the  ‘unprofitable  servant’  may  justly 
beget  apprehensions  in  the  stoutest  mind.  The 
indolent  man  who  is  without  such  apprehensions 
has  never  yet  considered  the  subject  as  he  ought 
For  one  person  who  fears  death  too  much,  there 
are  a thousand  who  do  not  fear  it  enough,  nor 
have  thought  in  earnest  about  it.  Let  us  only 
put  in  practice  the  duty  of  self-examination  ; let 
us  inquire  into  the  success  we  have  experienced 
in  our  war  against  the  passions,  or  even  against 
undue  indulgence  of  the  common  appetites — eat- 
ing, drinking,  and  sleeping;;  we  shall  soon  per- 
ceive how  much  more  easy  it  is  to  form  resolutions 
than  to  execute  them,  and  shall  no  longer  find 
occasion,  perhaps,  to  wonder  at  the  weakness  of 
Johnson. 

“ On  the  whole,  in  the  memoirs  of  him  that 
have  been  published,  there  are  so  many  witty 
sayings  and  so  many  wise  ones,  by  which  the 
world,  if  it  so  please,  may  be  at  once  entertained 
and  improved,  that  I do  not  regret  their  publica- 
tion. In  this,  as  in  all  other  instances,  we  are  to 
adopt  the  good  and  reject  the  evil.  The  little 
stories  of  his  oddities  and  his  infirmities  in  common 
life  will,  after  a while,  be  overlooked  and  for- 
gotten ; but  his  writings  will  live  for  ever,  still 
more  and  more  studied  and  admired,  while  Brit- 
ons shall  continue  to  be  characterized  by  a love 
of  elegance  and  sublimity,  of  good  sense  and 
▼irtue. = The  sincerity  of  his  repentance,  the 
Steadfastness  of  his  faith,  and  the  fervour  of  his 
charity,  forbid  us  to  doubt,  that  his  sun  set  in 


clouds  to  rise  without  them : and  of  this  let  us 
always  be  mindful,  that  every  one  who  is  made 
better  by  his  books  will  add  a wreath  to  his 
crown.” 


VIII. 

[Diary  of  Du.  Johnson’s  last  illness,  by 
J.  Hoole,  Esq. — referred  to  ante,  p. 
436.] 

“Saturday,  Nov.  20,  1784. — This  eve- 
ning, about  eight  o’clock,  I paid  a visit  jjg[,op‘r 
to  my  dear  friend  Dr.  Johnson,  whom  I XXXvjV' 
found  very  ill  and  in  great  dejection  of  p.  153. 
spirits.  We  had  a most  affecting  conver- 
sation on  the  subject  of  religion,  in  which  he  ex- 
horted me,  with  the  greatest  warmth  of  kindness, 
to  attend  closely  to  every  religious  duty,  and  par- 
ticularly enforced  the  obligation  of  private  prayer 
and  receiving  the  sacrament.  He  desired  me  to 
stay  that  night  and  join  in  prayer  with  him  ; add- 
ing, that  he  always  went  to  prayer  every  night 
with  his  man  Francis.  He  conjured  me  to  read 
and  meditate  upon  the  Bible,  and  not  to  throw  it 
aside  for  a play  or  a novel.  He  said  he  had  him- 
self lived  in  great  negligence  of  religion  and 
worship  for  forty  years ; that  he  had  neglected  to 
read  his  Bible,  and  had  often  reflected  what  he 
could  hereafter  say  when  he  should  be  asked  why 
he  had  not  read  it.  He  begged  me  repeatedly  to 
let  his  present  situation  have  due  effect  upon  me, 
and  advised  me,  when  I got  home,  to  note  down 
in  writing  what  had  passed  between  us,  adding, 
that  what  a man  writes  in  that  manner  dwells 
upon  his  mind.  He  said  many  things  that  I can- 
not now  recollect,  but  all  delivered  with  the 
utmost  fervour  of  religious  zeal  and  personal  affec- 
tion. Between  nine  and  ten  o’clock  his  servant 
Francis  came  up  stairs  : he  then  said  we  would 
all  go  to  prayers,  and,  desiring  me  to  kneel  down 
by  his  bed-side,  he  repeated  several  prayers  with 
great  devotion.  I then  took  my  leave.  He  then 
pressed  me  to  think  of  all  he  had  said,  and  to 
commit  it  to  writing.  I assured  him  I would. 
He  seized  my  hand  with  much  warmth,  and 
repeated,  ‘ Promise  me  you  will  do  it : ’ on  which 
we  parted,  and  I engaged  to  see  him  the  next 
day. 

“ Sunday,  Nov.  21. — About  noon  I again  vis- 
ited him  : found  him  rather  better  and  easier,  his 
spirits  more  raised,  and  his  conversation  more 
disposed  to  general  subjects.  When  I came  in, 
he  asked  if  I had  done  what  he  desired  (mean- 
ing the  noting  down  what  passed  the  night  be- 
fore) ; and  upon  my  saying  that  I had,  he  pressed 
my  hand,  and  said  earnestly,  ‘ Thank  you.’  Our 
discourse  then  grew  more  cheerful.  He  told  me. 
with  apparent  pleasure,  that  he  heard  the  Empress 
of  Russia  had  ordered  the  Rambler  to  be  transla- 
ted into  the  Russian  language,  and  that  a copy 
would  be  sent  him.  Before  we  parted,  he  put  into 
my  hands  a little  book,  by  Fleetwood,  on  the 
sacrament,  which  he  told  me  he  had  been  the 
means  of  introducing  to  the  University  of  Oxford 
by  recommending  it  to  a young  student  there. 

“ Monday,  Nov.  22.— Visited  the  Doctor : 
found  him  seemingly  better  of  his  complaints,  but 
extremely  low  and  dejected.  I sat  by  him  til) 


BOOLE’S  DIARY. 


527 


he  fell  asleep,  and  soon  after  left  him,  as  he 
seemed  little  disposed  to  talk  ; and,  on  my  going 
away,  he  said  emphatically,  ‘ I am  very  poorly 
ndeed ! ’ 

“ Tuesday,  Nov.  23. — Called  about  eleven  : 
the  Doctor  not  up  : Mr.  1 Gardiner  in  the  dining- 
ixjom : the  Doctor  soon  came  to  us,  and  seemed 
more  cheerful  than  the  day  before.  He  spoke  of 
his  design  to  invite  a Mrs.  Hall  2 to  be  with  him, 
and  to  offer  her  Mrs.  Williams’s  room.  Called 
again  about  three : found  him  quite  oppressed 
with  company  that  morning,  therefore  left  him  di- 
rectly. 

“ Wednesday,  Nov.  24. — Called  about  seven 
in  the  evening : found  him  very  ill  and  very  low 
indeed.  He  said  a thought  had  struck  him  that 
his  rapid  decline  of  health  and  strength  might  be 
partly  owing  to  the  town  air,  and  spoke  of  getting 
a lodging  at  Islington.  I sat  with  him  till  past 
nine,  and  then  took  my  leave. 

“ Thursday,  Nov.  25. — About  three  in  the  after- 
noon was  t^ld  that  he  had  desired  that  day  to  see 
no  company.  In  the  evening,  about  eight,  called 
with  Mr.  Nicol  3,  and,  to  our  great  surprise,  we 
found  him  then  setting  out  for  Islington,  to  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Strahan’s.  He  could  scarce  speak. 
We  went  with  him  down  the  court  to  the  coach. 
He  was  accompanied  by  his  servant  Frank  and 
Mr.  Lowe  the  painter.  I offered  myself  to  go 
with  him,  but  he  declined  it. 

“ Friday,  Nov.  26. — Called  at  his  house  about 
eleven : heard  he  was  much  better,  and  had  a 
better  night  than  he  had  known  a great  while,  and 
was  expected  home  that  day.  Called  again  in  the 
afternoon — not  so  well  as  he  was,  nor  expected 
home  that  night. 

“ Saturday,  Nov.  27. — Called  again  about  noon : 
heard  he  was  much  worse  : went  immediately  to 
Islington,  where  I found  him  extremely  bad,  and 
scarce  able  to  speak,  with  the  asthma.  Sir  John 
Hawkins,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Strahan,  and  Mrs.  Stra- 
han,were  with  him.  Observing  that  we  said  little, 
he  desired  that  we  would  not  constrain  ourselves, 
though  he  was  not  able  to  talk  with  us.  Soon 
after  he  said  he  had  something  to  say  to  Sir  John 
Hawkins,  on  which  we  immediately  went  down 
into  the  parlour.  Sir  John  soon  followed  us,  and 
said  he  had  been  speaking  about  his  will.  Sir 
John  started  the  idea  of  proposing  to  him  to  make 
it  on  the  spot,  that  Sir  John  should  dictate  it,  and 
that  I should  write  it.  He  went  up  to  propose  it, 
and  soon  came  down  with  the  Doctor’s  accept- 
ance. The  will  was  then  begun  ; but  before  we 
proceeded  far,  it  being  necessary,  on  account  of 
some  alteration,  to  begin  again,  Sir  John  asked 
the  Doctor  whether  he  would  choose  to  make  any 
introductory  declaration  respecting  his  faith.  The 
Doctor  said  he  would.  Sir  John  further  asked  if 
he  would  make  any  declaration  of  his  being  of 
the  church  of  England  : to  which  the  Doctor  said 
‘ JVo  / ’ but,  taking  a pen,  he  wrote  on  a paper 
the  following  words,  which  he  delivered  to  Sir 
John,  desiring  him  to  keep  it : ‘ I commit  to  the 
infinite  mercies  of  Almighty  God  my  soul,  pollu- 
ted with  many  sins ; but  purified,  I trust,  with 


1 [No  doubt  an  error  of  the  press  for  Mrs.  Gardiner. — 
Ed.] 

2 [See  ante , p.  291.— Ed.] 

■*  Mr  George  Nicol,  of  Pall  Mall. — J.  Hoolk. 


repentance  and  the  death  of  Jesus  Christ.’  While 
he  was  at  Mr.  Strahan’s,  Dr.  Brocklesby  came  in, , 
and  Dr.  Johnson  put  the  question  to  him,  whether 
he  thought  he  could  live  six  weeks  ? to  which 
Dr.  Brocklesby  returned  a very  doubtful  answer, 
and  soon  left  us.  After  dinner  the  will  was  fin- 
ished, and  about  six  we  came  to  town  in  Sir 
John  Hawkins’s  carriage ; Sir  John,  Dr.  John- 
son, Mr.  Ryland  (who  came  in  after  dinner), 
and  myself.  The  Doctor  appeared  much  better 
in  the  way  home,  and  talked  pretty  cheerfully. 
Sir  John  took  leave  of  us  at  the  end  of  Bolt-court, 
and  Mr.  Ryland  and  myself  went  to  his  house 
with  the  Doctor,  who  began  to  grow  very  ill 
again.  Mr.  Ryland  soon  left  us,  and  I remained 
with  the  Doctor  till  Mr.  Sastres  came  in.  We 
staid  with  him  about  an  hour,  when  we  left  him 
on  his  saying  he  had  some  business  to  do.  Mr. 
Sastres  and  myself  went  together  homewards, 
discoursing  on  the  dangerous  state  of  our  friend, 
when  it  was  resolved  that  Mr.  Sastres  should 
write  to  Dr.  Heberden  ; but  going  to  his  house 
that  night,  he  fortunately  found  him  at  home, 
and  he  promised  to  be  with  Dr.  Johnson  next 
morning. 

“Sunday,  Nov.  28. — Went  to  Dr.  Johnson’s 
about  two  o’clock  : met  Mrs.  Hoole  coming  from 
thence,  as  he  was  asleep  : took  her  back  with  me : 
found  Sir  John  Hawkins  with  him.  The  Doc- 
tor’s conversation  tolerably  cheerful.  Sir  John 
reminded  him  that  he  had  expressed  a desire  to 
leave  some  small  memorials  to  his  friends,  par- 
ticularly a Polyglot  Bible  to  Mr.  Langton  ; and 
asked  if  they  should  add  the  codicil  then.  The 
Doctor  replied,  ‘ he  had  forty  things  to  add,  but 
could  not  do  it  at  that  time.’  Sir  John  then  took 
his  leave.  Mr.  Sastres  came  next  into  the  dining- 
room, where  I was  with  Mrs.  Hoole.  Dr.  John- 
son hearing  that  Mrs.  Hoole  was  in  the  next  room, 
desired  to  see  her.  He  received  her  with  great 
affection,  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  said  nearly 
these  words : ‘ I feel  great  tenderness  for  you : 
think  of  the  situation  in  which  you  see  me,  profit 
by  it,  and  God  Almighty  keep  you  for  Jesus 
Christ’s  sake,  Amen.’  He  then  asked  if  we  ' 
would  both  stay  and  dine  with  him.  Mrs.  Hoole 
said  she  could  not;  but  I agreed  to  stay.  Upon 
my  saying  to  the  Doctor  that  Dr.  Heberden 
would  be  with  him  that  morning,  his  answer  was, 

‘ God  has  called  me,  and  Dr.  Heberden  comes 
too  late.’  Soon  after  this  Dr.  Heberden  came. 
While  he  was  there,  we  heard  them,  from  the 
other  room,  in  earnest  discourse,  and  found  that 
they  were  talking  over  the  affair  4 of  the  K — g 

and  C ns.  We  overheard  Dr.  Heberden 

say,  ‘ All  you  did  was  extremely  proper.’  After 
Dr.  Heberden  was  gone,  Mr.  Sastres  and  I re- 
turned into  the  chamber.  Dr.  Johnson  complained 
that  sleep  this  day  had  powerful  dominion  over 
him,  that  he  waked  with  great  difficulty,  and  that 
probably  he  should  go  off  in  one  of  these  par- 
oxysms. Afterwards  he  said  that  he  hoped  his 
sleep  was  the  effect  of  opium  taken  some  days  be- 
fore, which  might  not  be  worked  off.  We  dined 


4 This  alludes  to  an  application  made  for  an  increase 
to  his  pension,  to  enable  him  to  go  to  Italy. — .T.  Hoolk. 

5 [Sic  ; but  probably  an  error  of  the  press  for  C r 

meaning  the  King  and  Lord  Chancellor  , see  ante,  p.  413 


528 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


together*  -the  Doctor,  Mr.  Sastres,  Mrs.  Davies, 
and  myself.  He  ate  a pretty  good  dinner  with 
seeming  appetite,  but  appearing  rather  impatient, 
and  being  asked  unnecessary  and  frivolous  ques- 
tions, he  said  be  often  thought  of  Macbeth, — 
‘ Question  enrages  him.’  He  retired  immediately 
after  dinner,  and  we  soon  went,  at  his  desire  (Mr. 
Sast  es  and  myself),  and  sat  with  him  till  tea. 
rie  said  little,  but  dosed  at  times.  At  six  he  or- 
dered tea  for  us,  and  we  went  out  to  drink  it  with 
Mrs.  Davies  ; but  the  Doctor  drank  none.  The 
Rev.  Dr.  Taylor,  of  Ashburne,  came  soon  after; 
and  Dr.  Johnson  desired  our  attendance  at  pray- 
ers, which  were  read  by  Dr.  Taylor.  Mr.  Ryland 
came  and  sat  some  time  with  him  : he  thought 
him  much  better.  Mr.  Sastres  and  I continued 
with  him  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  when  he 
exhorted  Mr.  Sastres  in  nearly  these  words : 

‘ There  is  no  one  who  has  shown  me  more  atten- 
tion than  you  have  done,  and  it  is  now  right  you 
should  claim  some  attention  from  me.  You  are 
a young  man,  and  are  to  struggle  through  life  : 
you  are  in  a profession  that  I dare  say  you  will 
exercise  with  great  fidelity  and  innocence ; but 
let  me  exhort  you  always  to  think  of  my  situation, 
which  must  one  day  be  yours  : always  remember 
that  life  is  short,  and  that  eternity  never  ends ! 
I say  nothing  of  your  religion  ; for  if  you  consci- 
entiously keep  to  it,  I have  little  doubt  but  you 
may  be  saved : if  you  read  the  controversy,  I 
think  we  have  the  right  on  our  side  ; but  if  you 
do  not  read  it,  be  not  persuaded,  from  any  worldly 
consideration,  to  alter  the  religion  in  which  you 
were  educated  : change  not,  but  from  conviction 
of  reason.’  He  then  most  strongly  enforced  the 
motives  of  virtue  and  piety  from  the  consideration 
of  a future  state  of  reward  and  punishment,  and 
concluded  with,  ‘Remember  all  this,  and  God 
bless  you!  Write  down  what  I have  said — I 
think  you  are  the  third  person  I have  bid  do  this  1.’ 
At  ten  o’clock  he  dismissed  us,  thanking  us  for  a 
visit  which  he  said  could  not  have  been  very 
pleasant  to  us. 

“ Monday,  Nov.  29. — Called  with  my  son 
about  eleven  : saw  the  Doctor,  who  said,  ‘ You 
must  not  now  stay ; ’ but  as  we  were  going  away, 
he  said,  ‘I  will  get  Mr.  Hoole  to  come  next 
Wednesday  and  read  the  Litany  to  me,  and  do 
you  and  Mrs.  Hoole  come  with  him.’  He  ap- 
peared very  ill.  Returning  from  the  city  I called 
again  to  inquire,  and  heard  that  Dr.  Butter  was 
with  him.  In  the  evening,  about  eight,  called 
again  and  just  saw  him  ; but  did  not  stay,  as 
Mr.  Langton  was  with  him  on  business.  1 met 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  going  away. 

“Tuesday,  Nov.  30. — Called  twice  this  morn- 
ing, but  did  not  see  him  : he  was  much  the  same. 
In  the  evening,  between  six  and  seven,  went  to 
his  house  : found  there  Mr.  Langton,  Mr.  Sastres, 
and  Mr.  Ryland  : the  Doctor  being  asleep  in  the 
chamber,  we  went  all  to  tea  and  coffee,  when  the 
Doctor  came  in  to  us  rather  cheerful,  and  entering 
said,  ‘Dear  gentlemen,  how  do  you  do?’  He 
drank  coffee,  and,  in  the  course  of  the  conversa- 
tion, said  that  he  recollected  a poem  of  his,  made 
some  years  ago  on  a young  gentleman  coming  of 
age.  He  repeated  the  whole  with  great  spirit : 

i  The  other  two  were  Dr.  Brocklesby  and  mysef — J. 

Htole 


it  consisted  of  about  fifteen  or  sixteen  stanzas  of 
four  lines,  in  alternate  rhyme.  He  said  he  had 
only  repeated  it  once  since  he  composed  it.  and 
that  he  never  gave  but  one  copy.  He  said  several 
excellent  things  that  evening,  and  among  the 
rest,  that  ‘ scruples  made  many  men  miserable, 
but  few  men  good.’  He  spoke  of  the  affectation 
that  men  had  to  accuse  themselves  of  petty  faults 
or  weaknesses,  in  order  to  exalt  themselves  into 
notice  for  any  extraordinary  talents  which  they 
might  possess  ; and  instanced  in  V/aller,  which 
he  said  he  would  record  if  he  lived  to  revise  his 
life.  Waller  was  accustomed  to  say  that  his 
memory  was  so  bad  he  would  sometimes  forget  to 
repeat  his  grace  at  table,  or  the  Lord’s  prayer, 
perhaps  that  people  might  wonder  at  what  he  did 
else  of  great  moment ; for  the  Doctor  observed, 
that  no  man  takes  upon  himself  small  blemishes 
without  supposing  that  great  abilities  are  attribu- 
ted to  him  ; and  that,  in  short,  this  affectation  of 
candour  or  modesty  was  but  another  kind  of  indi- 
rect self-praise,  and  had  its  foundation  in  vanity. 
Frank  bringing  him  a note,  as  he  opened  it  he 
said  an  odd  thought  struck  him,  that  ‘one  should 
receive  no  letters  in  the  grave  2.’  His  talk  was  in 
general  very  serious  and  devout,  though  occasion- 
ally cheerful : he  said,  ‘ You  are  all  serious  men, 
ana  I will  tell  you  something.  About  two  year? 
since  I feared  that  I had  neglected  God,  and  that 
then  I had  not  a mind  to  give  him ; on  which 
I set  about  to  read  Thomas  a Kempis  in  Low 
Dutch,  which  I accomplished,  and  thence  I judged 
that  my  mind  was  not  impaired,  Low  Dutch 
having  no  affinity  with  any  of  the  languages 
which  I knew.’  With  respect  to  his  recovery,  he 
seemed  to  think  it  hopeless.  There  was  to  be  a 
consultation  of  physicians  next  day:  he  wished 
to  have  his  legs  scarified,  to  let  out  the  water  ; but 
this  his  medical  friends  opposed,  and  he  submit- 
ted to  their  opinion,  though  he  said  he  was  not 
satisfied.  At  half  past  eight  he  dismissed  us  all 
but  Mr.  Langton.  I first  asked  him  if  my  son 
should  attend  him  next  day,  to  read  the  Litany, 
as  he  had  desired  ; but  he  declined  it  on  account 
of  the  expected  consultation.  We  went  away, 
leaving  Mr.  Langton  and  Mr.  Desmoulins,  a 
young  man  who  was  employed  in  copying  his 
Latin  epigrams. 

“Wednesday,  Dec.  1. — At  his  house  in  the 
evening:  drank  tea  and  coffee  with  Mr.  Sastres, 
Mr.  Desmoulins,  and  Mr.  3 Hall : went  into  the 
Doctor’s  chamber  after  tea,  -when  he  gave  me  an 
epitaph  to  copy,  written  by  him  for  his  father,  mo- 
ther, and  brother.  He  continued  much  the  same. 

“ Thursday,  Dec.  2. — Called  in  the  morning  and 
left  the  epitaph : with  him  in  the  evening  about 
seven  ; found  Mr.  Langton  and  Mr.  Desmoulins; 
did  not  see  the  Doctor  ; he  w-as  in  his  chamber, 
and  afterwards  engaged  with  Dr.  Scott. 

“ Friday,  Dec.  3. — Called  ; but  he  wished  not 
to  see  any  body.  Consultation  of  physicians  to 
be  held  that  day  : called  again  in  the  evening  ; 
found  Mr.  Langton  with  him  ; Mr.  Sastres  and  I 
went  together  into  his  chamber  ; he  w'asextreme- 

2 This  note  was  from  Mr.  Davies  the  bookseller,  and 
mentioned  a present  of  some  pork ; upon  which  the 
Doctor  said,  in  a manner  that  seemed  as  if  he  thought  it 
ill  timed,  “Too  much  of  this,”  or  some  such  expre-sskm. 
— J.  Hoole. 

3 fProbably  a mistake  for  Mrs  Hall. — Ed  t 


HOOLE'S  DIARY. 


529 


ly  low.  ‘ I am  very  bad  indeed,  dear  gentlemen,’ 
he  said  ; ‘ very  bad,  very  low,  very  cold,  and  I 
think  I find  my  life  to  fail.  In  about  a quarter  of 
an  hour  he  dismissed  Mr.  Sastres  and  me ; but 
called  me  back  again,  and  said  that  next  Sunday, 
if  he  lived,  he  designed  to  take  the  sacrament, 
and  wished  me,  my  wife,  and  son  to  be  there.  W e 
left  Mr.  Langton  with  him. 

“ Saturday,  Dec.  4. — Called  on  him  about  three : 
he  was  much  the  same,  did  not  see  him,  he  had 
much  company  that  day.  Called  in  the  evening 
with  Mr.  Sastres  about  eight ; found  he  was  not 
disposed  for  company  ; Mr.  Langton  with  him  • 
did  not  see  him. 

“Sunday,  Dec.  5. — Went  to  Bolt-court  with 
Mrs.  Hoole  after  eleven  ; found  there  Sir  John 
Hawkins,  Rev.  Mr.  Strahan,  Mrs.  Gardiner,  and 
Mr.  Desmoulins,  in  the  dining-room.  After  some 
time  the  Doctor  came  to  us  from  the  chamber, 
and  saluted  us  all,  thanking  us  all  for  this  visit  to 
him.  He  said  he  found  himself  very  bad,  but 
hoped  he  should  go  well  through  the  duty  which 
he  was  about  to  do.  The  sacrament  was  then 
administered  to  all  present,  Frank  being  of  the 
number.  The  Doctor  repeatedly  desired  Mr. 
Strahan  to  speak  louder  ; seeming  very  anxious 
lot  to  lose  any  part  of  the  service,  in  which  he 
joined  in  very  great  fervour  of  devotion.  The  ser- 
vice over,  he  again  thanked  us  all  for  attending 
him  on  the  occasion  : he  said  he  had  taken  some 
opium  to  enable  him  to  support  the  fatigue ; he 
seemed  quite  spent,  and  lay  in  his  chair  some  time 
in  a kind  of  doze  : he  then  got  up  and  retired  into 
his  chamber.  Mr.  Ryland  then  called  on  him.  I 
was  with  them  : he  said  to  Mr.  Ryland,  ‘ I have 
taken  my  viaticum  : I hope  1 shall  arrive  safe  at 
the  end  of  my  journey,  and  be  accepted  at  last.’ 
He  spoke  very  despondingly  several  times  : Mr. 
Ryland  comforted  him,  observing  that  ‘ we  had 
great  hopes  given  us.’  ‘Yes,’ he  replied,  ‘we 
have  hopes  given  us ; but  they  are  conditional, 
and  I know  not  how  far  I have  fulfilled  these  con- 
ditions i.’  He  afterwards  said,  ‘ However,  I think 
that  I have  now  corrected  all  bad  and  vicious  ha- 
bits.’ Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  called  on  him  : wre 
left  them  together.  Sir  Joshua  being  gone,  he 
called  Mr.  Ryland  and  me  again  to  him  : he  con- 
tinued talking  very  seriously,  and  repeated  a pray- 
er or  collect  with  great  fervour,  when  Mr.  Ryland 
took  his  leave.  He  ate  a tolerable  dinner,  but  re- 
tired direolly  after  dinner.  My  son  came  to  us 
from  his  church  : we  were  at  dinner — Dr.  John- 
son, Mrs.  Gardiner,  myself,  Mrs.  Hoole,  my  son, 
and  Mr.  Desmoulins.  He  had  looked  out  a ser- 
mon of  Dr.  Clarke’s,  ‘ On  the  Shortness  of  Life,’ 
for  me  to  read  to  him  after  dinner,  but  he  was  too 
ill  to  hear  it.  After  six  o’clock  he  called  us  all 
into  his  room,  when  he  dismissed  us  for  that  night 
with  a prayer,  delivered  as  he  sat  in  his  great 
chair,  in  the  most  fervent  and  affecting  manner, 
his  mind  appearing  wholly  employed  with  the 
thoughts  of  another  life.  He  told  Mr.  Ryland 
that  he  wished  not  to  come  to  God  with  opium, 
but  that  he  hoped  he  had  been  properly  attentive. 
He  said  before  us  all,  that  when  he  recovered  the 
last  spring,  he  had  only  called  it  a reprieve , but 
»hat  he  did  think  it  was  for  a longer  time  ; how- 


ever he  hoped  the  time  that  had  been  prolonged 
to  him  might  be  the  means  of  bringing  forth  fruit 
meet  for  repentance. 

“ Monday,  Dec.  6.— -Sent  in  the  morning  to 
make  inquiry  after  him : he  was  much  the  same: 
called  in  the  evening  ; found  Mr.  Cruikshanks 
the  surgeon  with  him:  he  said  he  had  been  that 
day  quarrelling  with  all  his  physicians  : he  ap- 
peared in  tolerable  spirits. 

“ Tuesday,  Dec.  7. — Called  at  dinner-time  * 
saw  him  eat  a very  good  dinner:  he  seemed  rath- 
er better,  and  in  spirits. 

“ Wednesday,  Dec.  8. — Went  with  Mrs.  Hoole 
and  my  son,  by  appointment ; found  him  very 
poorly  and  low,  after  a very  bad  night.  Mr. 
Nichols  the  printer  was  there.  My  son  read  the 
Litany,  the  Doctor  several  times  urging  him  to 
speak  louder.  After  prayers  Mr.  Langton  came 
in  : much  serious  discourse  : he  warned  us  all 
to  profit  by  his  situation  ; and,  applying  to  me, 
who  stood  next  him,  exhorted  me  to  lead  a better 
life  than  he  had  done.  ‘ A better  life  than  you, 
my  dear  sir  ! ’ I repeated.  He  replied  warmly, 

‘ Don’t  compliment  now.’  He  told  Mr.  Langton 

that  he  had  the  night  before  enforced  on  2 a 

powerful  argument  to  a powerful  objection  against 
Christianity. 

“He  had  often  thought  it  might  seem  strange 
that  the  Jews,  who  refused  belief  to  the  doctrine 
supported  by  the  miracles  of  our  Saviour,  should 
after  his  death  raise  a numerous  church  ; but  he 
said  that  they  expected  fully  a temporal  prince, 
and  with  this  idea  the  multitude  was  actuated 
when  they  strewed  his  way  with  palm-branches  on 
his  entry  into  Jerusalem  ; but  finding  their  expec- 
tations afterwards  disappointed,  rejected  him,  till 
in  process  of  time,  comparing  all  the  circumstan- 
ces and  prophecies  of  the  Old  Testament,  con- 
firmed in  the  New,  many  were  converted  ; that 
the  Apostles  themselves  once  believed  him  to  be 
a temporal  prince.  He  said  that  he  had  always 
been  struck  with  the  resemblance  of  the  Jewish 
passover  and  the  Christian  doctrine  of  redemption. 
He  thanked  ns  all  for  our  attendance,  and  we  left 
him  with  Mr.  Langton. 

“ Thursday,  Dec.  9. — Called  in  the  evening  ; 
did  not  see  him,  as  he  was  engaged. 

“ Friday,  Dec.  10. — Called  about  eleven  in 
the  morning ; saw  Mr.  La  Trobe  3 there : neither 
of  us  saw  the  Doctor,  as  we  understood  he  wished 
not  to  be  visited  that  day.  In  the  evening  I sent 
him  a letter,  recommending  Dr.  Dalloway  (an 
irregular  physician)  as  an  extraordinary  person 
for  curing  the  dropsy.  He  returned  me  a verbal 
answer  that  he  was  obliged  to  me,  but  that  it 
was  too  late.  My  son  read  prayers  with  him  this 
day. 

“Saturday,  Dec.  11. — Went  to  Bolt-court 
about  twelve  ; met  there  Dr.  Burney,  Dr.  Taylor, 
Sir  John  Hawkins,  Mr.  Sastres,  Mr.  Paradise, 
Count  Zenobia,  and  Mr.  Langton.  Mrs.  Hoole 
called  for  me  there  : we  both  went  to  him  : he 
received  us  very  kindly  ; told  me  he  had  my  let- 
ter, but  ‘ it  was  too  late  for  doctors,  regular  or 
irregular.'  His  physicians  had  been  with  him 


2 probably  Mr.  Windham;  see  his  Journal.  The 
word  He  in  the  next  sentence  means  not  Mr.  Windham, 
but  Dr.  Johnson. — Ed.] 

3 [See  ante , p.  438,  note. — Ed.| 


l Sea  his  letter  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  vol.  i.  p.  361. — J.  Hoole. 

▼ol.  n.  67 


530 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


that  day, but  prescribed  nothing.  Mr.  Cruikshanks 
came  : the  Doctor  was  rather  cheerful  with  him  ; 
he  said,  ‘ Come,  give  me  your  hand,’  and  shook 
him  by  the  hand,  adding,  ‘You  shall  make  no 
other  use  of  it  now  ; ’ meaning  he  should  not  ex- 
amine his  legs.  Mr.  Cruikshanks  wished  to  do 
it,  but  the  Doctor  would  not  let  him.  Mr.  Cruik- 
shanks said  he  would  call  in  the  evening. 

“Sunday,  Dec.  12. — Was  not  at  Bolt-court  in 
the  forenoon  ; at  St.  Sepulchre’s  school  in  the 
evening  with  Mrs.  Hoole,  where  we  saw  Mrs. 
Gardiner  and  Lady  Rothes  ; heard  that  Dr.  John- 
son was  very  bad,  and  had  been  something  deliri- 
ous. Went  to  Bolt-court  about  nine,  and  found 
there  Mr.  Windham  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Strahan. 
The  Doctor  was  then  very  bad  in  bed,  which  I 
think  he  had  only  taken  to  that  day:  he  had  now 
refused  to  take  any  more  medicine  or  food.  Mr. 
Cruikshanks  came  about  eleven  : he  endeavoured 
to  persuade  him  to  take  some  nourishment,  but  in 
vain.  Mr.  Windham  then  went  again  to  him, 
and,  by  the  advice  of  Mr.  Cruikshanks,  put  it  up- 
on this  footing — that  by  persisting  to  refuse  all 
sustenance  he  might  probably  defeat  his  own  pur- 
pose to  preserve  his  mind  clear , as  his  weakness 
might  bring  on  paralytic  complaints  that  might 
affect  his  mental  powers.  The  Doctor,  Mr.  Wind- 
ham said,  heard  him  patiently  ; but  when  he  had 
heard  all,  he  desired  to  be  troubled  no  more.  He 
then  took  a most  affectionate  leave  of  Mr.  Wind- 
ham, who  reported  to  us  the  issue  of  the  conver- 
sation, for  only  Mr.  Desmoulins  was  with  them  in 
the  chamber.  I did  not  see  the  Doctor  that  day, 
being  fearful  of  disturbing  him,  and  never  con- 
versed with  him  again.  I came  away  about  half 
past  eleven  with  Mr.  Windham. 

“ Monday,  Dec.  13. — Went  to  Bolt-court  at 
eleven  o’clock  in  the  morning ; met  a young  lady 
coming  down  stairs  from  the  Doctor,  whom,  upon 
inquiry,  I found  to  be  Miss  Morris  (a  sister  to  Miss 
Morris  i,  formerly  on  the  stage).  Mrs.  Desmou- 
lins told  me  that  she  had  seen  the  Doctor ; that  by 
her  desire  he  had  been  told  she  came  to  ask  his 
blessing,  and  that  he  said,  ‘ God  bless  you  ! ’ I 
then  went  up  into  his  chamber,  and  found  him  ly- 
ing very  composed  in  a kind  of  doze : he  spoke  to 
nobody.  Sir  John  Hawkins,  Mr.  Langton,  Mrs. 
Gardiner,  Rev.  Mr.  Strahan  and  Mrs.  Strahan, 
Doctors  Brocklesby  and  Butter,  Mr.  Steevens, 
and  Mr.  Nichols  the  printer,  came  ; but  no  one 
chose  to  disturb  him  by  speaking  to  him,  and  he 
seemed  to  take  no  notice  of  any  person.  While 
Mrs.  Gardiner  and  I were  there,  before  the  rest 
came,  he  took  a little  warm  milk  in  a cup,  when 
he  said  something  upon  its  not  being  properly  gi- 
ven into  his  hand : he  breathed  very  regular, 
though  short,  and  appeared  to  be  mostly  in  a calm 
sleep  or  dozing.  I left  him  in  this  state,  and  never 
more  saw  him  alive.  In  the  evening  I supped 
with  M rs.  Hoole  and  my  son  at  Mr.  Braithwaite’s, 
and  at  night  my  servant  brought  me  word  that  my 
dearest  friend  died  that  evening  about  seven  o’- 
clock ; and  next  morning  I went  to  the  house, 
where  I met  Mr.  Seward  : we  went  together  into 

1 As  there  have  been  several  Miss  Morris’s  on  the 
stage,  it  may  be  proper  to  mention  that  the  young  lady 
was  sister  to  Miss  Morris,  who  appeared  in  Juliet  at 
Covent  Garden,  Nov.  26,  1768,  and  died  May  1,  1769. 
She  wn«  related  to  Corbyn  Morris,  Esq.  commissioner 
01  tht  customs.  — J.  Kools. 


the  chamber,  and  there  saw  the  most  awful  sight 
of  Dr.  Johnson  laid  out  in  his  bed,  without  life  l 
“ John  Hoole.’* 


IX. 

[Some  account  of  Francis  Stuart, — refer- 
red to  in  vol.  i.  p.  75 ; and  ante,  pp.  225.  228. 
369. 371. 

“ In  that  amusing  scrap-book  called  “ Grose's 
Olio ,”  there  is  an  imputation  against  Dr. 
Johnson  of  having  obtained  an  advance  of  mo- 
ney from  the  publishers  of  the  Dictionary,  by 
the  trick  of  substituting  old  sheets  instead  of 
new  copy,  which  he  had  neglected  to  prepare.  The 
folloioing  extract  from  the  Gentleman’s  Maga- 
zine contradicts  this  imputation  ; but  for  that 
sole  purpose  the  Editor  would  not  have  thought 
it  necessary  to  quote  it,  but  he  is  induced  to  do  so 
because  it  also  affords  some  curious  particulars  as 
to  the  practical  compilation  of  the  Dictionary , 
and  gives  some  account  of  Francis  Stuart , 
whose  connexion  with  Johnson  seems  to  the 
Editoi'  to  have  been  more  important  than  Mr. 
Boswell  supposed.  Indeed  Mr.  Boswell's  ac- 
count of  the  little  negotiation  in  which  Dr.  John- 
son employed  him  vnth  Stuart's  sister  is  very  con- 
fused. In  December,  1779,  he  states  that  he  had, 
as  desired  by  Johnson,  “ discovered  the  sister  of 
Stuart,  and  given  her  a guinea  for  an  old 
pocket-book  of  her  brother’s  which  Dr.  John- 
son had  retained  ; that  the  woman  wondered 
at  his  scrupulous  honesty,  and  received  the 
guinea  as  if  sent  by  Providence : ” ante,  p 
225.  But  this  must  have  been  a total  mistake 
on  the  part  of  Bosivell ; for  it  appears  that 
the  sister  had  the  pocket-book,  or  letter-case , and 
that  it  to  as  for  obtaining  it  that  Johnson  of- 
fered the  guinea.  This  matter  teas  probably 
explained  in  some  letters  not  noio  extant ; for 
in  April , 1780  (ante,  p.  228),  Johnson  ex- 
presses “ satisfaction  at  the  success  of  Bos- 
well’s transaction  with  Mrs.  Stuart,”  by  which 
it  may  be  inferred  that  Boswell  had  obtained  the 
letter-case  from  her;  but  the  negotiation  was 
not  terminated;  for  four  years  after,  in  1784 
(ante,  p.  369),  Johnson  writes  to  Bosivell,  “ I 
desire  you  to  see  Mrs.  Stewart  once  again,  and 
say  that  in  the  letter-case  was  a letter  relating 
to  me,  for  which  I will  give  her,  if  she  is  wil- 
ling to  give  it  to  me,  another  guinea  : the  let- 
ter^ of  consequence  only  to  me  : ” — and  again, 
18 th  March,  1784,  “ If  you  come  hither  through 
Edinburgh,  send  for  Mrs.  Stewart,  and  give  an- 
other guinea  for  the  letter  in  the  old  case,  to  which 
1 shall  not  be  satisfied  w'ith  my  claim  till  she 
gives  it  me.”  (Ante,  p.  371.)  The  reader  now 
sees  that  the  retention  by  Johnson  of  Stew- 
art's old  pocket-book,  and  the  scrupulous 
honesty  of  paying  a guinea  for  it,  was 
a misapprehension ; and  that  Johnson  really 
wanted  to  obtain  the  pocket-book , ichich  he 
did  get,  for  the  sake  of  a letter  it  contained, 
which  he  seems  not  to  have  gotten;  but  what 
letter  could  this  be  of  consequence  to  Dr.  John- 
son, when  on  the  verge  of  the  grave,  yet  so 
lo'ig  nrg'rctcd  by  him ; for  Steu  irt  had  beer 


ACCOUNT  OF  FRANCIS  STUART. 


^ead  many  yean  ? Mr.  BosioclPs  original 
error  and  his  subsequent  silence  on  the  sub- 
ject is  very  strange.  The  Editor  is  satisfied 
either  that  J\Ir.  Boswell  did  not  obtain  the  let- 
ter, or  that  it  related  to  some  circumstance  of 
Johnson’s  life  xoliich  he  did  not  choose  to  divulge  ; 
and  what  could  it  have  been  that  he  would  not 
have  told  ? — Ed.] 

“ This  Steward  was  Francis  Stuart. 
^oMxix^  was  t'a0  son  a shop-keeper,  in 
p.  1171.  Edinburgh , and  was  brought  up  to  the 
law.  For  several  years  he  was  em- 
ployed as  a writer  in  some  of  the  principal  offices 
of  Edinburgh  ; and  being  a man  of  good  natural 
parts,  and  given  to  literature,  he  frequently  assisted 
in  digesting  and  arranging  MSS.  for  the  press  ; 
and,  among  other  employments  of  this  sort,  he 
used  to  boast  of  assisting  or  copying  some  of  the 
juvenile  productions  of  the  afterwards  celebrated 
Lord  Kaimes  when  he  was  very  young  and  a 
correspondent  with  the  Edinburgh  Magazine. 
When  he  came  to  London,  he  stuck  more  closely 
to  the  press ; and  in  this  walk  of  copying  or  ar- 
ranging for  the  press,  he  got  recommended  to  Dr. 
Johnson,  who  then  lived  in  Gough-square.  Frank 
was  a great  admirer  of  the  Doctor,  and  upon  all 
occasions  consulted  him ; and  the  Doctor  had  also  a 
very  respectable  opinion  of  his  amanuensis  Frank 
Stuart,  as  he  always  familiarly  called  him.  But 
it  was  not  only  in  collecting  authorities  that  Frank 
was  employed  : he  was  the  man  who  did  every 
thing  in  the  writing  way  for  him,  and  managed  all 
his  affairs  between  the  Doctor,  his  bookseller,  and 
his  creditors,  who  were  then  often  very  trouble- 
some, and  every  species  of  business  the  Doctor 
had  to  do  out  of  doors ; and  for  this  he  was 
much  better  qualified  than  the  Doctor  himself,  as 
he  had  been  more  accustomed  to  common  busi- 
ness, and  more  conversant  in  the  ways  of  men. 

“ That  he  was  a porter-drinking  man,  as  Cap- 
tain Grose  says,  may  be  admitted  ; for  he  usually 
spent  his  evenings  at  the  Bible,  in  Shirelane,  a 
house  of  call  for  bookbinders  and  printers,  where 
Frank  was  in  good  esteem  among  some  creditable 
neighbours  that  frequented  the  back-room ; for, 
except  his  fuddling,  he  was  a very ’worthy  char- 
acter. But  his  drinking  and  conviviality,  he  used 
to  say,  he  left  behind  him  at  Edinburgh,  where 
he  had  connected  himself  with  some  jovial  wits 
and  great  card-players,  which  made  his  journey  to 
London  very  prudent  and  necessary,  as  nothing 
out  such  a measure  could  break  off  the  connexion, 
or  bring  them  to  good  hours  and  moderation.  In 
one  of  those  night  rambles,  Stuart  and  his  compan- 
ions met  with  the  mob-procession  when  they  were 
conducting  Captain  Porteus  to  be  hanged  ; and 
Stuart  andhis  companions  were  next  day  examined 
about  it  before  the  town-council,  when  (as  Stuart 
used  to  say)  ‘ we  were  found  to  be  too  drunk  to 
have  had  any  hand  in  the  business.’  But  he  gave 
a most  accurate  and  particular  account  of  that 
memorable  transaction  in  the  Edinburgh  Magazine 
of  that  time,  which  he  was  rather  fond  of  relating. 

“ In  another  walk,  besides  collecting  authorities, 
he  was  remarkably  useful  to  Dr.  Johnson  ; that 
was,  in  the  explanation  of  low  cant  phrases,  which 
the  Doctor  used  to  get  Frank  to  give  his  explana- 


5 

tion  of  first;  and  all  words  relating  to  gambling 
and  card-playing,  such  as  Ml  Fours,  Catch  hon- 
ours, Cribbage,  &c.  were,  among  the  typos, 
said  to  be  Frank  Stuart’s,  corrected  by  the  Doctor, 
for  which  he  received  a second  payment.  At  the 
time  this  happened,  the  Dictionary  was  going  on 
printing  very  briskly  in  three  departments,  letter  D, 
G,  and  L,  being  at  work  upon  at  the  same  time  ; 
and  as  the  Doctor  was  in  the  printing-house 
phrase,  out  of  town — that  is,  had  received  more 
money  than  he  had  produced  MS.  for — the  pro- 
prietors restricted  him  in  his  payments,  and  would 
answer  no  more  demands  from  him  than  at 
the  rate  of  a guinea  for  every  sheet  of  MS.  copy 
he  delivered  ; which  was  paid  him  by  Mr.  Stra- 
han  on  delivery  ; and  the  Doctor  readily  agreed 
to  this.  The  copy  was  written  upon  4to.  post, 
and  in  two  columns  each  page.  The  Doctor 
wrote,  in  his  own  hand,  the  words  and  their 
explanation,  and  generally  two  or  three  words  in 
each  column,  leaving  a space  between  each  for 
the  authorities,  which  were  pasted  on  as  they 
were  collected  by  the  different  clerks  or  aman- 
uenses employed  : and  in  this  mode  the  MS. 
was  so  regular,  that  the  sheets  of  MS.  which 
made  a sheet  of  print  could  be  very  exact- 
ly ascertained.  Every  guinea  parcel  came  after 
this  agreement  regularly  tied  up,  and  was  put 
upon  a shelf  in  the  corrector’s  room  till  wanted. 
The  MS.  being  then  in  great  forwardness,  the 
Doctor  supplied  copy  faster  than  the  printers  called 
for  it ; and  in  one  of  the  heaps  of  copy  it  happened 
that,  upon  giving  it  out  to  the  compositors,  some 
sheets  of  the  old  MS.  that  had  been  printed  off 
were  found  among  the  new  MS.  paid  for.  It  is 
more  probable  that  this  happened  by  the  Doctor’s 
keeping  the  old  copy,  which  was  always  returned 
him  with  the  proof,  in  a disorderly  manner.  But 
another  mode  of  accounting  for  this  was  at  that 
time  very  current  in  the  printing-house.  The 
Doctor,  besides  his  old  and  constant  assistant, 
Stuart,  had  several  others,  some  of  them  not  of 
the  best  characters  ; and  one  of  this  class  had  been 
lately  discharged,  whom  the  Doctor  had  been  very 
kind  to,  notwithstanding  all  his  loose  and  idle 
tricks  ; and  it  was  generally  supposed  that  he  had 
fallen  upon  this  expedient  of  picking  up  the  old 
MS.  to  raise  a few  guineas,  finding  the  money  so 
readily  paid  on  the  MS.  as  hedelivered  it.  But  every 
body  was  inclined  to  acquit  the  Doctor,  as  he  had 
been  well  known  to  have  rather  too  little  thoughts 
about  money  matters.  And  what  served  to  com- 
plete the  Doctor’s  acquittal  was,  Stuart  immedi- 
ately on  the  discovery  supplying  the  quantum  of 
right  copy  (for  it  was  ready)  ; which  set  every 
thing  to  rights,  and  that  in  the  course  of  an  hour 
or  two,  as  the  writer  of  this  note  can  truly  assert, 
as  he  was  employed  in  the  business. 

“ How  such  an  erroneous  and  injurious  account 
of  an  accident  so  fairly  and  justly  to  be  accounted 
for,  and  the  Doctor’s  character  cleared  from  all 
imputation  of  art  or  guilt  came  to  Captain  Grose’s 
ears,  is  hard  to  be  accounted  for : but  it  appears 
to  have  been  picked  up  among  the  common  gossip 
of  the  press-room,  or  other  remote  parts  of  the 
printing-house,  where  the  right  state  of  the  fact 
could  not  be  minutely  related  nor  accurately 
known.” 


K32 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


X. 

LESSON  IN  BIOGRAPHY  ; 

Or  How  to  write  the  Life  of  one’s 
Friend.  An  Extract  from  the  Life  of 
Dr.  Pozz,  in  ten  volumes  folio , written 
by  James  Bozz,  Esq.  who  flourished  with 
him  near  fifty  years. 

[By  A.  Chalmers,  Esq.] 

Referred  to  ante , p.  456. 

Among  the  numerous  parodies  and  jeux 
d’csprit  which  Mr.  Boswell's  work  produced , 
the  following  pleasantry  from  the  pen  of  Mr. 
Alexander  Chalmers , which  appeared  in  the 
periodical  publications  of  the  day,  is  worth 
preserving ; for  it  is  not  merely  a good  pleas- 
antry, but  a fair  criticism  of  some  of  the  lighter 
parts  of  the  work. — Ed.] 

“We  dined  at  the  chop-house.  Dr.  Pozz  was 
this  day  very  instructive.  We  talked  of  books. 
I mentioned  the  History  of  Tommy  Trip.  I 
said  it  was  a great  work.  Pozz.  ‘ Yes,  sir,  it  is  a 
great  work  ; but,  sir,  it  is  a great  work  relatively ; 
it  was  a great  work  to  you  when  you  was  a little 
boy  : but  now,  sir,  you  are  a great  man,  and  Tom- 
my Trip  is  a little  boy.’  I felt  somewhat  hurt  at 
this  comparison,  and  I believe  he  perceived  it ; 
for,  as  he  was  squeezing  a lemon,  he  said,  ‘ Never 
be  affronted  at  a comparison.  I have  been  com- 
pared to  many  things,  but  I never  was  affront- 
ed. No,  sir,  if  they  would  call  me  a dog,  and 
you  a canister  tied  to  my  tail,  I would  not  be 
affronted.’ 

“ Cheered  by  this  kind  of  mention  of  me,  though 
in  such  a situation,  I asked  him  what  he  thought 
of  a friend  of  ours,  who  was  always  making  com- 
parisons. Pozz.  ‘ Sir,  that  fellow  has  a simile  for 
every  thing  but  himself.  I knew  him  when  he 
kept  a shop  : be  then  made  money,  sir,  and  now 
he  makes  comparisons.  Sir,  he  would  say  that 
you  and  I were  two  figs  stuck  together ; two  figs 
in  adhesion,  sir  ; and  then  he  would  laugh.’  Bozz. 
‘But  have  not  some  great  writers  determined  that 
comparisons  are  now  and  then  odious  ? ’ Pozz. 
‘No,  sir,  not  odious  in  themselves,  not  odious  as 
comparisons  ; the  fellows  who  make  them  are 
odious.  The  whigs  make  comparisons.’ 

“We  supped  that  evening  at  his  house.  I 
showed  him  some  lines  I had  made  upon  a pair 
of  breeches.  Pozz.  ‘ Sir,  the  lines  are  good  ; but 
where  could  you  find  such  a subject  in  your  coun- 
try ? ’ Bozz.  ‘ Therefore  it  is  a proof  of  invention, 
which  is  characteristic  of  poetry.’  Pozz.  ‘Yes, 
sir,  but  an  invention  which  few  of  your  country- 
men can  enjoy.’  I reflected  afterwards  on  the 
depth  of  this  remark  : it  affords  a proof  of  that 
acuteness  which  he  displayed  in  every  branch  of 
literature.  I asked  him  if  he  approved  of  green 
spectacles  ? Pozz.  ‘ As  to  green  spectacles,  sir, 
the  question  seems  to  be  this:  if  1 wore  green 
spectacles,  it  would  be  because  they  assisted  vision, 
or  because  I liked  them.  Now,  sir,  if  a man  tells 
me  he  does  not  like  green  spectacles,  and  that 
they  hurt  his  eyes,  I would  not  compel  him  to 
wear  them.  No,  sir,  I would  dissuade  him.’  A 
few  months  after,  I consulted  him  again  on  this 
subject,  and  he  honoured  me  with  a letter,  in 
which  he  gave  the  same  opinion.  It  will  be 


found  in  its  proper  place,  vol.  vi.  p.  2789.  j 
have  thought  much  on  this  subject,  and  must  con- 
fess that  in  such  matters  a man  ought  to  be  a free 
moral  agent. 

“Next  day  I left  town,  and  was  absent  for  six 
weeks,  three  days,  and  seven  hours,  as  I find  by 
a memorandum  in  my  journal.  In  this  time  I had 
only  one  letter  from  him,  which  is  as  follows 

“ ‘ TO  JAMES  BOZZ,  ESQ. 

“ ‘ Dear  sir, — My  bowels  have  been  very  bad 
Pray  buy  me  some  Turkey  rhubarb,  and  bring 
with  you  a copy  of  your  Tour. 

“ ‘ Write  to  me  soon,  and  write  to  me  often 
1 am,  dear  sir,  yours,  affectionately. 

“ ‘ Sam.  Pozz.’ 

“ It  would  have  been  unpardonable  to  have 
omitted  a letter  like  this,  in  which  we  see  so  much 
of  his  great  and  illuminated  mind.  On  my  return 
to  town,  we  met  again  at  the  chop-house.  We 
had  much  conversation  to-day : his  wit  flashed  like 
lightning ; indeed,  there  is  not  one  hour  of  my 
present  life  in  which  I do  not  profit  by  some  of 
his  valuable  communications. 

“ We  talked  of  wind.  I said  I knew  many 
persons  much  distressed  with  that  complaint. 
Pozz.  ‘Yes,  sir,  when  confined,  when,  pent  up.’ 
I said  I did  not  know  that,  but  I questioned  if  the 
Romans  ever  knew  it.  Pozz.  ‘Yes,  sir,  the  Ro- 
mans knew  it..’  Bozz.  ‘ Livy  does  not  mention 
it.’  Pozz.  ‘No,  sir,  Livy  wrote  History.  Livy 
was  not  writing  the  Life  of  a Friend.’ 

“ On  medical  subjects  his  knowledge  was  im- 
mense. He  told  me  of  a friend  of  ours  who  had 
just  been  attacked  by  a most  dreadful  complaint: 
he  had  entirely  lost  the  use  of  his  limbs,  so  that 
he  could  neither  stand  nor  walk,  unless  supported  ; 
his  speech  was  quite  gone  ; his  eyes  were  much 
swollen,  and  every  vein  distended,  yet  his  face 
was  rather  pale,  and  his  extremities  cold  ; his  pulse 
beat  160  in  a minute.  I said,  with  tenderness, 
that  I would  go  and  see  him  ; and,  said  I,  ‘ Sir,  I 
will  take  Dr.  Bolus  with  me.’  Pozz.  ‘No,  sir, 
don ’t  go.’  I was  startled,  for  I knew  his  com- 
passionate heart,  and  earnestly  asked  why  ? Pozz. 
‘ Sir,  you  don ’t  know  his  disorder.’  Bozz.  ‘ Pray 
what  is  it?’  Pozz.  ‘Sir,  the  man  is — dead 
drunk  /’  This  explanation  threw  me  into  a vio- 
lent fit  of  laughter,  in  which  he  joined  me,  rolling 
about  as  he  used  to  do  when  he  enjoyed  a joke  ; 
but  he  afterwards  checked  me.  Pozz.  ‘ Sir,  you 
ought  not  to  laugh  at  what  I said.  Sir,  he  who 
laughs  at  what  another  man  says,  will  soon  learn 
to  laugh  at  that,  other  man.  Sir,  you  should 
laugh  only  at  your  own  jokes  ; you  should  laugh 
seldom.’ 

“We  talked  of  a friend  of  ours  who  was  a very 
violent  politician.  I said  I did  not  like  his  com- 
pany. Pozz.  ‘ No,  sir,  he  is  not  healthy  ; he  is 
sore,  sir  ; his  mind  is  ulcerated  ; he  has  a politi- 
cal whitlow  ; sir,  you  cannot  touch  him  without 
giving  him  pain.  Sir,  I would  not  talk  politicks 
with  that  man  ; I would  talk  of  cabbage  and 
pease;  sir,  I would  ask  him  how  he  got  his  corn 
in,  and  whether  his  wife  was  with  child  ; but  1 
would  not  talk  politicks.’  Bozz.  ‘ But  perhaps, 
sir,  he  would  talk  of  nothing  else.’  Pozz.  ‘Then 
sir,  it  is  plain  what  he  would  do.’  C r my  very 


LESSON  IN  BIOGRAPHY. 


533 


earnestly  inquiring  what  that  was,  Dr.  Pozz  an- 
swered, ‘ Sir,  he  would  let  it  alone.’ 

“ I mentioned  a tradesman  who  had  lately  set 
up  his  coach.  Pozz.  ‘ He  is  right,  sir  ; a man 
who  would  goon  swimmingly  cannot  get  too  soon 
off  his  legs.  That  man  keeps  his  coach.  Now, 
sir,  a coach  is  better  than  a chaise,  sir, — it  is  bet- 
ter than  a chariot.’  Bozz.  ‘ Why,  sir  ? ’ Pozz. 
‘ Sir,  it  will  hold  more.’  I begged  that  he  would 
repeat  this,  that  I might  remember  it,  and  he  com- 
plied with  great  good  humour.  ‘ Dr.  Pozz,’  said 
I,  ‘ you  ought  to  keep  a coach.’  Pozz.  ‘ Yes,  sir, 
I ought.’  Bozz.  ‘ But  you  do  not,  and  that  has 
often  surprised  me.’  Pozz.  ‘ Surprised  you ! 
There,  sir,  is  another  prejudice  of  absurdity.  Sir, 
you  ought  to  be  surprised  at  nothing.’  A man 
that  has  lived  half  your  days  ought  to  be  above 
all  surprise.  Sir,  it  is  a rule  with  me  never  to  be 
surprised.  It  is  mere  ignorance,  you  cannot  guess 
why  I do  not  keep  a coach,  and  you  are  surprised. 
Now,  sir,  if  you  did  know,  you  would  not  be  sur- 
prised.’ I said,  tenderly,  ‘ I hope,  my  dear  sir, 
you  will  let  me  know  before  Ileave  town.’  Pozz. 
‘ Yes,  sir,  you  shall  know  now.  You  shall  not 
goto  Mr.  Wilkins,  and  to  Mr.  Jenkins,  and  to 
Mr.  Stubbs,  and  say,  why  does  not  Pozz  keep  a 
coach  ? I will  tell  you  myself — Sir,  I can’t  afford 
it.’ 

“ We  talked  of  drinking.  I asked  him  whether, 
in  the  course  of  his  long  and  valuable  life,  he  had 
not  known  some  men  who  drank  more  than  they 
could  bear?  Pozz.  ‘Yes,  sir;  and  then,  sir, 
nobody  could  bear  them.  A man  who  is  drunk, 
sir,  is  a very  foolish  fellow.’  Bozz.  ‘ But,  sir,  as 
the  poet  says,  “ he  is  devoid  of  all  care.”  ’ Pozz. 

‘ Yes,  sir,  he  cares  for  nobody;  he  has  none  of 
the  cares  of  life  : he  cannot  be  a merchant,  sir, 
for  he  cannot  write  his  name  ; he  cannot  be  a poli- 
tician, sir,  for  he  cannot  talk ; he  cannot  be  an  ar- 
tist, sir,  for  he  cannot  see;  and  yet,  sir,  there  is 
science  in  drinking.’  Bozz.  ‘ I suppose  you  mean 
that  a man  ought  to  know  what  he  drinks.’ 
Pozz.  ‘ No,  sir,  to  know  what  one  drinks  is  no- 
thing ; but  the  science  consists  of  three  parts. 
Now,  sir,  were  I to  drink  wine,  1 should  wish  to 
know  them  all ; I should  wish  to  know  when  1 
had  too  little,  when  I had  enough, and  when  I had 
too  much.  There  is  our  friend^*  ****** 
(mentioning  a gentleman  of  our  acquaintance)  ; 
he  knows  when  he  has  too  little,  and  when  he  has 
too  much,  but  he  knows  not  when  he  has  enough. 
Now,  sir,  that  is  the  science  of  drinking,  to  know 
when  one  has  enough.’ 

« We  talked  this  day  on  a variety  of  topics,  but 
I find  very  few  memorandums  in  my  journal.  On 
small  beer,  he  said  it  was  flatulent  liquor.  He 
disapproved  of  those  who  deny  the  utility  of  ab- 
solute power,  and  seemed  to  be  offended  with  a 
friend  of  ours  who  would  always  have  his  eggs 
poached.  Sign-posts,  he  observed,  had  degenerat- 
ed within  his  memory  ; and  he  particularly  found 
fault  with  the  moral  of  the  Beggar’s  Opera.  I en- 
deavoured to  defend  a work  which  had  afforded 
me  so  much  pleasure,  but  could  not  master  that 
strength  of  mind  with  which  he  argued  : and  it 
was  with  great  satisfaction  that  he  communicated 
to  me  afterwards  a method  of  curing  corns  by  ap- 
plying a piece  of  oiled  silk.  In  the  early  history 
of  the  world,  he  preferred  Sir  Isaac  Newton’s 


Chronology  ; but  as  they  gave  emp/jyment  to 
useful  artisans,  he  did  not  dislike  the  large  buck- 
les then  coming  into  use. 

“ Next  day  we  dined  at  the  Mitre.  I mention- 
ed spirits.  Pozz.  ‘Sir,  there  is  as  much  evidence 
for  the  existence  of  spirits  as  against  it.  You 
may  not  believe  it,  but  you  cannot  deny  it.’  I 
told  him  that  my  great  grandmother  once  saw  a 
spirit.  He  asked  me  to  relate  it,  which  I did  very 
minutely,  while  he  listened  with  profound  atten- 
tion. When  I mentioned  that  the  spirit  once  ap- 
peared in  the  shape  of  a shoulder  of  mutton,  and 
another  time  in  that  of  a tea-pot,  he  interrupted 
me: — Pozz.  ‘There,  sir,  is  the  point;  the  evi- 
dence is  good,  but  the  scheme  is  defective  in  con- 
sistency. We  cannot  deny  that  the  spirit  ap- 
peared in  these  shapes  ; but  then  we  cannot  re- 
concile them.  What  has  a tea-pot  to  do  with  a 
shoulder  of  mutton  ? Neither  is  it  a terrific  object. 
There  is  nothing  contemporaneous.  Sir,  these 
are  objects  which  are  not  seen  at  the  same  time, 
nor  in  the  same  place.’  Bozz.  ‘ I think,  sir,  that 
old  women  in  general  are  used  to  see  ghosts.’ 
Pozz.  ‘ Yes,  sir,  and  their  conversation  is  full  of 
the  subject  : I would  have  an  old  woman  to  re- 
cord such  conversations  ; their  loquacity  tends  to 
minuteness.’ 

“We  talked  of  a person  who  had  a very  bad 
character.  Pozz.  ‘ Sir,  he  is  a scoundrel.’  Bozz. 
‘ I hate  a scoundrel.’  Pozz.  ‘There  you  are  wrong: 
don’t  hate  scoundrels.  Scoundrels,  sir,  arc  useful. 
There  are  many  things  we  cannot  do  without 
scoundrels.  1 would  not  choose  to  keep  company 
with  scoundrels,  but  something  may  be  got  from 
them.’  Bozz.  ‘Are  not  scoundrels  generally  fools?’ 
Pozz.  ‘No,  sir,  they  are  not.  A scoundrel  must  be 
a clever  fellow  ; he  must  know  many  things  of 
which  a fool  is  ignorant.  Any  man  m ay  be  a fool. 
1 think  a good  book  might  be  made  out  of  scoundrels. 
I would  have  a Biographia  Flagitiosa , the  Lives  oj 
Eminent  Scoundrels , from  the  earliest  accounts  to 
the  present  day.’  I mentioned  hanging:  I thought 
it  a very  awkward  situation.  Pozz.  ‘No,  sir, 
hanging  is  notan  awkward  situation  : it  is  proper’ 
sir,  that  a man  whose  actions  tend  towards  fla<ri- 
tious  obliquity  should  appear  perpendicular  °at 
last.’  I told  him  that  I had  lately  been  in  com- 
pany with  some  gentlemen,  every  one  of  whom 
could  recollect  some  friend  or  other  who  had  been 
hanged.  Pozz.  ‘Yes,  sir,  that  is  the  easiest  way. 
We  know  those  who  have  been  hanged  ; we  can 
recollect  that : but  we  cannot  number  those  who 
deserve  it ; it  would  not  be  decorous,  sir,  in  a 
mixed  company.  No,  sir,  that  is  one  of  the  few 
things  which  we  are  compelled  to  think.1  ” 

Our  regard  for  literary  property  i prevents  our 
making  a larger  extract  from  the  above  important 
work.  We  have,  hold  ever,  ice  hope,  given  such  pas- 
sages as  will  tend  to  impress  our  readers  with  a high 
idea  of  this  vast  undertaking. — Note  by  the  au- 
thor. 


i [This  alludes  to  the  jealousy  about  copyright,  which 
Mr.  Boswell  carried  so  far  that  he  actually  printed  sepa- 
rately, and  entered  at  Stationers’  Hall,  Johnson’s  Letter 
to  Lord  Chesterfield  (vol.  i.  p.  112),  and  the  Account  of 
Johnson’s  Conversation  with  George  III.  at  Buckingham 
House,  (vol.  i.  p.  239)  to  prevent  his  rivals  making  use  of 
them.— Ed.] 


534 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


XL 

Mr.  Boswell's  Original  Dedication  of  the 
“ Tour  to  the  Hebrides.” 

TO  EDMOND  MALONE,  ESQ. 

My  dear  sir, — In  every  narrative,  whether 
historical  or  biographical,  authenticity  is  of  the  ut- 
most consequence.  Of  this  I have  been  so  firmly 
persuaded,  that  I inscribed  a former  work  to  that 
person  who  was  the  best  judge  of  its  truth.  I need 
not  tell  you  1 mean  General  Paoli ; who,  after  his 
great,  though  unsuccessful  efforts  to  preserve  the 
liberties  of  his  country,  has  found  an  honourable 
asylum  in  Britain,  where  he  has  now  lived  many 
years  the  object  of  royal  regard  and  private  re- 
spect ; and  whom  1 cannot  name  without  express- 
ing my  very  grateful  sense  of  the  uniform  kind- 
ness which  he  has  been  pleased  to  show  me. 

The  friends  of  Dr.  Johnson  can  best  judge,  from 
internal  evidence,  whether  the  numerous  conver- 
sations which  form  the  most  valuable  part  of  the 
ensuing  pages  are  correctly  related.  To  them, 
therefore,  I wish  to  appeal,  for  the  accuracy  of  the 
portrait  here  exhibited  to  the  world. 

As  one  of  those  who  were  intimately  acquaint- 
ed with  him,  you  have  a title  to  this  address. 
You  have  obligingly  taken  the  trouble  to  peruse 
the  original  manuscript  of  this  “Tour,”  and  can 
vouch  for  the  strict  fidelity  of  the  present  publica- 
tion. Your  literary  alliance  with  our  much  la- 
mented friend,  in  consequence  of  having  underta- 
ken to  render  one  of  his  labours  more  complete, 
by  your  edition  of  Shakspeare,  a work  which  I 
am  confident  will  not  disappoint  the  expectations 
of  the  publick,  gives  you  another  claim.  But  I 
have  a still  more  powerful  inducement  to  prefix 
your  name  to  this  volume,  as  it  gives  me  an  oppor- 
tunity of  letting  the  world  know  that  I enjoy  the 
honour  and  happiness  of  your  friendship  ; and  of 
thus  publickly  testifying  the  sincere  regard  with 
which  I am,  my  dear  sir,  your  very  faithful  and 
obedient  servant,  James  Boswell. 

London,  20th  September,  1785. 


advertisement  to  the  second  edition. 

By  correcting  the  errours  of  the  press  in  the 
former  edition,  and  some  inaccuracies  for  which 
the  authour  alone  is  answerable,  and  by  supplying 
some  additional  notes,  I have  endeavoured  to  ren- 
der this  work  more  deserving  of  the  very  high  ho- 
nour which  the  publick  has  been  pleased  to  show 
it — the  whole  of  the  first  impression  having  been 
sold  in  a few  weeks.  J.  B. 

London,  20th  December,  1785. 

advertisement  to  the  third  edition. 

Animated  by  the  very  favourable  reception 
which  two  large  impressions  of  this  work  have 
had,  it  has  been  my  study  to  make  it  as  perfect  as 
1 could  in  this  edition,  by  correcting  some  inac- 
curacies which  I discovered  myself,  and  some 
which  the  kindness  of  friends  or  the  scrutiny  of  ad- 
versaries pointed  out.  A few  notes  are  added,  of 
which  the  principal  object  is,  to  refute  misrepre- 
sentation and  calumny. 

To  the  animadversions  in  the  periodical  jour- 
nals of  criticism,  and  in  the  numerous  publications  | 


to  which  my  book  has  given  rise,  I have  made  no 
answer.  Every  work  must  stand  or  fall  by  its 
own  merit.  I cannot,  however,  omit  this  oppor- 
tunity of  returning  thanks  to  a gentleman  who 
published  a “ Defence  ” of  my  “ Journal,”  and 
has  added  to  the  favour  by  communicating  his 
name  to  me  in  a very  obliging  letter. 

It  would  be  an  idle  waste  of  time  to  take  any 
particular  notice  of  the  futile  remarks,  to  many  of 
which,  a petty  national  resentment,  unworthy  of 
my  countrymen,  has  probably  given  rise  ; re- 
marks, which  have  been  industriously  circulated 
in  the  publick  prints  by  shallow  or  envious  cavil- 
lers, who  have  endeavoured  to  persuade  the  world 
that  Dr.  Johnson’s  character  has  been  lessened  by 
recording  such  various  instances  of  his  lively  wit 
and  acute  judgment,  on  every  topick  that  was  pre- 
sented to  his  mind.  In  the  opinion  of  every  per- 
son of  taste  and  knowledge  that  I have  conversed 
with,  it  has  been  greatly  heightened  ; and  I will 
venture  to  predict,  that  this  specimen  of  the  collo- 
quial talents  and  extemporaneous  effusions  of  my 
illustrious  fellow-traveller  will  become  still  more 
valuable,  when,  by  the  lapse  of  time,  he  shall  have 
become  an  ancient ; when  all  those  who  can  now 
bear  testimony  to  the  transcendent  powers  of  his 
mind  shall  have  passed  away,  and  no  other  memo- 
rial of  this  great  and  good  man  shall  remain  but 
the  following  “ Journal,”  the  other  anecdotes  and 
letters  preserved  by  his  friends,  and  those  incom- 
parable works  which  have  for  many  years  been  in 
the  highest  estimation,  and  will  be  read  and  ad- 
mired as  long  as  the  English  language  shall  be 
spoken  or  understood.  J.  B. 

London,  15th  August,  1786. 


XII. 

A CHRONOLOGICAL  CATALOGUE 

OF  THE 

PROSE  WORKS  l OF  SAMUEL  JOHNSON,  LL.  D. 

N.  B. — To  those  which  he  himself  acknowl- 
edged is  added  acknowl.  To  those  which  may  be 
fully  believed  to  be  his  from  internal  evidence  is 
added  intern,  evid. 

1735.  Abridgement  and  translation  of  Lobo’s 
Voyage  to  Abyssinia,  aclcnowl. 

1738.  Part  of  ft  translation  of  Father  Paul  Sarpi’s 

History  of  the  Council  of  Trent,  ac- 
knowl. 

N.  B. — As  this  work,  after  some  sheets  were 
printed,  suddenly  stopped,  I know  not  whethei 
any  part  of  it  is  now  to  be  found. 

FOR  THE  GENTLEMAN’S  MAGAZINE. 
Preface,  intern,  evid. 

Life  of  Father  Paul,  acknowl. 

1739.  A complete  vindication  of  the  Licenser  ol 

l I do  not  here  include  Ins  poetical  works ; for,  except- 
ing his  Latin  translation  of  Pope’s  Messiah,  his  London, 
and  his  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,  imitated  from  Juve- 
nal ; his  Prologue  on  the  opening  of  Drury-lane  Theatre 
by  Mr.  Garrick,  and  his  Irene,  a Tragedy,  they  are  very 
numerous,  and  in  general  short ; and  I have  promised  i 
complete  edition  of  them,  in  which  I shall,  with  the  ut- 
most care,  ascertain  their  authenticity,  and  illustrate 
them  with  notes  and  various  readings. — Boswkil.  (The 
meaning  of  this  sentence,  and  particularly  of  the  word 
excepting,  is  not  very  clear.  Perhaps’  Mr.  Boswell 
wrote,  “they  are  not  very  numerous,"  which  would  uo 
less  obscure. — Ed.1 


CATALOGUE  OF  JOHNSON’S  PROSE  WORKS.  535 


r 

the  Stage  from  the  malicious  and  scan- 
dalous aspersions  of  Mr.  Brooke,  au- 
thour  of  Gustavus  Vasa,  acknowl. 

Marmot * Norfolciense : or  an  Essay  on 
an  ancient  prophetical  inscription  in 
monkish  rhyme,  lately  discovered  near 
Lynne  in  Norfolk,  by  Probus  Bri- 
tannicus,  acknowl. 

FOR  THE  gentleman’s  MAGAZINE. 

Life  of  Boerhaave,  acknowl. 

Address  to  the  Reader,  intern,  evid. 

Appeal  to  the  Publick  in  behalf  of  the 
Editor,  intern,  evid. 

Considerations  on  the  case  of  Dr.  Trapp’s 
Sermons  ; a plausible  attempt  to  prove 
that  an  authour’s  work  may  be  abridged 
without  injuring  his  property,  acknowl. 

i * Address  to  the  Reader  in  May. 

1740.  FOR  THE  gentleman’s  MAGAZINE. 

Preface,  intern,  evid. 

Life  of  Admiral  Drake,  acknowl. 

Life  of  Admiral  Blake,  acknowl. 

Life  of  Philip  Barretier,  acknowl. 

Essay  on  Epitaphs,  acknowl. 

1741.  FOR  THE  GENTLEMAN’S  MAGAZINE. 

Preface,  intern,  evid. 

A free  translation  of  the  Jests  of  Hiero- 
cles,  with  an  introduction,  intern,  evid. 

Debate  on  the  Humble  Petition  and  Ad- 
vice of  the  Rump  Parliament  to  Crom- 
well, in  1657,  to  assume  the  title  of 
King  ; abridged,  methodized,  and  di- 
gested, intern,  evid. 

Translation  of  Abb6  Guyon’s  Dissertation 
on  the  Amazons,  intern,  evid. 

Translation  of  Fontenelle’s  Fanegyrick  on 
Dr.  Morin,  intern,  evid. 

[742.  FOR  THE  GENTLEMAN’S  MAGAZINE. 

Preface,  intern,  evid. 

Essay  on  the  Account  of  the  Conduct  of 
the  Duchess  of  Marlborough,  acknowl. 

An  Account  of  the  Life  of  Peter  Burman, 
acknowl. 

The  Life  of  Sydenham,  afterwards  pre- 
fixed to  Dr.  Swan’s  edition  of  his  works, 
acknowl. 

Proposals  for  printing  Bibliotheca  Harlei- 
ana,  or  a Catalogue  of  the  Library  of 
the  Earl  of  Oxford,  afterwards  prefixed 
to  the  first  volume  of  that  catalogue,  in 
which  the  Latin  accounts  of  the  books 
were  written  by  him,  acknowl. 

Abridgement,  entitled  Foreign  History,  in- 
tern. evid. 

Essay  on  the  Description  of  China  from 
the  French  of  Du  Halde,  intern,  evid. 

17-13.  Dedication  to  Dr.  Mead  of  Dr.  James’s 
Medicinal  Dictionary,  intern,  evid. 

FOR  THE  GENTLEMAN’S  MAGAZINE. 

Preface,  intern,  evid. 

Parliamentary  Debates  under  the  name  of 
Debates  in  the  Senate  of  Lilliput  from 


l [These  and  several  other  articles,  which  are  marked 
with  an  asterisk,  were  suggested  to  Mr.  Malone  by  Mr. 
Chalmers  as  probably  written  by  Dr.  Johnson  ; they  are, 
therefore,  placed  in  this  general  list. — Ed  \ 


Nov.  19,  1740,  to  Feb.  23,  1742-3, 
inclusive,  acknowl. 

Considerations  on  the  Dispute  between 
Crousaz  andWarburton  on  Pope’s  Es- 
say on  Man,  intern,  evid. 

A Letter,  announcing  that  the  Life  of  Mr. 
Savage  was  speedily  to  be  published  by 
a person  who  was  favoured  with  his 
confidence,  intern,  evid. 

Advertisement  for  Osborne  concerning  the 
Harleian  Catalogue,  intern,  evid. 

1744.  Life  of  Richard  Savage,  acknowl. 

Preface  to  the  Harleian  Miscellany,  ac- 
knowl. 

FOR  THE  GENTLEMAN’S  MAGAZINE. 

Preface,  intern,  evid. 

1 745.  Miscellaneous  Observations  on  the  traged) 

of  Macbeth,  with  remarks  on  Sir  T.  H.’s 
(Sir  Thomas  Hanmer’s)  Edition  of 
Shakspeare,  and  proposals  for  a new 
Edition  of  that  Poet,  acknowl. 

1747.  Plan  for  a Dictionary  of  the  English 
Language,  addressed  to  Philip  Dor- 
mer, Earl  of  Chesterfield,  acknowl. 

FOR  THE  GENTLEMAN’S  MAGAZINE. 

* Lauder’s  Proposals  for  printing  the  Ada- 
mus  Exid  of  Grotius. 

[Abridgement  of  Foreign  History,  Gent. 
Mag,  1794,  p.  1001.] 

FOR  THE  GENTLEMAN’S  MAGAZINE. 

1743.  Life  of  Roscommon,  acknowl. 

Foreign  History,  November,  intern,  evid. 

FOR  MR.  DODSLEY’s  PRECEPTOR. 

Preface,  acknowl. 

Vision  of  Theodore  the  Hermit,  acknowl. 

FOR  THE  gentleman’s  MAGAZINE. 

1749.  * Letter  on  Fire  Works. 

1750.  The  Rambler,  the  first  paper  of  which 

was  published  20th  of  March  this  year, 
and  the  last  17th  of  March,  1752,  the 
day  on  which  Mrs.  Johnson  died  2,  ac- 
knowl. 

Letter  in  the  General  Advertiser  to  excite 
the  attention  of  the  publick  to  the  per- 
formance of  Comus,  which  was  next 
day  to  be  acted  at  Drury-lane  playhouse 
for  the  benefit  of  Milton’s  grand-daugh- 
ter, acknowl. 

Preface  and  Postscript  to  Lauder’s  Pam- 
phlet, entitled  “An  Essay  on  Milton’a 
Use  and  Imitation  of  the  Moderns  in  hi 
Paradise  Lost,”  ucknowL 

FOR  THE  GENTLEMAN’S  MAGAZINE. 

Address  to  the  Publick  concerning  Miss 
Williams’s  Miscellanies. 

1751.  Life  of  Cheynel,  in  the  Miscellany  called 

“ The  Student,”  acknowl. 

Letter  for  Lauder,  addressed  to  the  Reve- 
rend Dr.  John  Douglas,  acknowledging 


2 This  is  a mistake.  The  last  number  of  the  Ramblel 
appeared  on  the  14th  of  March,  three  day*  betore  Mrs. 
Johnson  died.  See  vol.  i.  p.  89. — Malon* 


630 


GENERAL  APPENDIX. 


his  fraud  concerning  Milton  in  terms 
of  suitable  contrition,  acknowl. 

Dedication  to  the  Earl  of  Middlesex  of 
Mrs.  Charlotte  Lennox’s  “Female 
Quixote,”  intern,  evid. 

FOR  THE  GENTLEMAN’S  MAGAZINE. 

* Preface. 

* Criticism  on  Moore’s  Gil  Bias. 

|75<t  Dedication  to  John,  Earl  of  Orrery,  of 
Shakspeare  illustrated,  by  Mrs.  Char- 
lotte Lennox,  acknowl. 

During  this  and  the  following  year  he  • 
wrote  and  gave  to  his  much  loved 
friend,  Dr.  Bathurst,  the  papers  in  the 
Adventurer,  signed  T.,  acknowl. 

FOR  THE  GENTLEMAN’S  MAGAZINE. 

* Preface. 

* Notice  of  Mr.  Edward  Cave’s  death,  in- 

serted in  the  last  page  of  the  index. 

1754.  Life  of  Edw’ard  Cave  in  the  Gentleman’s 

Magazine,  acknowl. 

FOR  THE  GENTLEMAN’S  MAGAZINE. 

* Preface. 

1755.  A Dictionary,  with  a Grammar  and 

History  of  the  English  Language, 
acknowl. 

A n account  of  an  Attempt  to  ascertain  the 
Longitude  at  Sea,  by  an  exact  Theory 
of  the  Variations  of  the  Magnetical  Nee- 
dle, with  a Table  of  the  Variations  at 
the  most  remarkable  cities  in  Europe, 
from  tte  year  1660  to  1780,  acknowl. 
This  he  wrote  for  Mr.  Zachariah  Wil- 
liams, an  ingenious  ancient  Welsh  gen- 
tleman, father  of  Mrs.  Anna  Williams, 
whom  he  for  many  years  kindly  lodged 
in  his  house.  It  was  published  with  a 
translation  into  Italian  by  Signor  Baret- 
ti.  In  a copy  of  it,  which  he  presented 
to  the  Bodleian  Library  at  Oxford,  is 
pasted  a character  of  the  late  Mr.  Zach- 
ariah Williams,  plainly  written  by  John- 
son, intern,  evid. 

1756.  An  Abridgement  of  his  Dictionary,  ackn. 

Several  Essays  in  the  Universal  Visitor, 

which  there  is  some  difficulty  in  ascer- 
taining. All  that  are  marked  with  two 
asterisks  have  been  ascribed  to  him,  al- 
though I am  confident,  from  internal 
evidence,  that  we  should  except  from 
these  “The  Life  of  Chaucer,”  “Re- 
flections on  the  State  of  Portugal,”  and 
“An  Essay  on  Architecture.”  And 
from  the  same  evidence  I am  confident 
that  he  wrote  “Further  Thoughts  on 
Agriculture”  and  “A  Dissertation  on 
the  State  of  Literature  and  Authours.” 
The  Dissertation  on  the  Epitaphs,  writ- 
ten by  Pope,  he  afterwards  acknowl- 
edged, and  added  to  his  “Idler.” 

Life  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  prefixed  to  a 
new  edition  of  his  Christian  Morals,  ac- 
knowl. 

In  the  Literary  Magazine,  or  Uni- 
versal Review,  which  began  in 


January,  1756,  his  Original  Essays 
are, 

The  Preliminary  Address,  intern,  evid. 

An  Introduction  to  the  Political  State  of 
Great  Britain,  intern,  evid. 

Remarks  on  the  Militia  Bill,  intern,  evid. 

Observations  on  his  Britannick  Majesty’s 
Treaties  with  the  Empress  of  Russia 
and  the  Landgrave  of  Hesse  Cassel,  in- 
tern. evid. 

Observations  on  the  Present  State  of  Af- 
fairs, intern,  evid. 

Memoirs  of  Frederick  III.,  King  of  Prus- 
sia, intern,  evid. 

In  the  same  Magazine  his  Previews 
are  of  the  following  books : “ Birch’s 
History  of  the  Royal  Society;” 
“Browne’s  Christian  Morals;”  “War- 
ton’s  Essay  on  the  W ritings  and  Genius 
of  Pope,”  vol.  i. ; “Hampton’s  Trans- 
lation of  Polybius;”  “Sir  Isaac  New- 
ton’s Arguments  in  proof  of  a Deity ;” 
“ Borlase’s  History  of  the  Isles  of  Scil- 
ly ; ” “ Home’s  Experiments  on  Bleach- 
ing;” “Browne’s  History  of  Jamai- 
ca; ” “Hales  on  Distilling  Sea- Waters, 
Ventilators  in  Ships,  and  curing  an  ill 
taste  in  Milk ; ” “ Lucas’s  Essay  on 
Waters;”  “Keith’s  Catalogue  of  the 
Scottish  Bishops  ; ” “ Philosophical 

Transactions,”  vol.  xlix.  ; “ Miscella- 
nies by  Elizabeth  Harrison  ; ” “Evans’s 
Map  and  Account  of  the  Middle  Colo- 
nies in  America;’’  “The  Cadet,  a 
Military  Treatise;”  “The  Conduct  of 
the  Ministry  relating  to  the  present  War, 
impartiality  examined,”  intern,  evid. 

“ Mrs.  Lennox’s  Translation  of  Sully’a 
Memoirs;”  “Letter  on  the  Case  of 
Admiral  Byng ; ” “Appeal  to  the  Peo- 
ple concerning  Admiral  Byng ; ” “Han- 
way’s  Eight  Days’  Journey  and  Essay 
on  Tea  “ Some  further  particulars  in 
Relation  to  the  Case  of  Admiral  Byng, 
by  a gentleman  of  Oxford,”  acknowl. 

Mr.  Jonas  Hanway  having  written  an  an- 
gry Answer  to  the  Review  of  his  Essay 
on  Tea,  Johnson,  in  the  same  collection, 
made  a reply  to  it,  acknowl.  This  is 
the  only  instance,  it  is  believed,  when 
he  condescended  to  take  notice  of  any 
thing  that  had  been  written  against  him ; 
and  here  his  chief  intention  seems  to 
have  been  to  make  sport. 

Dedication  to  the  Earl  of  Rochford  of, 
and  Preface  to,  Mr.  Payne’s  Introduc- 
tion to  the  Game  of  Draughts,  acknoxol. 

Introduction  to  the  London  Chronicle,  an 
Evening  Paper,  which  still  subsists  with 
deserved  credit,  acknmol. 

* “ Observations  on  the  Foregoing  Let- 
ter,” i.  e.  A Letter  on  the  American 
Colonies. 

1757.  Speech  on  the  Subject  of  an  Address  to  the 
Throne  after  the  Expedition  to  Roche- 
fort ; delivered  by  one  of  his  friends  in 
some  publick  meeting:  it  is  printed  in 
the  Gentleman’s  Magazine  for  October, 
1785,  intern,  evid* 


CATALOGUE  OF  JOHNSON’S  PROSE  WORKS,  887 


The  first  two  paragraphs  of  the  Preface  to 
Sir  William  Chambers’s  Designs  of  Chi- 
nese Buildings,  &c.  acknowl. 

758.  The  Idler,  which  began  April  5,  in  this 
year,  and  was  continued  till  April  5, 
1760,  acknowl. 

An  Essay  on  the  Bravery  of  the  English 
Common  Soldiers  was  added  to  it,  when 
published  in  volumes,  acknowl . 

.759.  Rasselas,  Prince  of  Abyssinia,  a Tale,  ac- 
knowl. 

Advertisement  for  the  Proprietors  of  the 
idler  against  certain  persons  who  pirated 
those  papers  as  they  came  out  singly  in 
a newspaper  called  the  Universal  Chron- 
icle, or  W eekly  Gazette,  intern,  evid. 

For  Mrs.  Charlotte  Lennox’s  English  Ver- 
sion of  Brumoy,  “ A Dissertation  on  the 
Greek  Comedy,”  and  the  General  Con- 
clusion of  the  Book,  intern,  evid. 

Introduction  to  the  World  Displayed,  a 
Collection  of  Voyages  and  Travels,  ac- 
knowl. 

Three  Letters  in  the  Gazetteer,  concerning 
the  best  plan  for  Biackfriars-bridge,  ac- 
knowl. 

1760.  Address  of  the  Painters  to  George  III.  on 

his  Accession  to  the  throne,  intern,  evid. 

Dedication  of  Baretti’s  Italian  and  English 
Dictionary  to  the  Marquis  of  Abreu, 
then  Envoy-Extraordinary  from  Spain 
at  the  Court  of  Great  Britain,  intern, 
evid. 

Review  in  the  Gentleman’s  Magazine  of 
Mr.  Tytler’s  acute  and  able  vindication 
of  Mary  Glueen  of  Scots,  acknowl. 

Introduction  to  the  proceedings  of  the 
Committee  for  Clothing  the  French  Pris- 
oners, acknowl. 

1761.  Preface  to  Rolt’s  Dictionary  of  Trade  and 

Commerce,  acknoivl.  , 

Corrections  and  Improvements  for  Mr. 
Gwyn  the  Architect’s  pamphlet,  entitled 
“ Thoughts  on  the  Coronation  of  George 
III.”  acknowl. 

1/62.  Dedication  to  the  King  of  the  Reverend 
Dr.  Kennedy’s  Complete  System  of 
Astronomical  Chronology  unfolding  the 
Scriptures,  4to  edition,  acknowl. 

Preface  to  the  Catalogue  of  the  Artist’s 
Exhibition,  intern,  evid. 

.763.  Character  of  Collins  in  the  Poetical  Cal- 
endar, published  by  Fawkes  and  Woty, 
acknowl. 

Dedication  to  the  Earl  of  Shaftesbury  of 
the  edition  of  Roger  Ascham’s  English 
Works,  publishedby  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Bennett,  acknowl. 

The  Life  of  Ascham,  also  prefixed  to  that 
edition,  acknowl. 

Review  of  Telemachus,  a Masque,  by  the 
Reverend  George  Graham,  of  Eton 
College,  in  the  Critical  Review,  ac- 
knowl. 

Dedication  to  the  Glueen  of  Mr.  Hoole’s 
Translation  of  Tasso,  acknowl. 

Account  of  the  Detection  of  the  Imposture 
of  the  Cock-lane  Ghost,  published  in 

vol.  ii.  68 


the  Newspapers  and  Gentleman’s  Mag- 
azine, acknowl. 

1764.  Part  of  a Review  of  Granger’s  “Sugar 

Cane,”  a Poem,  in  the  London  Chron 
icle,  acknowl. 

Review  of  Goldsmith’s  “ Traveller,”  a 
Poem,  in  the  Critical  Review,  acknowl. 

1765.  The  Plays  of  William  Shakspeare,  in 

eight  volumes,  8vo.  with  Notes,  ac- 
knowl. 

1766.  The  Fountains,  a Fairy  Tale,  in  Mrs. 

Williams’s  Miscellanies,  acknowl. 

1767.  Dedication  to  the  King  of  Mr.  Adams’s 

' Treatise  on  the  Globes,  acknowl. 

1769.  Character  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Zachariah 

Mudge,  in  the  London  Chronicle,  ac- 
knowl. 

1770.  The  False  Alarm,  acknowl. 

1771.  Thoughts  on  the  late  Transactions  respect- 

ing Falkland’s  Islands,  acknowl. 

1772.  Defence  of  a Schoolmaster;  dictated  to 

me  for  the  House  of  Lords,  acknowl. 
Argument  in  support  of  the  Law  of  Vicious 
Intromission ; dictated  to  me  for  the 
Court  of  Session  in  Scotland,  acknowl. 

1773.  Preface  to  Macbean’s  “ Dictionary  of  An- 

cient Geography,”  acknowl. 

Arguments  in  favour  of  the  Rights  of  Lay 
Patrons;  dictated  to  me  for  the  Gen- 
eral Assembly  of  the  Church  of  Scot- 
land, acknowl. 

1774.  The  Patriot,  acknowl. 

1775.  A Journey  to  the  Western  Islands  of  Scot- 

land, acknowl. 

Proposals  for  publishing  the  works  of 
Mrs.  Charlotte  Lennox,  in  3 volumes, 
4to.  acknowl. 

Preface  to  Baretti’s  Easy  Lessons  in  Italian 
and  English,  intern,  evid. 

Taxation  no  Tyranny  : an  Answer  to  the 
Resolutions  and  Address  of  the  Ameri- 
can Congress,  acknowl. 

Argument  on  the  Case  of  Dr.  Memis ; dic- 
tated to  me  for  the  Court  of  Sessions  in 
Scotland,  acknowl. 

Argument  to  prove  that  the  Corporation 
of  Stirling  was  corrupt ; dictated  to  me 
for  the  House  of  Lords,  acknowl. 

1776.  Argument  in  support  of  the  Right  of  im- 

mediate and  personal  Reprehension 
from  the  Pulpit ; dictated  to  me,  ac- 
knowl. 

Proposals  for  publishing  an  Analysis  for 
the  Scotch  Celtick  Language,  by  the 
Reverend  William  Shaw,  acknowl. 

1777.  Dedication  to  the  King  of  the  Posthumous 

W orks  of  Dr.  Pearce,  Bishop  of  Roch- 
ester, acknowl. 

Additions  to  the  Life  and  Character  of  that 
Prelate,  prefixed  to  those  works,  ac- 
knowl. 

Various  Papers  and  Letters  in  favour  of 
the  Reverend  Dr.  Dodd,  acknowl. 

1780.  Advertisement  for  his  Friend,  Mr.  Thrale, 
to  the  Worthy  Electors  of  the  Borough 
of  Southwark,  acknowl. 

First  Paragraph  of  Mr.  Thomas  Davies’? 
Life  of  Garrick,  acknowl. 


general  appendix. 


1781  Prefaces,  biographical  and  critical,  to  the 
Works  of  the  most  eminent  English 
Poets ; afterwards  published  with  the 
Title  of  the  Lives  of  the  English  Poets, 
acknowl. 

Argument  on  the  importance  of  the  Regis- 
tration of  Deeds  ; dictated  to  me  for  an 
Election  Committee  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  acknowl. 

On  the  Distinction  between  Tory  and 
Whig  ; dictated  to  me,  acknowl. 

On  Vicarious  Punishments,  and  the  great 
Propitiation  for  the  Sins  of  the  World  by 
Jesus  Christ  ; dictated  to  me,  acknowl. 

Argument  in  favour  of  Joseph  Knight,  an 
African  Negro,  who  claimed  his  Liberty 
in  the  Court  of  Session  in  Scotland,  and 
obtained  it ; dictated  to  me,  acknowl. 

Defence  of  Mr.  Robertson,  Printer  of  the 
Caledonian  Mercury,  against  the  Society 
of  Procurators  in  Edinburgh,  for  having 
inserted  in  his  paper  a ludicrous  para- 
graph against  them  ; demonstrating  that 
it  was  not  an  injurious  Libel ; dictated 
to  me,  acknowl. 

.782.  The  greatest  [part],  if  not  the  whole,  of  a 
Reply,  by  the  Reverend  Mr.  Shaw,  to 
a person  at  Edinburgh,  of  the  name  of 
Clarke,  refuting  his  arguments  for  the 
authenticity  of  the  Poems  published  by 
Mr.  James  Macpherson  as  Translations 
from  Ossian,  intern,  evid. 

1781.  List  of  the  Authors  of  the  Universal  Histo- 
ry, deposited  in  the  British  Museum, 


and  printed  in  the  Gentleman  s Maga 
zine  for  December,  this  year,  acknowl. 

VARIOUS  YEARS. 

Letters  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  acknowl. 

Prayers  and  Meditations,  which  he  deliver- 
ed to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Strahan,  enjoining 
him  to  publish  them,  acknowl. 

Sermons,  left  for  publication  by  John 
Taylor;  LL.  D.  Prebendary  of  West- 
minster, and  given  to  the  World  by  the 
Reverend  Samuel  Hayes,  A.  M.  intern, 
evid . 

Such  was  the  number  and  variety  of  the  prose 
works  of  this  extraordinary  man,  which  I have 
been  able  to  discover,  and  am  at  liberty  to  men- 
tion i ; but  we  ought  to  keep  in  mind,  that  there 
must  undoubtedly  have  been  many  more  which 
are  yet  concealed ; and  we  may  add  to  the  ac- 
count, the  numerous  letters  which  he  wrote,  of 
which  a considerable  part  are  yet  unpublished. 
It  is  hoped  that  those  persons,  in  whose  possession 
they  are,  will  favour  the  world  with  them. 

James  Boswell. 


l [This  is  a strange  phrase.  What  work  could  it  have 
been  that  Mr.  Boswell  was  not  at  liberty  to  mention  ? 
That  there  was  some  peculiar  meaning  here  can  hardly 
be  doubted.  It  perhaps  may  allude  to  some  publications 
of  a jacobite  tendency,  written  in  Johnson’s  earlier  days, 
and  which  may  have  been  acknowledged  in  confidence  tc 
Boswell ; but  this  is  a mere  conjecture.  Many  of  the  ar- 
ticles inserted  in  the  foregoing  list  on  internal  evidenct 
(particularly  those  from  the  magazines)  are  of  very  little 
importance  and  of  very  doubtful  authenticity.— Ed.] 


INDEX 


Aberbrothwick,  i.  552. 

Abercrombie,  Mr.  James,  of  Philadelphia,  his  communi- 
cations concerning  Johnson,  i.  302. 

Aberdeen,  i.  349. — Johnson’s  account  of,  i.  552-3 — butter, 
duel  fought  for  the  honour  of,  i.  443  re. — William  Gor- 
don, second  Earl  of,  i.  365  re. 

Aberdonians,  i.  353. 

Abemethy,  Rev.  John,  on  the  effect  of  prayer,  i.  344. — 
some  account  of,  i.  id.  re. 

Abingdon,  Willoughby  Bertie,  fourth  Earl  of,  bon-mot 
of,  ii.  238  re. 

Abington,  Mrs.  the  actress,  i.  508,  510,  512,  520,  530. 

Abjuration,  oath  of,  i.  508. 

Absenteeism,  ii.  123,  152. 

Absentee  tax,  ii.  227. 

Absolute  princes,  i.  528. 

Abstemiousness,  Johnson’s,  i.  39  n.,  208, 227, 243, 293, 326, 
393,  412,  421,  522 ; ii.  33,  57,  172,  282. 

Absurdities,  use  of  delineating,  ii.  248. 

Abuse,  personal,  i.  250,  364. — Johnson’s  disregard  of,  ii. 
204,  252. 

Abyssinia,  Lobo’s  voyage  to,  i.  30 ; ii.  51.— Prince  of,  see 


Academy  Della  Cruscasend  Johnson  their  Vocabulary, 

i.  128. 

Accent,  Scotch,  overcome  by  perseverance,  i.  285. 
Accounts,  keeping,  ii.  330. 

Achilles,  shield  of,  ii.  254. 

Acis  and  Galatea,  ii.  149. 

Acquaintance,  Johnson’s  numerous  and  various,  ii.  56, 
349. 

Acquaintances,  i.  128 ; ii.  330. 

Acting,  132  re. ; ii.  359, 359  re  — tragic,  Johnson’s  contempt 
of,  i.  332. 

Action,  in  public  speaking,  i.  304. 

Active  sports  in  young  people,  not  to  be  reckoned  idle- 
ness, i.  18. 

Activity  of  body,  Johnson’s,  ii.  286. — of  mind,  Johnson’s, 

ii.  186  n. 

Actor,  qualities  of  a great,  i.  468  re. 

Actors,  i.  67-8, 261,  313,  332 ; ii.  19,  125, 360— Johnson’s 
prejudice  against,  and  contemptuous  severity  towards, 

i.  67-8,  80  7i. ; ii.  244,  245. 

Adams,  Rev.  Dr.  William,  master  of  Pembroke  College, 
Oxford,  i.  20,  25,27,  51,71,  74,79,  113-4,  122,214,  417, 
449,  491 ; ii.  35,  153,  156,  186,  426.— some  account  of. 

ii.  426  re.— nis  account  of  the  first  representation  of 
‘Irene,’  i.  79. — his  Answer  to  Hume’s  Essay  on  Mira- 
cles, ii.  35.— Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  413.— Miss,  after- 
wards Mrs.  Hyett,  ii.  384-5. — George,  the  mathematical 
instrument  maker,  Johnson’s  dedication  to  the  king  of 
his  ‘Treatise  on  the  Globes,’  i.  138,  243 

Addison,  Joseph,  i.  9 7i.,  82,  82  7i.  192,221,320,  334,348, 
431,519;  ii.  66,  111,  145,  165,  251,  284,  399,433,  433  re. 
—his  ‘ Notanda,’  i.  82 71.— his  ‘ Remarks  on  Italy,’  i.  431, 
51971.— his  style  compared  with  Johnson’s,  i.  91.— ab- 
surd observation  of  Sir  J.  Hawkins  on  the  style  of,  i. 
9l7i.— his  conduct  towards  Steele,  ii.  274,  291. — John- 
son’s opinion  of,  i.  92, 192, 221 ; ii.  189. — Johnson,  Life 
of,  ii.  274. 

Address  of  the  Painters  to  George  III.  on  his  accession, 
written  by  Johnson,  i.  153. 

Adey,  Mrs.  i.  249,  251 ; ii.  203,  213.— Miss  Mary,  i.  13 ; 

ii.  45,  222. 

Admiration,  i.  524. 

• Adventurer,’  Dr.  John  Ilawkesworth’s,  i.  83,  96,  102, 
107,  108-9,  139.— the  papers  marked  T,  written  by 
Johnson,  i.  139 ; ii.  472  re. 

‘Adventures  of  a Guinea,’  by  whom  written,  i.  417  n. 
•Adversaria,’  specimen  of  Johnson’s,  i.  82. 
Adversaries,  not  to  be  treated  with  respect,  i.  329. 
Advertisements,  Johnson’s,  in  the  Gentleman’s  Maga- 
zine, i.  35,  63. — in  the  Universal  Chronicle,  i.  149. — in 
the  Edinburgh  newspapers,  i.  469. 

Adultery,  i.  247-8 


1 iEgrl  Ephemeris,’  Johnson’s,  ii.  306,  428 

iEneid,  story  of  the,  ii.  346. 

Aeschylus,  Potter’s  translation  of,  ii.  155. 

Affectation,  ii.  251, 528.— in  writing,  i.  403.— of  familiar 
ity  with  the  great,  ii.  279. 

Affection,  natural,  i.  265 ; ii.  211,  343.— Johnson’s,  fot 
Miss  Boothby,  i.  29 ; ii.  276. 

Agar,  Welbore'  Ellis,  Esq.  ii.  95  re. 

Age,  old,  ii.  128,  154,  186,  263,  331,  378. 

‘ Agis,’  Home’s  tragedy  of,  i.  389  re. 

1 Aglaura,’  Suckling’s  play  of,  ii.  180. 

Agutter,  Rev.  William,  ii.  382  re.— his  sermon  on  John- 
son’s death,  ii.  451. 

Aikin,  Miss  Letitia,  afterwards  Mrs.  Barbauld,  ii.  21  21 
7i.,  121,  259.— her  imitation  of  Johnson’s  style,  ii.  I2ll 

Air-bath,  Lord  Monboddo’s,  ii.  118. 

Akenside,  Dr.  Mark,  i.  156,  288 ; ii.  49,  50  re.,  60. 

Akerman,  Mr.,  keeper  of  Newgate,  anecdotes  of,  ii.  235. 
— Johnson’s  eulogy  on,  ii.  235. 

Alberti,  Leandro,  his  classical  description  of  Italy,  i.  431 
519,  519  re. 

Alchymy,  i.  530. 

Alcibiades,  ii.  158. — his  dog,  ii.  145. 

Alfred,  Johnson’s  wish  to  write  the  Life  of,  i.  71 hia 

will,  ii.  308,  308  re. 

Algebra,  the  study  of,  recommended,  ii.  266. 

‘ Alias,’  Johnson’s  exemplification  of  the  word,  ii.  345. 

Allen,  Rev.  Thomas,  i.  425  re.— Edmund  the  printer,  i 
146  re.,  208,  425;  ii.  105,  159,  177,  291,  422.— Johnson’s 
letter  to,  ii.  350  — Ralph,  Esq.  i.  348. 

‘ Alley  Croker,’  ii.  152,  152  re. 

‘ All  for  Love,’  Dryden’s  preface  to,  quoted,  ii.  299  n. 

Alnwick  Castle,  ii.  161. 

Althorp,  Lord,  now  Earl  Spencer  ii.  231.  See  Spen- 
cer. 

‘ Amelia,’  Fielding’s,  ii.  65,  65  re. 

Ambition,  ii.  63. 

America,  and  the  Americans,  i.  497,  502 ; ii.  132,  133 
168, 178, 238  re.,  286, 333  re.,  381.— right  of  Great  Britain 
to  tax,  ii.  133. 

Amusements,  country,  ii.  255.— a man  known  by  his, 
ii.  392.  ' 

Amyat,  Dr.  i.  164. 

‘ Ana,’  the,  French,  i.  431. 

Anacreon,  Baxter’s,  i.  456;  ii.  325,  325 re.,  371. — Dove  of, 
translated  by  Johnson,  ii.  479  re. — Fawkes’s  translation 
of,  ii.  479  re. 

Anaitis,  temple  of,  i.  394,  395. 

Analogy  between  body  and  mind,  i.  20. 

‘ Anatomy  of  Melancholy,’  Burton’s,  i.  169  ; ii.  35. 

Ancestry,  i.  282. 

‘ Ancient  Ballads,’  Dr.  Percy’s,  ii.  164. 

Ancient  times,  folly  of  praising,  at  the  expense  of  mod- 
ern, ii.  345. 

Anderdon,  MSS.  ii.  426,  432. 

Anderson,  Professor,  at  Glasgow,  i.  453-4;  ii.  96.— Dr. 
Robert,  his  ‘ Life  of  Johnson,’  i.  17  re.,  37  re.,  79  re. — 
Mr.,  his  ‘Sketches  of  the  Native  Irish,’  i.  284;  ii.  93. 

Andrew’s,  St.,  i.  341 ; ii.  552. — its  library,  i.  342  w.— ruins 
of  its  cathedral,  ii.  52. — its  university,  ii.  552. 

Anecdotes,  Johnson’s  love  of,  i.  333. — general  inaccuracy 
of,  ii.  411  re. — at  second  hand,  little  to  be  relied  on,  ii 
439  re. 

Anfractuosities  of  the  human  mind,  ii.  243. 

Angel,  Mr.  John,  his  ‘Stenography,’  i.  310. 

Angel,  fallen,  ii.  354. 

Anne,  Q,ueen,  Johnson  touched  by,  for  the  evil,  i.  15- 
wits  of  her  reign,  ii.  188  re. 

Annihilation,  ii.  110,  170. 

‘ Animus  aequus,’  the,  not  inheritable,  i.  458. 


Anonymous  writings,  ii.  205. 

, ‘ Annus  Mirabilis,’  Tasker’s,  ii.  327  re. 


Anson,  Lord,  ii.  204,  204  re. — Johnson’s  epigram  on 
temple  of  the  winds,  ii.  204  re. 

‘ Anthologia,’  ii.  429. 

Antiquarian  researches,  ii.  185. 


540 


INDEX. 


Apelles,  the  Venus  of,  ii.  295,  296  n. 

Apocrypha,  ii.  124. 

1 Apology,’  Cibber’s,  ii.  75. 

‘Apology  for  the  Quakers,’  Barclay’s,  ii.  41. 

Apolosy,  Johnson’s  readiness  to  make  one,  ii.  394. 

‘Apotheosis  of  Milton,’  not  written  by  Johnson,  i.  54. 

Apparitions,  i.  149,  182-3,223,  281,  287,  293,  295.  296  re. ; 
ii.  291,  293. 

Appetite,  riders  out  in  quest  of,  ii.  398. 

Appius,  Cicero’s  character  of,  applied  to  Johnson,  ii. 
425  re. 

Applause,  ii.  253. 

April  fools’  day,  ii.  91,  91  re. 

Arabs,  fidelity  of,  i.  363. 

Arbuthnot,  Dr.  John,  i.  192,  334. — Robert,  Esq.  i.  329, 
329  7i. 

* Arcadia,’  Sidney’s,  ii.  101  ti. 

Arches,  comparative  strength  of  semicircular  and  ellipti- 
cal, i.  152. 

Architecture,  ornamental,  ii.  34. 

Areskiue,  Sir  John,  i.  424. 

Arguing,  Johnson’s  mode  of,  and  fondness  for,  ii.  51,57, 
298,  379,  380  re.,  391. 

Argument,  Johnson’s,  on  schoolmasters  and  their  duty,  i. 
296,  536. — on  vicious  intromission,  i.  300,  537. — in  de- 
fence of  lay  patronage,  i.  316, 538. — against  Dr.  Memis’s 
complaint,  that  he  was  styled  1 doctor  of  medicine,’  in- 
stead of  ‘ physician,’  i.  529, 550. — in  favour  of  the  cor- 
poration of  Stirling,  i.  529, 550. — on  entails,  ii.  24. — on 
the  liberty  of  the  pulpit,  ii.  72, 559. — on  the  registration 
of  deeds,  ii.  283. — in  favour  of  a negro  claiming  his  lib- 
erty, ii.  132,  561. — against  a prosecution  by  the  procu- 
rators of  Edinburgh  against  the  publisher  of  a libel,  ii. 
306,  468. — and  testimony,  ii.  379. 

Argyle,  Archibald,  fourth  Duke  of,  i.  445. — John,  fifth 
Duke  of,  i.  447,  447  re. — Johnson’s  visit  to,  i.  448. — 
Johnson’s  letter  to.  i.  451. — his  letter  to  Johnson,  Ibid. 
— Elizabeth  Gunning,  Duchess  of,  i.  447,  447  re. 

Ariosto,  ii.  244. 

Aristotle,  saying  of,  ii.  247. — his  ‘Poetics,’  ii.  267, 
267  ti. 

Arithmetic,  Johnson’s  resort  to,  when  his  fancy  was  dis- 
ordered, ii.  264. 

Arkwright,  Sir  Richard,  ii.  400. 

Armidale,  i.  372,  417. 

Armorial  bearings,  i.  294. 

Arms,  piling  of,  why  insisted  on,  ti.  195. 

Armstrong,  Dr.  John,  i.  151  re.  ii  95. 

Army,  officers  of  the,  i.  464. 

Arnauld,  Anthony,  ii.  192. 

Arnold,  Dr.  Thomas,  his  ‘ Observations  on  Insanity,’ 
ii.  122. 

‘Art  of  Living  in  London,’  i.  39. 

Artificial  ruins,  i.  492  re. 

' Arts  corrective,’  i.  427. 

Articles,  subscription  to  the  thirty-nine,  i.  266,  282,  282 
ti.,  342. 

Ascham,  Roger,  Johnson’s  Life  of,  i.  206. 

Asaph,  Bishop  of.  See  Shipley. 

‘ Ascanius,’  i.  386  re.,  387  ti.,  388  re. 

Ash,  Dr.  John,  founder  of  the  Eumelian  club,  ii.  431  re. 

Ashbourne,  ii.  124,  134. 

Ashburton,  Lord.  See  Dunning. 

Assertion,  ii.  380  re. 

Assize,  maiden  one,  ii.  156. 

Association  of  ideas,  ii.  169. 

Astle,  Thomas,  Esq.,  keeper  of  the  records  in  the  Tower, 
i.  66.— Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  308.— his  notes  on  Alfred's 
will,  ii.  308, 308  71.— Rev.  Mr.,  Johnson’s  advice  to,  as 
to  his  studies,  ii.  391. 

Aston,  Sir  Thomas,  i.  29,  29  n.— Miss  Mary,  afterwards 
Mrs.  Brodie,  i.  29,  29  re. ; ii.  276  ti.,  277  re.— Miss  Ma- 
ry. Johnson’s  epigram  addressed  to,  i.  54 : ii.  120  re. 
—Mrs.  Elizabeth,  i.  29, 243  ti.,  271 ; ii.  4, 44, 46, 102, 135, 
— Johnson’s  letters  to,  i.  243,  253 ; ii.  89,  90,  103,  135, 
201,  203,  212,  223,  317,  370. 

Astley,  Mr.  Philip,  the  equestrian,  ii.  220,  220  re. 

' As  You  Like  It,’  the  clown’s  answer  in,  ii.  256. 

Atheism,  i.  336. 

* Athol  porridge,’  ii.  285. 

‘Adas,’  the  race-horse,  i.  479  re.  .... 

Atonement,  the  great  article  of  Christianity,  l.  350,  351 
ti.  ; ii.  128  ti.,  303,  303  ti.,  442  ti. 

Attack,  advantages  which  authors  derive  from,  i.  417, 
515. 

Atterbury,  Dr.  Francis,  Bishop  of  Rochester,  ii.  144, 151, 
— his  Mineral  sermon  on  Lady  Cutts,  ii.  144. — style  of, 
hts  sermons,  ii.  151. 

Attorney  general,  ludicrous  title  given  to,  ii.  77. 

Attorneys,  i.  171,  444  re. ; ii.  391. 

Avarice,  i.  433 : ii.  63,  74,  181,  255,  257. 


Auchinleck  estate,  i.  457,  457  n. ; ii.  23,  563,  123.— Lord 
Boswell’s  father,  i.  456,  458, 458  re. ; ii.  78  n.,  311— des 
ignates  Johnson  1 Ursa  Major,’  i.  459. 

Auchnasheal,  i.  369. 

Author,  rarely  hurt  by  his  critics,  ii.  230.— the  ‘ Young,’ 
a poem  by  Johnson,  i.  532.— Virgil’s  description  of  the 
entrance  into  hell  applied  to,  i.  431. 

Authors,  i.  109, 250, 313, 340, 417, 518 ; ii.  55, 124, 143, 180, 
185,  204, 205, 302, 393, 398. — modern,  the  moons  of  lite- 
rature, ii.  185.— attacks  on  them  useful,  i.  417.— the 
casuistry  which  passes  on  the  world  the  production 
of  one,  for  that  of  another,  condemned,  i.  109,  109  re. 

B. 

Bachey  Graig,  i.  483,  483  re. 

Bacon,  Francis,  Lord  Verulam,  i.  401 ; ii.  130. — Mallet’s 
‘ Life  ’ of,  ii.  130. — his  1 History  of  Henry  VH.,’  i.  395 
— his  precept  for  conversation,  ii.  355. 

Badcock,  Rev.  Samuel,  ii.  438.— his  visit  to  Johnson,  ii 
438.— some  account  of,  ii.  438  re. 

Badenoch,  Lord  of,  i.  360,  360  re. 

Badini,  Signor,  anecdote  of,  ii.  390  re. 

Bad  habits,  ii.  332  re. — management,  ii.  179. 

Bagshaw,  Rev.  Thomas,  i.  320. — some  account  of,  i.  320 
ti. — Johnson’s  letter  to,  i.  320;  ii.  414. 

Bagpipes,  i.  433. 

Baillie,  Dr.  Matthew,  his  recommendation  of  card-play 
ing,  i.  466  re. 

Baker,  Sir  Richard,  his  ‘ Chronicles  ’ quoted,  i.  323  n.— 
Sir  George,  ii.  416. — Mrs.,  i.  237. 

Balance  of  misery,  ii.  387,  483. 

Balcarras,  Earl  of,  ii.  80  re. 

Ball  without  powder,  ii.  244. 

Ballantine,  Mr.  George,  i.  156. 

Balloons,  ii.  416,  417. 

Ballow,  Mr.  Thomas  ii.  56. — some  account  of,  i.  56  r i 

Baltic,  Johnson’s  proposed  voyage  to,  ii.  103. 

Bankes,  Mr.,  of  Dorsetshire,  i.  56. 

Banks,  Sir  Joseph,  i.  279,  280,  280  ti.,  440  n. ; ii.  199, 200 
— Johnson’s  motto  for  his  goat,  i.  279. 

Baptism,  ii.  41,  383,  383  re. 

Barbauld,  Mr.,  ii.  21,  21  ti. — Letitia.  See  Aikin. 

Barber,  Francis,  Johnson’s  negro  servant,  i.  97,  98,  99 
102,  151,  237  re.,  250,  272,  279,  478  re. ; ii.  199,  422,  415, 
449. 

Barclay,  his  ‘ Ship  of  Fooles,*  i.  119. — Mr.,  the  young 
author,  his  defence  of  Johnson’s  Shakspeare  against 
Kenrick,  i.  223,  417  re. — Robert,  of  Ury,  his  ‘Apology 
for  the  Quakers,’  ii.  41.— Robert,  Esq.,  one  of  Mr 
Thrale’s  successors,  ii.  301,  505. — his  character,  ii. 
301  re. 

Baretti,  Signor  Giuseppe,  i.  112,  120,  129,  143,  157,  160, 
165, 227, 248,  252, 262, 272, 302, 496  ; ii.  7, 9, 19, 19  re.,  38, 
51  re.,  55  re.,  67  re.,  69  re.,  85,  115,  121,  253,  276. — John- 
son’s letters  to,  i.  157,  160,  165. — his  trial  for  murder, 

i.  264;  ii.  396. — his ‘Travels,’  i.272. — the  first  who  re- 
ceived copy-money  in  Italy,  ii.  116. — his  strictures  on 
Mrs.  Piozzi’s  marriage,  ii.  67  re. — his  ‘ Frustra  Lettera- 
ria,’  ii.  121. 

Bark,  Peruvian,  ii.  385. 

Barker,  Dr.  Edmund,  i.  75,  138. 

Barnard,  Rev.  Dr.,  bishop  of  Killaloe,  i.  37  «. ; ii.  80, 80  re., 
148,  299. — altercation  between  Johnson  and,  on  the 
question,  whether  a man  can  improve  after  the  age  o t 
forty-five,  ii.  299. — his  pleasant  verses  thereon,  ii.  300. 
— provost  of  Eton,  ii.  187. — Francis,  Esq.,  afterwards 
Sir  Francis,  king’s  librarian,  i.  239,  239  re. — Johnson’s 
letter  of  instructions  to,  on  the  formation  of  the  king’s 
library,  i.  534. 

Barnes,  Rev.  Joshua,  i.  456;  ii.  248. 

Barnwall,  Nicholas,  Lord  Trimlestown,  ii.  143,  143  re.— 
Thomas,  his  son,  singular  instance  of  filial  affection  in* 

ii.  143  re. 

Baron  Hill,  the  seat  of  Lord  Bulkeley,  i.  488  re. 

Barretier,  John  Philip,  Johnson’s  Life  of,  i.  57,  58,  61. 

Barrington,  Hon.  Daines,  ii.  298, 365. — his  ‘ Essay  on  the 
Emigration  of  Birds,’  i.  316. — his  1 Observations  on  the 
Statutes,’  ii.  177. 

Barrow,  Dr.  Isaac,  his  sermon  against  foolish  talking  and 
jesting,  ii.  296  re. 

Barrowby,  Dr.,  anecdote  of,  ii.  385  n. 

Barry,  Sir  Edward,  his  notion  that  pulsation  occasion* 
death  by  attrition,  ii.  61. — Spranger,  the  actor,  i.  79 
re. — James,  Esq.,  the  painter,  ii.  338,  346,  348,  352  n., 
365  re. — Johnson’s  opinion  of,  ii.  346,  348,  348  «.— hi* 
letter  to,  ii.  338. — Sir  N.,  ii.  397. 

Barter,  Mr.,  i.  288. 

‘Bas  Bleu,’  Miss  Hannah  More’s  poem  of,  ii.  297 

Bashfulness,  ii.  391. 

1 Bastard,’  the,  Savage's  poem  of  i.  67. 

Bat,  formation  of  the,  ii.  191. 


INDEX. 


Bateman,  Edmund,  of  Pembroke  College,  his  Lectures, 
i.  28. 

Bath,  Johnson’s  visit  to,  ii.  65. 

Baths,  Johnson’s  opinion  of  medicated,  i.  265. 

Bath,  William  Pulteney,  Earl  of,  ii.  112. 

Batheaston  vase,  Horace  Walpole’s  pleasant  account 
of,  i.  515  n. 

Bathurst,  Allen,  first  Earl,  i.  275;  ii.  192,  217  n.,  273. — 
Captain,  i.  102. — Dr.  Richard,  i.  73,  75,  96,  102,  107, 
108  n.,  109  ™.,  165,  214,  298,  306 ; ii.  252,  254.— some 
account  of,  i.  104. — his  letters  to  Johnson,  i.  104. — 
described  by  Johnson  as  a ‘ good  hater,’  i.  104. 
Batrachomyomachia,’  first  edition  of,  i.  492,  492  n. 

‘ Battle  of  the  Frogs  and  Mice,’  i.  492,  492  n. 

Battle  of  the  Pigmies  and  Cranes,’  ii.  399. 

1 Baudi  Epistolc,’  quoted,  i.  486  n. 

Baxter,  Richard,  quoted,  i.  319,  351 ; ii.  333.  348. — his 
‘ Reasons  of  the  Christian  Religion  ’ recommended  by 
Johnson,  ii.  355. — William,  his  ‘ Anacreon,’  i.  456 ; ii. 
325,  325  ».,  357,  371. 

' Bayes,’  character  of,  i.  289. 

Bayle,  M.,  his  Dictionary,  i.  192,  422. 

‘ Bear,’  the  epithet,  applied  to  Johnson,  i.  252,  519. 
Bears,  i.  519. 

Beatnifie,  Richard,  Esq.,  Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  513. 
Beaton,  Cardinal,  his  murder,  i.  342. — some  account  of, 
i.  342  7i. 

Beattie,  Dr.  James,  i.  85  ti.,  277,  278,  279,  280,  299,  300, 
301,  321,  323,  324,450;  ii.  3,  79, 294, 402.— his  letter  to 
Boswell,  i.  280  n. — Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  237. — his 
‘ Essay  on  Truth,’  ii.  263. — his  ‘ Hermit,’  ii.  333. 
Beauclerk,  Topham,  Esq.,  i.  35,  105,  106,  155,  160,  161, 
165, 188, 195,  212,216,  238,  311,  316  n.,  358,  425,  429 
433,  497,  500, 505, 518,  519,  524  ; ii.  50,  55,  125,  165,  194, 
211,  227,  227  231,  232,  245,  251,  284,  292,  296,  331. 

— his  altercation  with  Johnson,  ii.  208. — his  death,  ii. 
226. — his  character  by  Lord  Charlemont,  ii.  226. — 
his  chacter  by  Johnson,  ii.  227,  231. — his  letters  to 
Lord  Charlemont,  ii.  226. — Lady  Diana,  i.  316, 493 ; ii. 
226,  226  ra.,  293. — some  account  of  her,  ii,  316  n. — 
Lady  Sydney,  i.  425. 

Beaumaris  Castle,  i.  488. 

Beaumont,  Sir  George,  ii.  176  7t.,  464  n. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  i.  514. 

1 Beauties  of  Johnson,’  i.  87 ; ii.  317,  318. 

Beauty,  i.  288 ; ii.  306. 

Beckenham,  ii.  391. 

Becket,  Thomas,  the  bookseller,  i.  498. 

Beckett,  Sir  John,  ii.  52  n. 

Beckford,  Alderman,  ii.  132. 

Bedford,  John,  fourth  Duke  of,  ii.  393. 

Bedlam,  i.  529 ; ii.  341. 

Beech,  Thomas,  his  ‘ Eugenio,’  i.  315. — some  account  of 
i.  315  n. 

Beggars,  i.  163,  168 ; ii.  217,  353. 

‘ Beggars’  Opera,’  i.  423,  517,  517  7t. ; ii.  131,  180,  292. 
Behaviour,  Johnson  anice  observer  of,  ii.  69. — how  it 
should  be  taught,  n.  259.  Behmen,  Jacob,  i.  170. — 
some  account  of,  i.  170  7t. 

Bell,  Mr.  John,  of  Antermony,  his  1 Travels  in  Russia,’ 

i.  247. 

Bell,  John,  Esq.,  of  Hertfordshire,  i.  278, 301. — Mr.  John, 
his  ‘British  Po-'ts,’  ii.  294. 

Bellamy,  Mrs.  George  Anne,  the  actress,  i.  145. — her  let- 
ter to  Johnson,  ii.  360. 

‘Bellerophon,’  of  Euripides,  quoted,  i.  119. 

Belsham,  Mr.,  his  ‘ Essay  on  Dramatic  Poetry,’  quoted,  i. 
177  7t. 

Benedictine  monks,  ii.  341. 

Lenevolence,  an  excuse  for  drinking,  ii.  183. — Johnson’s, 

ii.  97,  98. — human,  ii.  66. 

Benserade,  M.  de,  ‘ a son  1ft,’  ii.  115. 

Bensley,  Mr.,  the  actor,  i.  244. 

Benson,  Mr.  Auditor,  his  monument  to  Milton,  i.  93  n. 
Bentham,  Dr.,  canon  of  Christ  church,  ii.  36. 

Bentley,  Dr.  Richard,  i.  250,  382, 417,  433 ; ii.  36,  345.— 
the  only  English  verses  written  by  him,  ii.  250. 
Berenger,  Richard,  Esq.,  i.  258 ; ii.  158,  291. — some  ac- 
count of,  ii.  291  7t. 

Beresford,  Mrs.  and  Miss,  ii.  381. 

Berkeley,  Dr.  George,  Bishop  of  Cloyne,  i.  173,  209.— his 
theory,  ii.  117,  117  71.,  251. 

Berni,  Francesco,  quoted,  ii.  263. 

Berwick,  Duke  of,  his  1 Memoirs,’  ii.  167. 

Bethune,  Rev.  Mr.,  i.  390,  498. 

Betterton,  Mr.,  the  actor,  ii.  126. 

Bettesworth,  Rev.  Edmund,  i.  206. 

Beverage,  Johnson’s  favourite,  ii.  64. 

Bevil,  Rev.  Mr.,  his  defence  of  Hammond,  the  poet,  ii. 
279. 


541 

Bewley,  Mr.,  his  extraordinary  veneration  for  Johnson 
ii.  308,  308  n. 

Bexley,  Lord,  his  communication  concerning  Dr.  Robert 
Vansittart,  i.  298. 

Bible  should  be  read  with  a commentary,  ii.  71.— John- 
son’s death-bed  recommendation  to  read,  ii.  526. 

‘ Bibliotheca  Harleiana,’  Johnson’s  account  of,  i.  61. 

‘ Bibliotheca  Literaria,’  i.  487,  487  n. 

‘ Bibliotheque,’  Johnson’s  scheme  for  opening  a,  i.  122. 

Bickerstaff,  Mr.  Isaac,  i.  258.— some  account  of,  i.  258  ti. 

Bicknell,  Mr.,  i.  134. 

Bidder,  William,  the  calculating  boy,  ii.  34  n. 

Bigamy,  i.  394. 

‘ Big  man,’  a jocular  Irish  phrase  applied  to  Johnson,  i 
229,  229  71. 

Bindley,  James,  Esq.,  i.  63,  63  71.,  69  71. ; ii.  174  n. 
181  71.,  331  ti.,  345  ti. 

Binning,  Charles,  Lord,  i.  296 ; ii.  184. 

Biographer,  duties  of. a,  ii.  Ill,  397. 

‘ Biographia  Britannica,’  ii.  121,  121  7t.,  274. 

Biography,  i.  288-9,  347,  404 ; ii.  37,  74,  111,  162  7t., 
274,  398. — literary,  of  England,  Johnson  recommended 
by  George  III.  to  undertake,  i.  241. 

Birch,  Rev.  Dr.  Thomas,  i.  53,  61.  74,  410— Johnson’s 
Greek  epigram  to,  i.  54.— letters  from  Johnson  to,  i. 
64,  93,  122. — his  letter  to  Johnson  on  receiving  his 
Dictionary,  i.  123. 

Birds,  migration  of,  i.  316. 

Birkenhead,  Sir  John,  i.  340  7 1. 

Birmingham,  ii.  40,  135. 

Biron,  Marshal  Due  de,  ii.  16  11. 

Births,  extraordinary,  i.  9. 

‘Bishop,’  a beverage  so  called,  i.  106. 

Bishops,  in  the  House  of  Lords,  i.  291. — requisites  in,  i. 
348 ; ii.  35.— great  decorum  required  from,  ii.  284, 290, 
386.— the  Seven,  ii.  182. 

Blackfriars  Bridge,  i.  152. 

Black-letter  books,  i.  169. 

‘ Black  Dog,’  ii.  223,  223  n. — Men,  cause  of  their  being 
so,  i.  181. 

Blacklock,  Dr.  Thomas,  the  blind  poet,  i.  143,  207,  335 ; 
ii.  552. — some  account  of,  i.  207  71.  335  n. — his  let- 
ter on  a passage  in  Johnson’s  ‘ Journey,’  ii.  540. 

Blackmore,  Sir  Richard,  i.  268 ; ii.  399.— Johnson’s  Life 
of,  ii.  201,  231,  275. 

Blackstone,  Sir  William,  his  ‘ Commentaries,’  i.  435 11. ; 
ii.  188  ti. 

Blackwall,  Mr.  Anthony,  i.  29,  29  ti. 

Blagden,  Dr.,  afterwards  Sir  Charles,  ii.  17  7 1.,  253. 

Blainville,  M.,  his  ‘ Travels,’  i,  519. 

Blair,  Rev.  Dr.  Hugh,  i.  156,  179,  333,  343,  463,  463  ti., 
464,  475,  475  77.,  476,  499 ; ii.  67,  85,  91.— his  ‘ Ser 
mons,’  ii.  85,  89,  118,  136,  189,  189  ti.,  293.— his  ‘ Lec- 
tures,’ ii.  121, 121  71. — his  imitation  of  Johnson’s  style 
ii.  121. — his  letter  concerning  Pope’s  ‘Essay  on  Man,’ 
ii.  217. — Rev.  Robert,  his  poem  of  ‘ The  Grave,’  ii. 
66. — some  account  of,  ii.  66  n. 

Blake,  Admiral,  Johnson’s  Life  of,  i.  57. 

Blaney,  Elizabeth,  i.  12;  ii.  424. 

Blank  verse,  Johnson’s  dislike  of,  i.  194;  ii.  249.— ex- 
cellence of  rhyme  over,  ii.  270. 

Blasphemy,  literary  property  in,  i.  337. 

Bleeding,  Johnson’s  objection  to  periodical,  ii.  110. 

Blenheim,  i.  428,  492 ; ii.  38. 

Blind,  notion  that  they  can  distinguish  colours  by  the 
touch,  i.  297. 

‘Blockhead,’  Johnson’s  application  of  the  word,  i.  292; 
ii.  40,  40  71. 

Blue-stocking  Clubs,  origin  of  ii.  297. 

Boarding-schools,  ii.  219. 

Bocage,  Madame  du,  ii.  11, 18, 19  n. — her  ‘ Columbiade  ’ 
ii.  402. 

Boerhaave,  Johnson’s  Life  of,  i.  54. 

Boecej  Hector,  the  historian,  ii.  371. 

Boethius,  ‘de  Consolatione  Philosophic,’  i.  53,  171 

Boileau,  i.  45,  154  n. ; ii.  192,  259. 

Bolingbroke,  Henry  St.  John,  first  Viscount,  i.  115, 141 ; 
ii.  273,  398.— Johnson’s  character  of,  i.  115,  141.— his 
share  in  Pope’s  ‘ Essay  on  Man,’  ii.  217,  217  n — 
Frederick,  second  Viscount,  ii.  260. 

Bolt-court,  ii.  162. 

Bonaventura,  the  ‘ seraphic  doctor,’  i.  223. 

Bones,  uses  applied  to,  ii.  339. 

Bon-mots,  ii.  181. 

Book,  one  always  to  be  carried  in  the  pocket,  ii.  209.-  - 
collecting,  ii.  378. — the  only  one  Johnson  ever  read 
through,  ii.  258-9. 

Books,  i.  311,  526 ; ii.  256,  258,  346  37&— practice  of 
talking  from,  i.  457.— advantage;  of  small  ones,  ii.  129t 
— how  to  read,  ii.  390. 


542 


INDEX. 


Booksellers,  liberality  of  several  eminent  ones,  i.  124, 130. 
— Johnson’s  character  of,  j.  130 ; ii.  28. — his  vindica- 
tion of,  from  the  charge  of  making  exorbitant  profits, 
ii.  29. 

Book- trade,  ii.  28. 

Boothby,  Miss  Hill,  i.  29,  306,  512  n. ; ii.  109,  109  n. — 
Johnson’s  high  admiration  of,  ii.  276,  276  n.,  483. — 
correspondence  between  her  and  Johnson,  i.  464  n.,  512 
n. ; ii.  276,  277,  469.— Book,  Esq.,  ii.  276  n. 

Borough-English,  i.  435,  435  n. 

Boscawen,  Admiral,  ii.  184. — Hon.  Mrs.,  ii.  184,  230  n., 
232.— some  account  of,  ii.  184  n.,  232  n. 

Boscovish,  Pere,  i.  170;  ii.  20.— some  account  of,  ii. 
20. 

Bossuet,  Bishop  of  Meaux,  i.  431. 

Bosville,  Godfrey,  Esq.,  ii.  196,  239. — Mrs.,  i.  290. 

Bosweli.,  James,  Esq.,  the  Authour  of  this  Work, — 
afflicted  with  hypochondria,  i.  23  n.,  338  n. ; ii.  27,  28, 
427  n— writes  the  ‘Hypochondriac,’  a series  of  es- 
says, in  London  Magazine,  i.  23  n. ; ii.  331 his  na- 

tionality, i.  24  n. — Courtenay’s  verses  on,  i.  91,  473. — 
contributed  to  create  a public  taste  for  biographical  de- 
tails, i.  110  n. — his  introduction  to  Johnson,  i.  178.— sto- 
ry told  by  Johnson  of  his  early  years,  i.  195  n. — his  ‘ Ac- 
count of  Corsica,’  i.  244,  254,  254  n. — elected  a mem- 
ber of  the  Literary  Club,  i.  313,  315.— Journal  of 
his  Tour  to  the  Hebrides,  i.  323,  323  n. ; ii.  5'34. — his 
dress  at  the  jubilee,  i.  253  n. — his  strange  propensity 
for  witnessing  executions,  i.  261  n. ; ii.  235  w.,  401. — 
his  ancestry,  i.  327  ra.,  457 ; ii.  23. — his  character 
drawn  by  himself,  i.  338. — Johnson’s  character  of  him, 

i.  338,  472  n. ; ii.  5,  8,  197. — his  account  of  the  escape 

of  the  young  Pretender,  i.  545. — his  announcement  of 
the  ‘ Life  of  Johnson  ’ during  the  Doctor’s  lifetime,  i.  432 
7t. — his  letter  to  the  Laird  of  Rasay,  on  a passage  in 
Johnson’s  ‘Journey,’  i.  469. — Lord  Stowell’s  character 
of  him,  i.  472  n. — Johnson’s  character  of  his  ‘Tour  to 
the  Hebrides,’  ii.  5.— his  attempt  to  imitate  the  style  of 
Warburton,  ii.  157  n. — his  short  quarrel  with  John- 
son, ii.  188,  188  7i. — his  ‘ Letter  to  the  People  of 
Scotland,’  ii.  367,  369  n. — his  expectations  from  Mr. 
Pitt,  ii.  371. — his  controversy  with  Miss  Seward,  ii. 
403.— Johnson’s  Letters  to  him,  i.  210,  224,  232, 
249, 254,  269,  276,  300,  302,  322,  323,  473,  474,  475,  476, 
477,  494,  495,  496,  498.  499,  503;  ii.  7,  8,  9,  22,  23,  24, 
26,  27,  28,  65,  82,  84,  88,  89,  91,  96,  97,  99,  100,  136, 
137,  138,  163,  197,  200,  203,  214,  215,  223,  225,  227, 

237,  241,  282,  310,  316,  318,  320,  321,  352,  362,  367, 

369,  370,  405,  406,  427,  428. — his  Letters  to  John- 
son, i.  276,  301,  472,  473,  476,  477,  493,  496,  497,  498, 
503;  ii.  3,  7,  9,  20,  81,  82,  83,  87,  89,  90,  91,  94,  97, 

99,  100,  101,  102,  136,  138,  140,  141,  162,  196,  202, 

214, 222,  224,  236. — his  letter  to  Garrick,  i.  445. — Mrs., 
the  author’s  wife,  i.  276  n.,  472,  472  n. ; ii.  27, 
28,  81,  100,  563,  115  n.,  203,  242,  349. — some  account 
of  her,  ii.  276  n. — Johnson’s  letters  to  her,  ii.  81,  100, 
321.— Thomas  David,  the  founder  of  the  author’s  fam- 
ily, i.  457 ; ii.  23  n. — David,  the  author’s  brother,  ii. 
125n.,  236, 236  n.,  239. — Alexander,  afterwards  Sir  Alex- 
ander, the  author’s  eldest  son,  i.  294  n. ; ii.  9. — some 
account  of,  ii.  9 n. — David,  the  author’s  second  son,  ii. 
84. — James,  the  author’s  third  son,  i.  29  n.,  174  n., 

ii.  63  n.,  199. — some  account  of,  ii.  199  n. — Elizabeth, 

the  author’s  stepmother,  ii.  78  n. — Miss  Veronica,  the 
author’s  daughter,  i.  327 ; ii.  101  n. — Dr.,  the  author’s 
uncle,  i.  336,  463 ; ii.  51. — Notes,  corrective  of  Bos- 
well’s errors,  inconsistencies,  exaggerations,  contra- 
dictions, and  misrepresentations,  i.  23,  29,  30,  64,  65, 
68,  70,  73,  74,77,  79,  82,  85,  89,  90,  91,  92,  125,  132, 
133,  134,  136,  137,  141,  142,  145, 148,  149,  153,  155, 

162,  175,  176,  178,  182,  183,  185,  188,  189,  192,  197, 

203,  209,  213,  218,  220,  221,  224,  247,  253,  254,  260, 

261,  265,  267,  269,  288,  321,  329,  338,  352,  355,  359, 

363,  375,  379,  387,  393,  398,  404,  408,  422,  430,  431, 
443,  454,  470,  471,  499,  500,  501,  506,  507,  509,  511, 
512,  519,  520,  529,  549;  ii.  4,  31,  38,  49,  58,  65,  68, 
70,  73,  82,  96,  100,  119,  124,  129,  142,  143,  145,  148, 
149,  150,  155,  159,  160,  168,  170,  171,  183,  188,  189, 

191,  193,  203,  212,  214,  223,  227,  228,  235,  237,  276, 

280,  285,  286,  299,  305,  322,  326,  372,  380,  381,  382, 

383,  387,  390,  401,  402,  407,  408,  409,  411,  412,  413, 

414,  421,  422,  423,  425,  427,  430,  431,  432,  433,  434, 

436,  442,  443,  445,  533. 

‘Bottom,’  ii.  294. 

Bouchier,  Governor,  ii.  290. 

Bouffier,  Pere,  his  ‘ First  Truths,’  i.  209. 

Boufflers,  Madame  de,  i.  168  n. ; ii.  20  n. — her  visi  to 
Johnson,  i.  188. — some  account  of,  i.  188  n. 

B.uiheurs,  Dominique,  i.  261. 

Bou  ter,  Dr.  Hugh,  i.  137  n. — his  ‘Monument,’  a poem, 
i.  137. 

Boulton.  Matthew,  Esq.  493-  ii.  42. 


Bourdaloue,  Pere,  i.  315  n.,  431. 

Bourdonne,  Madame  de,  i.  315  n. 

Bourk,  Hon.  J.  D.,  afterwards  Earl  of  Mayo,  ii.  353. 
Bouts-rimes,  i.  515. 

Bowels,  Johnson’s  recipe  for  lubricity  of  i.  512  n. ; ii.  482. 
Bowles,  William,  Esq.,  ii.  364. 

Bow-wow  way,  Johnson’s,  i.  335,  511. 

Bowyer,  William,  the  printer,  ii.  422,  422  n 
Box-clubs,  ii.  5. 

Boxing,  Johnson’s  skill  in,  i.  399  n. 

Boyce,  Samuel,  the  poet,  ii.  336,  437. 

Boyd.  Hon.  Charles,  i.  349  n.,  354  ; ii.  553. — some  account 
of,  ii.  437  ?i. 

Boyd’s  inn,  i.  326. 

Boydell,  Mr.  Aldermen,  i.  497  n. 

Boyle,  the  noble  family  of,  i.  403.— Hon.  Robert,  i.  133. 
Boys  at  school,  i.  201. 

‘Bozzy,’  Boswell  so  called  by  Johnson,  i.  430;  ii.  381. 
Bradshaigh,  Lady,  i.  81  n. 

Bradshaw,  John,  the  regicide,  ii.  355  n. — William,  ii. 
338  n. 

‘ Braganza,’  Jephson’s  tragedy  of,  i.  260  n. 

Braidwood,  Mr.,  his  academy  for  the  deaf  and  dumb.  1. 
464. 

Braithwaite,  Daniel,  Esq.,  of  the  general  post-office,  11 


Bramhall,  Archbishop,  on  Liberty  and  Necessity,  i 
266  n. 

Bramins,  ii.  246,  252. 

Brandy,  ii.  207,  285. 

Bravery,  ii.  182,  431. 

Brentford,  i.  454 ; ii.  333. 

Brett,  Colonel,  i.  70  n. 

Bribery  at  elections,  i.  516. 

Brighthelmstone,  i.  193;  ii.  84. 

Bristol,  inns  at,  ii.  68. 

Britain,  little  known  of  the  ancient  state  of,  ii.  185 

British  parliament,  alleged  corruption  of,  ii.  130. 

‘ British  Poets,’  Bell’s  edition  of,  ii.  92. 

‘ British  Princes,’  quoted,  ii.  268  n. 

1 British  Essayists,’  Chalmer’s,  i.  87  n. 

‘ British  Synonimy,’  Mrs.  Piozzi’s,  ii.  439. 

Brocklesby,  Dr.  Richard,  ii.  49,  329. — his  kind  attention 
and  liberality  to  Johnson,  i.  472.  480. — Johnson’s  let 
ters  to,  ii.  354,  414. — some  account  of,  ii.  417  n. 

Brodhurst,  Mr.  Johnson’s  play-fellow,  ii.  213. 

Brodie,  Alexander,  Esq.,  i.  390  n. 

Brooke,  Mr.,  author  of  ‘ Gustavus  Vasa,’  3.  54,  243  n. — 
Mrs.,  author  of  ‘ Emily  Montague,’  i.  193,  193  n. 

Brooks,  or  rivulets,  ii.  152. 

Broome,  William,  the  poet,  ii.  233. — Johnson’s  Life  of, 
ii.  273. 

Brother  and  sister,  relation  of,  i.  145. 

Brown,  Tom,  Johnson’s  instructer  in  English,  i.  16. — 
dedicates  his  Spelling-book  ‘ to  the  Universe,’  i.  16. — 
Rev.  Roberts,  i.  227 ; ii.  168. — ‘ Capability,’  ii.  216. — 
Browne,  Dr.  John,  his  ‘ Estimate  of  the  Manners  of  the 
Times,’  i.  173. — some  account  of,  i.  173  n. — Sir  Thomas, 
Johnson’s  Life  of,  i.  91,  132,  141. — his  style,  how  far 
imitated  by  Johnson,  i.  91  n.,  132 ; ii.  155  n. — fond  ot 
Anglo-Saxon  diction,  i.  91. — his  saying  of  devils,  ii. 
169. — Sir  William,  the  physician,  ii.  264,  264  n.— his 
extemporaneous  epigram  on  the  two  universities,  ii. 
265. — Isaac  Hawkins,  Esq.,  i.  374,  516;  ii.  30,  125.- 
his  poem  ‘ De  Animi  Immortalitate,’  i.  374.— his  son, 
ii.  376  7i. 

Bruce,  Robert,  ii.  9. — James,  the  Abyssinian  traveller,  i. 
513 ; ii.  399. 

Brumoy’s  Greek  Theatre,  i.  150  n. 

Brundusium,  Horace’s  journey  to,  ii.  152. 

Brunet,  M.,  ii.  13  n. 

Brussels  trimming,  compared  by  Johnson  to  bread  sauce, 
ii.  219. 

Brutes,  i.  247,  317. 

Bryant,  Jacob,  Esq.,  ii.  429  n. 

Brydone,  Captain  Patrick,  his  ‘ Tour  through  Sicily,’  ii. 
195. — his  anti-mosaical  remark,  ii.  45. 

Buchan,  David  Stewart  Erskine,  eleventh  Earl  of,  anec 
dote  of,  i.  293. 

Buchan’s  Buller,  i.  354,  355  n. 

Buchanan,  George,  i.  204,  204  n.,  205,  263,  340;  ii.  273, 


‘ Buck,’  nearly  synonymous  with  ‘ dandy,’  i.  386  ti. 
Buckingham,  Duke  of,  his  ‘ Rehearsal,’  ii.  270,  394. 
Buckles,  shoe,  i.  326. — Johnson’s,  ii.  181,  182. 
Budgell,  Eustace,  i.  311,  311  n.,  339 ; ii.  66. 
Budworth,  Rev.  Mr.,  i.  29  n.,  33. 

Buffon,  Count  de,  i.  399 ; ii.  80  n. 

Bull,  by  Johnson,  ii.  395. 

Bull-dogs,  ii.  128. 

Buller  of  Buchan,  i.  354,  355  n. ; ii.  553. 

Bunyan's  ‘ Pilgrim’s  Progress,’  i 314 ; ii.  25®. 


INDEX. 


543 


Buonaparte,  Napoleon,  i.  320  n.,  408  n. ; ii.  47  n. 

Burgess -ticket,  Johnson’s  at  Aberdeen,  i.  351. 

Burgoyne,  General,  surrender  of  his  army  at  Saratoga, 
ii.  195. — Lady  Frances,  her  saying,  ii.  257  n. 

Burke,  Right  Hon.  Edmund,  anecdotes  of,  and  remarks 
upon,  i.  31,  149,  173,  186  202,  209,  212, 230,  264,  275, 

286  n.,  295,309  77.,  315,  320,  321,  324  77.,  330,  330  n., 
331,  331  n.,  346,  347  77.,  358,  392,  415,  493,  520,  520  n. ; 
ii.  33  77.,  38,  66,  66  77.,  71,  80,  81,  104.  118,  145  n.,  151  re., 
156,  165  77.,  180,  205,  206,  211,  222,' 233,  249,  251,  264, 
274  77.,  277  7?.,  285,  287,  300,  329,  347  77.,  358,  367,  379, 
SS8,  396,  436,  436  77. — his  pleasant  observation  on 
Johnson’s  ladies,  i.  91  n. — his  counsel  to  a grave  gen- 
tleman to  ‘ live  pleasant,’  i.  149. — his  ‘ Vindication  of 
Natural  Society,’  i.  206  77.^-his  ‘ Essay  on  the  Sublime 
and  Beautiful,’  i.  261.— his  ‘ Letter  to  the  Sheriffs  of 
Bristol,’  ii,  126. — Johnson’s  exclamation  on  seeing  his 
house  at  Beaconsfield,  ii  175, 175  77. — his  classical  pun 
on  Wilkes,  ii.  181. — his  lively  conceit  on  a line  of  Hor- 
ace, ii.  181. — his  conversation  described  by  Johnson, 
ii.  249,  255,  326,  377. — his  playful  sally  on  Dean  Mar- 
lay,  ii.  283. — his  oratory  characterized  by  Wi’kes,  ii. 
284.— his  uniform  respect  for  Johnson,  ii.  393.— his  pun 
on  Dr.  Brocklesby’s  name,  ii.  405  77. — his  strikingly 
characteristic  will,  ii.  435  77. — Richard,  Esq.,  Ed- 
mund’s brother,  ii.  563.— Richard,  Esq., Edmund’s  son, 
ii.  309,  347,  347  7?..,  421. — some  account  of,  ii.  309  n. 

Burial  service,  ii.  343. 

Burlamaqui,  ii.  30. 

Burman,  Peter,  Johnson’s  life  of,  i.  61. 

Burnaby,  Mr.  Edward,  i.  216  77. 

Burnet,  Bishop,  his  ‘ Own  Times,’  i.  305,  421  ; ii.  129 — 
James,  i.  280  77.,  358.  See  Monboddo. 

Burney,  Dr.  Charles,  i.  25  77.,  79 77.,  80  77.,115.T7.,123,  140, 
141, '180,  198  77.,  213  77.,  214.,  345  ; ii.  21,  114,  155, 198, 
200,  204  77.,  229,  250  77.,  258  77.,  263,  265  77.,  293,  308, 
353. — his  account  of  the  first  representation  of  ‘ Irene,’ 

i.  79  77.— his  comparison  of  the  style  of  Addison  and 
Johnson,  i.  92  n. — his  ‘ History  of  Music,’  i.  345;  ii. 
200. — Jchnson’s  praise  of  his  ‘ Travels,’  ii.  333. — his 
letters  to  Johnson,  ii.  356,  418. — Johnson’s  letters  to,  i. 
123,  140,  223  ; ii.  356,  418.— Dr.  Charles,  the  younger, 

ii.  430. — Mrs.,  i.  219  n. — Miss  Frances,  now  Madame 
D’Arblay,  ii.  229,  230,  235  77.,  348,  353  77..  377. 

Burrowes,  Rev.  Dr.,  his  ‘ Essay  on  the  style  of  John- 
son,’ i.  89  77. ; ii.  454. 

Burton,  Robert,  his  ‘Anatomy  of  Melancholy,’  i.  20, 
169  ; ii.  35. — his  great  direction  against  melancholy, 
ii.  20. 

* Burton’s  Books,’  list  of,  ii.  366. 

Bust  of  Johnsop,  Nolleken’s,  ii.  135,  140. 

Butcher,  the  trade  of,  i.  406. 

Bute,  John,  third  Earl  of,  i.  161,  162,  233,  522  ; ii.  47, 
77. — Johnson’s  letter  to,  respecting  his  pension,  i.  163, 
164. 

Butler,  Dr.  Joseph,  Bishop  of  Durham,  his  * Analogy,’ 
i.  336.— Samuel,  i.  314,  .340,  340  77.,  397  ; ii.  386. 

Butter,  Aberdeen,  duel  fought  for  the  honour  of,  i.  443 
77.— Dr.  William,  ii.  48  77.,  47,  116,  117,  117  77.,  298. 

Buxton,  Jedediah,  the  extraordinary  calculator,  ii.  33  77. 

Byng,  Adm.,  Johnson’s  defence  of,  i.  134. — his  epitaph, 
i.  134.— the  assertion  of  his  being  a political  martyr 
unfounded,  i.  134  n. 

Byron,  Lord,  Moore’s  Life  of,  quoted,  i.  510;  ii.  60  n. — 
his  wayward  attack  on  Lord  Carlisle’s  poems,  ii.  299  tz. 

C. 

Cabbages,  ii.  40. 

Cadogan,  Dr.  William,  on  the  Gout,  i.  391. 

‘ Calamities  of  Authors,’  D’Israeli’s,  i.  44  n. 

Calculators,  extraordinary,  possess  little  other  intellect- 
ual power,  ii.  33. 

‘ Caliban  of  Literature,’  epithet  applied  to  Johnson,  i. 
171,  216. 

Caligula,  his  exclamation,  ii.  166,  166  77. 

Callimachus,  merits  of,  ii.  243. 

‘ Called,’  phenomenon  of  hearing  oneself,  ii.  292. 

Cambridge,  Richard  Owen,  Esq.,  i.  84  77.,  525,  526  ; ii. 
152,  336,  337  n. — university,  i.  239 ; ii.  187. — Dr. 
Sharpe’s  picturesque  account  of  Johnson’s  visit  to,  i! 
216. 

Camden,  Charles  Pratt,  first  Earl,  i.  474  77.,  506  n. ; ii. 
176. 

Camden’s  ‘ Remains,’  ii.  174,  343. 

Cameron,  Dr.  Archibald,  rigour  exercised  in  his  case,  i. 
56.— Captain,  i.  284  n. 

Camerons,  family  of  the,  i.  426. 

Campbell,  Hon.  Archibald,  i.  306. — his  ‘Doctrines  of  a 
Middle  State,’ i.  449  ; ii.  71,382. — some  account  of,  i. 
449.— Rev.  Dr.  Thomas,  i.  137,  516, 517, 521.-his  ‘ Phi- 
losophical  Survey  of  Ireland,’  i.  137 ; ii.  92.— a sketch 


of,  i.  516  77. — Rev.  Dr.  John,  i.  156, 18&,  246,  270  n. 
306,  505,  ii.  149,  149  n. — his  ‘ Political  Survey,’  i. 
436  ; ii.  37.— some  account  of,  i.  179  7?.,  270  n. — Rev 
John,  minister  of  Kippen,  i.  236  77. — Mungo,  who  shot 
Lord  Eglintoune,  i.  252  77.,  ii.  127. — some  account  ol, 
ii.  127  77. 

‘ Candide,’  of  Voltaire,  i.  148,  149  ; ii.  195. 

Candour,  Johnson’s,  ii.  356. 

Canning,  Right  Hon.  George,  on  the  advantage  of  a 
public  education,  ii.  53  n. 

‘ Canons  of  Criticism,’  Edwards’s,  i.  114  k. 

Cant,  the  mind  to  be  cleared  of,  ii.  151. 

Canus,  Melchior,  a Spanish  dominican,  ii.  11. 

Capel,  Edward,  preface  to  his  Shakspeare,  ii.  243. 

Cardan,  Dr.  Jerom,  his  mode  of  composing  his  mind,  il 
122  77. 

Card-playing,  i.  256,  466;  ii.  57  n.,  57.— recommended 
by  Dr.  Baillie,  i.  466  n. 

Cardross,  Lord,  afterwards  Earl  of  Buchan,  i.  293, 29377 

Careless,  Mrs.,  Johnson’s  first  love,  ii.  42,  314. 

‘ Careless  Husband,’  Cibber’s,  i.  516. 

Carelessness,  ii.  249. 

Carleton,  Captain,  his  amusing  ‘ Memoirs,’  ii.  404, 404  n 

Carlisle,  Frederick,  fifth  Earl  of,  ii.  299. — Johnson’s  fa 
vourable  opinion  of  his  ‘ Father’s  Revenge,’  ii.  361, 
361 77.— Lord  Byron’s  wayward  attack  on  his  poems, 
ii.  299  77. 

Carmichael,  Miss,  ii.  142,  199  n. 

Carre,  Rev.  Mr.,  his  ‘ Sermons,’  i.  328. 

Carstares’  ‘ State  Papers,’  i.  399  n. 

Carte,  Thomas,  his 4 Life  of  the  Duke  of  Ormand,’  1.  425. 

Carter,  Mr.,  i.  505,  513. — Mrs.  Elizabeth,  i.  46  77.  53,  54, 
61  77.,  69  77.,  82,  234  n. ; ii.  118,  293,  377,  399.— a con 
tributor  to  the  ‘ Rambler,’  i.  82. — Johnson’s  letter  to, 
i.  130. — her  character  of  Johnson,  ii,  431  n. 

Carteret,  John,  Lord,  afterwards  Earl  Granville,  i.  16771. 

Carthage,  ii.  336. 

Carthusians,  order  of,  ii.  33. 

Cascades,  i.  492. 

Cast  of  Johnson,  Nollekens’,  ii.  135,  139. 

Castes  of  men,  ii.  290. 

Castiglione,  4 II  Corteggiano’  of,  the  best  book  on  good 
breeding,  i.  418. 

Catcot,  George,  the  pewterer  of  Bristol,  ii.  67. 

Cathcart,  Charles,  ninth  Earl,  ii.  192. 

‘ Catholicon,’  ii.  16,  16  n. 

‘ Cato,’  Addison’s,  ii.  165,  399. — learnt  Greek  at  an  ad 
vanced  age,  ii.  385. 

Cator,  Mr.  John,  ii.  5.  266,  371,  391. 

Cave,  Mr.  Edward,  character  and  anecdotes  of,  i.  38,  43 
59,  61,  65  77.,  84,  86,  110,  130,  532,  287  77.,  294,  295  , ii 
437. — Johnson’s  letters  to,  i.  32,  40,  45,  46,  47,  52,  53 
62. — Latin  verses  addressed  to  him  by  Johnson,  i.  43 
43  77. — his  letter  to  Richardson  respecting  the  4 Ram 
bier,’  i.  84. — his  Life  by  Johnson,  i.  110 ; ii.  472  n 

Cawdor  Castle,  i.  361,  361  n. ; ii.  554. 

Cecil,  Colonel,  i.  296  n. 

‘ Cecilia,’  Miss  Burney’s,  ii.  348. 

Cervantes,  ii.  258. 

Certainties,  small,  the  bane  of  men  of  talents,  i.  509. 

Chadworth,  Lord,  ii.  500. 

Chalmers,  George,  Esq.,  i.  60  77.— Alexander,  Esq.,edito 
of  the  ‘ British  Essayists,’  i.  82  77.,  85  n.,  87  n.,  91  n 
269  ?7.,  304  77.,  91 . — his  4 Lessons  in  Biography,’  ii.  519 

Chamberlaine,  Mrs.,  i.  510  n. 

Chamberlayne,  Rev.  Mr.,  ii.  383. 

Chambers,  Ephraim,  his  Proposal  for  his  Dictionary,  i 
90. — Johnson’s  style  founded  partly  upon  that  of,  i. 
90,  90  77. — Robert,  afterwards  Sir  Robert,  i.  118,  234 
321,  322,  325,  358,  474,  475,  477  ; ii.  183  77.,  281.— some 
account  of,  i 118  77. — Johnson’s  character  of,  ii.  281 
— Johnson’s  letter  to,  i.  118. — Mrs.  and  Miss,  i.  475  77. 
— Sir  William,  his  4 Chinese  Architecture,’  ii.  334,  33' 
77. — ‘ Heroic  Epistle’  to,  quoted,  i.  387 ; ii.  161 77.,  39? 
77. — Catharine,  Johnson’s  maid-servant,  i.  146  77.,  147 
148,  242. 

Chamier,  Anthony,  Esq.,  i.  212,  358  ; ii.  81  77.,  96,  138 
153. 

‘ Champion,’  a periodical  paper,  i.  68. 

Chancellors,  how  chosen,  i.  285. 

Chapone,  Hester,  formerly  Miss  Mulso,  a contributor  ta 
the  4 Rambler,’  i.  81  ; ii.  491. — account  of  her  meeting 
Johnson,  i.  101.— Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  361. 

Charade,  Johnson’s,  on  Dr.  Barnard,  ii.  336. 

Character,  influence  of,  ii.  193. 

Characters,  first  instance  of  delineation  of,  ii.  253.  • 
how  historians  should  draw.  ii.  218. — showing  only 
the  bright  side  of  ii.  274. — extraordinary,  generally 
exaggerated,  ii.  38. 

Charing  Cross,  i.  616. 

Charity,  Christian,  ii.  379.— judicious  distribution  of,  I 


544 


INDEX 


455.— Johnson’s  unbounded,  i.  237.  455,  ii.  214,  214  n., 
395. 

Charlemont,  James,  first  Earl  of,  i.  313,  358  ; ii.  194  n., 
226,  285  n. 

Charles  I.,  i.  205,  442,  523.— II.,  i.  516,  528  ; ii.  269.— 
Edward,  Prince,  i.  386,  3S7,  337  n.  See  Pretender. — 
V.  celebration  of  his  funeral  obsequies  during  his  life- 
time, ii.  151. — XII.,  of  Sweden,  i.  36;  ii.  158. 

Charlton,  .Dr.,  ii.  358. 

Charms,  belief  in,  i.  37S,  378  n.  * 

Chastity,  i.  248,  391  ; ii.  218  n. 

Chatham,  William,  first  Earl  of,  i.  60,  299,  210,  506  ; ii. 
195,  393,  393  n. 

Chatsworth,  i.  479,  479  n. ; ii.  134,  416. 

Chatterton,  Thomas,  his  poems,  ii.  67,  68,  311,  311'n. 

Ched  worth,  Lord,  ii.  500. 

Chemistry,  Johnson’s  fondness  for,  ii.  215, 245  w.,  355. 

Chester,  i.  482. 

Chesterfield,  Philip  Dormer  Stanhope,  fourth  Earl  of,  i. 
18  60,  73,  79  n.,  88  n.,  110-2,  113  n.,  114,  115,  304,  340 
n.\ 356  n.,  365  n.,  512  ; ii.  63, 91,  105,  194,  210, 225,  227, 
285,  305,  329,  403. — his  alleged  neglect  of  Johnson,  i. 
111. — his  papers  in  the  ‘ World,’ recommending  John- 
son’s Dictionary,  i.  111. — Johnson’s  celebrated  letter 
to,  i.  112. — his  ‘Letters  to  his  Son’  characterized  by 
Johnson,  i.  115,  512,  516,  519  ; ii.  63. 

Cheyne,  Dr.  George,  his  ‘ English  Malady,’  i.  22; — his 
admirable  rule  of  conduct,  ii.  37. — his  ‘Treatise  on 
Health,’  ii.  58. 

Cheynel,  Francis,  Johnson’s  Life  of,  i.  336. 

Children,  treatment  and  education  of,  i.  14,  16,  23,  202, 
265,  354,  393  ; ii.  21,  59,  100  n.,  209,  249,  259. 

China,  wall  of,  ii.  159. 

Chinese  language,  ii.  189. 

‘ Choice  of  difficulties,’  i.  371,  371  n. 

Choisi,  Abbe  de,  ii.  186,  186  n. 

‘ Choleric  Man,’  Cumberland’s,  i.  303  n. 

Cholmondeley,  George  James,  Esq.,  ii.  410. — some  ac 
count  of,  ii.  410  n. — Mrs.,  i.  407  ; ii.  156,  187,  236,  358. 

Christian,  Rev.  Mr.,  i.  246. 

Christian  Hero,’  Steele’s,  ii.  38. 

Christian  charity,  ii.  379. — morality,  ii.  398. — religion, 
evidences  of,  i.  180,  194,  199,  202 ; ii.  398. — disturbed 
in  his  faith,  ii.  348. 

Christianity,  the  highest  perfection,  of  humanity,  i.  236. 
— the  atonement  the  great  article  of,  i.  351  n. ; ii.  127, 
303,  442. 

Christians,  the  differences  among,  ii.  127. 

Christ’s  satisfaction,  i.  351. 

Church,  the  satisfaction  of  meeting  at,  ii.  291. 

Church  of  England,  ecclesiastical  discipline  of,  ii.  378, 
378  n. — patronage,  i.  522. — property,  confiscated,  ii. 
322  n. — architecture,  ii.  35. 

Churchill,  Charles,  the  poet,  i.  47,  192  n.,  214,  222  ; ii. 
142,  398. — his  satire  on  Johnson,  i.  138,  183. — John- 
son’s opinion  of  his  poetry,  i.  190. 

Churton,  Rev.  Ralph,  i.  320  ; ii.  344,  387,  387  n.,  483. 

Cibber,  Colley,  i.  58,  70  n.,  110,  181,  222  «.,  261,  307  n., 
424  n.,  445,  509  n.,  516 ; ii.  62,  75,  125,  125  n.,  157.— 
his  ‘ Apology,’  ii.  75. — Theophilus,  his  ‘ Lives  of  the 
Poets,’  i.  75,  75  n. ; ii.  60  n.,  95  559. — Mrs.,  i.  261, 

364. 

Cicero,  his  defence  of  the  study  of  the  law,  i.  245  n. — 
his  character  of  Appius  applied  by  Mr.  Burke  to  John- 
son, ii.  425  n. 

Clans,  order  of  the  Scottish,  i.  472. 

Clare,  Robert  Nugent,  Lord,  i.  187,  273. — some  account 
of,  i.  273  n. ; ii.  176. 

Clarendon,  Edward  Hyde,  Earl  of,  i.  257 ; ii.  194. — his 
‘ History,’  i.  127  n. — his  style,  ii.  155. — Manuscripts, 
ii.  28,  28  n. 

Claret,  characterised  by  Johnson,  ii.  186,  207,  285. 

‘Clarissa  Harlowe,’  i.  95;  ii.  65  n.,  252. — Johnson  re- 
commends an  ‘ Index  Rerum’  to,  i.  95.— preface  to, 
written  by  Dr.  Warburton,  i.  110  n. 

C!ark,  Alderman  Richard,  ii.  188  n.,  366. — Johnson’s 
letter  to,  ii.  366. — Mr.,  his  pamphlet  on  Ossian,  ii.  363. 

Clarke,  Dr.  Samuel,  i.  180,  267,  422. — his  ‘ Evidences’ 
recommended  by  Johnson,  i.  180.— his  ‘ Sermons,’  ii. 
I’d. — Johnson’s  death-bed  recommendation  of,  ii.  442, 
447,  447  n. 

Clenard,  Nicholas,  his  Greek  grammar,  ii.  24b.— some 
account  of,  ii.  249  n. 

• Cleone,’  Dodsiey’s  tragedy  of,  i.  145. 

‘ Cleonice,’  Hoole’s  play  of,  i.  495. 

Clergy,  ii.  291,  293  «.,  361.;  ii.  104,  174,  290.— their 
preaching  not  sufficiently  plain,  i.  170,  204. — not  suffi- 
ciently acquainted  with  their  parishioners,  i.  .172. — 
English,  i.  361.  408.— Scottish,  i.  281,  352,  408. — Irish, 
i.  173. — lax  jollity  of,  offensive,  ii.  284. — dress  of, 
should  be  in  character,  ii.  28*. 


Clergyman,  Addison’s  portrait  of,  ii.  284.— Johnson’* 
model  of,  ii.  284.  —his  excellent  letter  to  a young,  ii 
238. 

Clerk,  Sir  Philip  Jennings,  ii.  286. 

Climate,  i.  326. 

Clive,  Robert,  first  Lord,  ii.  185,  193,  216.— Mrs.,  i.  364 
ii.  244,  359. 

Clothes,  fine,  ii.  48. 

Club,  Ivy-lane,  formed  by  Johnson,  i.  75,  138  ; ii.  364, 
374. — Literary,  founded  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  i 
212,  533;  ii.  230,  232,  273.  See  Literary  Club.— 
Boar’s-head.  i.  407. — Queen’s  Arms,  ii.  289. — in  Old- 
street,  ii.  334,  374. — Essex-head,  ii.  365. — Eumelian, 
ii.  431  n. — Johnson’s  notions  of  the  chair  of,  ii.  463. — 
his  definition  of  a,  ii.  365. 

‘ Clubable’  man,  ii.  365. 

Coachmakers’  Hall,  ii.  291. 

Coarse  raillery,  Johnson’s  powers  of,  ii.  251. 

Cobb,  Mrs.,  i.  11  n.,  249,  252,  277,  479  n. ; ii.  5,  45,  213 
— some  account  of,  ii.  222  n. 

Cock-lane  ghost,  ii.  159. 

Cocker’s  Arithmetic,  i.  368  n. 

Coin  of  the  realm,  exportation  of,  ii.  295. 

Coke,  Lord,  i.  285  ; ii.  400. 

Col,  island  of,  i.  421,  422,  424,  426,  428  n. ; ii.  560,  561.— 
the  laird  of,  i.  353,  437,  438,  439,  439  n.,  495  ; ii.  560. 

Colborne,  the  calculating  boy,  ii.  33  n. 

Colchester,  i.  207. 

Colebrooke,  Sir  George,  i.  262. 

Colisaeum,  Johnson’s  mind  compared  to  the,  i.  268. 

Collier,  Jeremy,  ii.  382  n. — Dr.  of  the  Commons,  ii.  59, 
198. 

Collins, William,  thepoet,  i.  54  n.,  108,  119, 131,  166 ; ii.  4 

Colman,  George,  Esq.,  i.  84,  35S,  507 ; ii.  69  n.,  85,  180, 
245,  248. — his  ‘ Odes  to  Obscurity  and  Oblivion,’  i.  514 
— his  imitation  of  Johnson’s  style,  ii.  455. — George, 
Esq.,  jun.,  his  ‘ Random  Records’  quoted,  ii.  69. 

Colquhoun,  Sir  James,  i.  451. — Lady  Helen,  i.  452. 

Colson,  Rev.  John,  i.  38. — some  account  of,  i.  38,  38 
88,  88  «.,  492,  493  n.  See  Coulson. 

Colville,  Lady  Dowager,  i.  460,  460  n. — Alexander, 
fourth  Lord,  i.  460  n. — Lady,  i.  460  «.,  463. 

Combermere,  i.  481,  481  n. 

Commandment,  the  ninth,  modes  of  placing  the  empha- 
sis on,  i.  68. 

Commentaries  on  the  Bible,  ii.  7J. 

Commerce,  i.  523. 

Common  Prayer,  Book  of,  ii.  385. 

Commons,  House  of,  ii.  296.  See  Parliament. 

Communion  of  Saints,  ii.  384,  384  n. 

Community  of  goods,  doctrine  of,  i.  318. 

Company,  ii.  391. — cause  of  Johnson’s  fondness  for,  i.  58 

Compassion,  Johnson’s,  ii.  381. 

Compliments,  ii.  4,  116, 189,  197,  236,  263. 

Complaints,  ii.  253,  260,  328,  399. 

Composition,  ii.  239,  246. — happy  moments  for,  i.  333.- 
Johnson’s  advice  respecting,  }.  343. — his  extraordinary 
powers  of,  i.  343,  358,  518 ; ii.  71  n. 

1 Compositor,’  the,  ii.  394. 

Compton,  Rev.  James,  a Benedictine  monk,  ii.  341,  341  n. 
—his  conversion  to  protestantism  by  the  110th  Rambler, 
ii.  341.— Johnson’s  kind  conduct  towards  him,  ii.  342! 

Cond amine’s  account  of  the  savage  girl,  i.  358. 

Condescension,  ii.  243. 

Conduct,  gradations  in,  ii.  284. 

Confession,  i.  267  ; ii.  43. 

‘ Confessions,’  Rousseau’s,  i.  228,  228  7t. 

Confinement,  ii.  159. 

‘ Conge  d’elire,’  ii.  395. 

Congreve,  William,  the  poet,  i.  222,  259,  259  ».,  263  ; ii 
127.— Johnson’s  Life  of,  ii.  276. — Rev.  Charles,  John 
son’s  school-fellow,  i.  16  ; ii.  42,  48. 

Conjugal  infidelity,  ii.  218,  218  n. 

‘ Connoisseur,’  the,  i.  190. 

Conscience,  scruples  of,  ii.  265. 

Const,  Francis,  Esq.,  ii.,  54  n. 

Constitution,  the  British,  ii.  35. 

Constructive  treason,  ii.  290.  „ 

Contentment,  i.  559  ; ii.  149. 

Contradiction,  ii.  209.— Johnson’s  spirit  of,  ii.  50,  57,  72, 
211,  297,  237  n. 

Convents,  i.  158,  227,  342  ; ii.  33. 

Conversation,  i.  135,525;  ii.  36,47,  70,  151,  182,  252, 
254,  265,  273,  129,  136,  139,  179,  399.— the  happiest 
kind  of,  i.  524. — and  talk,  distinction  between,  ii.  333. 
— Lord  Bacon’s  precept  for,  ii.  355. — questioning,  not 
the  proper  mode  of,  ii.  47,  159. — Johnson’s  great  pow- 
ers of,  ii.  166,  179,  209,  227,  227  254,  255,  26i,  VGA 

277,  298,  301.  388. 

Conversions,  i.  267  ; ii.  144,  171. 

, Convicts,  ii.  391. 


INDEX.  54§ 


Convocation  of  th>>  clergy,  1.  206, 

Conway,  Lady,  i,  287  n. 

Conway  Castle,  i.  487,  490. 

Cook,  captain  James,  the  circumnavigator,  ii.  51. — his 
4 Voyages  to  the  South  Seas,’  ii.  390. 

Cooke,  Thomas,  the  translator  of  Hesiod,  i.  332. — his  ex- 
traordinary speech  on  presenting  Foote  to  a club,  i.  332. 
Cookery,  i.  380  n.~ -Johnson’s  opinion  of  French,  i.  208. 
— his  affected  discernment  in  the  art  of,  i.  141  n. — books 
of,  should  be  written  on  philosophical  principles,  ii. 
1G6.— Glass’s,  written  by  Dr.  Hill,  ii.  167. 

Cooper,  John  Gilbert,  author  of  the  4 Life  of  Socrates,’ 

i.  171 ; ii.  109,  243.— some  account  of,  i.  171  n. 

Coote,  Sir  Eyre,  1.  363. 

Copy-money,  in  Italy,  ii.  116. 

Copy -right,  i.  197,  345.  See  Literary  Property. 

Corbett,  Mr.  Andrew,  i.  20. 

Corelli,  the  singer,  i.  517. 

Coriat,  Tom,  i.  292. 

4 Coriat,  Junior,’  Paterson’s,  i.  292. 

Cork  and  Orrery,  Hamilton,  sixth  Earl  of,  i.  172 ; ii. 
125. — Edmund,  seventh  Earl  of,  ii.  230. — Countess  of 

ii.  230,  297. — some  account  of,  ii.  231  n. 

Corn  laws,  i.  173. 

Corneille,  Pierre,  i.  222,  431 ; ii.  247. 

Cornish  fisherman,  ii.  285. 

Corpulency,  ii.  344. 

Corsica,  i.  228,  233,  244,  249,  253  n.,  254,  257,  426  n. 

4 Corteggiano’  of  Castiglione,  the  best  book  on  good- 
breeding, i.  418. 

Cottages  in  Skie  described,  i.  410. 

Cotterel,  Admiral,  i.  103  n. — Miss,  i.  103,  161,  165,  44 on. 
Cotton,  Sir  Lynch  Salusbury,  i.  441. — Sir  Robert  Salus- 
bury,  i.  481  n..  484  n. ; ii.  246. — Mrs.,  i.  485  n. 

Coulson,  Rev.  John,  i.  492,  493  n ; ii.  4,  4 n. 

£ Council  of  Trent,’  History  of,  i.  40,  51,  51  n. 

‘ Counsellor  Van,’  a sharp-pointed  rock  on  the  Wye, 
why  so  called,  i.  298  n. 

Counting,  the  good  of,  ii.  339. 

Country  amusements,  ii.  25-5. — gentlemen,  i.  357,  359, 
376  n. ; ii.  243,  325.— life,  i.  447 ; ii.  123,  152,  153,  153 
n.,  173,  194,  255,  529. 

Courage,  i.  393;  ii.  158,  185,  218  n. — Johnson’s,  i.  500 
Court,  attendants  on  a,  described,  i.  142. — of  Session  in 
Scotland,  i.  465,  496  n. 

Courting  the  acquaintance  of  the  great,  i.  50,  50  n.,  227. 
Courtenay,  John,  Esq.,  ii.  392. — his  4 Poetical  Review’ 
quoted,  i.  21,  73  n.,  91,  134,  149,  472,  527  n. — his  de- 
scription of  the  style  and  economy  of  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nold’s table,  i.  78. — his  4 Poetical  Review  of  Johnson’s 
literary  and  moral  Character,’  ii.  518.— biographical 
notice  of,  by  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  ii.  518. 

Courts  of  Germany,  manners  best  learnt  at,  j.  417.— 
martial,  ii.  246. 

Coverley,  Sir  Roger  De,  i.  528. 

Cow,  Boswell’s  skill  in  imitating  the  lowing  of,  i.  463. 
Cowardice,  ii.  182,  398. 

Cowdray,  the  seat  of  the  Lords  Montague,  popular  su- 
perstition respecting,  ii.  322. 

Cowley,  Abraham,  the  poet,  i.  107  n .,  440  n.,  445  ; ii.  59, 
143.— Johnson’s  Life  of,  ii.  268. 
dowper,  William,  his  translation  of  Homer,  ii.  185  n. 
Coxcombs,  i.  172 ; ii.  266. 

Cox,  ii.  396. 

Coxeter,  Thomas,  Esq.,  i.  222:  ii.  113. — some  account 
of,  i.  222  n. 

Crabbe,  Rev.  George,  his  4 Village,’ ii.  329. — some  ac- 
count of,  ii.  329  n. — Johnson’s  commendation  of  the 
4 Village,’  ii.  514. 

Cradock,  Joseph,  Esq.,  his  anecdotes  of  Johnson,  ii.  32, 
63,  163,  562. — sundry  inaccuracies  in  his  4 Memoirs’ 
pointed  out,  ii.  462,  464  n. 

4 Craftsman,’  the,  i.  155  «. 

Craig,  Mr.,  the  architect,  i.  343  ; ii.  196. 

Crashaw,  Richard,  his  4 Epigrammata  Sacra,’  ii.  174  n. 
Craven,  Lady,  ii.  56,  231,  233. 

4 Creation,’  Blackmore’s,  i.  268. 

Credulity,  i.  .439 ; ii.  193.— Johnson’s,  ii.  184. 

Creeds,  i.  361. 

Crichton,  Robert,  Lord  Sanquhar,  i.  356  n. 

Critical  Review,  i.  186,  213,  241 ; ii.  60,  65,  120. 

Criticism,  i.  417  ; ii.  204,  230. — examples  of  true,  i.  261. 
Croft,  Rev.  Herbert,  ii.  236  n. — his  4 Life  of  Young,’  ii. 
277.— his  style  described  by  Burke,  ii.  277.— his  4 Love 
and  Madness,’  ii.  334.— Johnson’s  opinion  of  his 
4 Family  Discourses,’  ii.  345. — his  singular  advice  to  a 
pupil,  ii.  390. 

Croker,  Rev.  Temple  Henry,  translator  of  Ariosto,  i. 
165  n. — Alley,  ii.  152,  152  n. — Colonel,  of  Ballinagard, 
II.  152  n. 

Cromwell,  Johnson’s  design  of  writing  the  Life  of,  ii. 
355.— Noble’s  4 Memoirs’  of,  ii.  355  n. 

VOL.  II.  69 


4 Cross  readings,’  Caleb  WhitefoorJ  s diverting  !i.  395 
Crouch,  Mrs.,  ii.  349  n. 

Crousaz’s  4 Examen’  of  Pope’s  Essay  on  Man,  i.  53,  63 
Crown,  power  of  the,  i.  290.— influence  of,  in  parliament, 

i.  167. 

4 Crudities,’  Coriat’s,  i.  292  n. 

Cruikshanks,  Mr.,  the  surgeon,  ii.  347.— Johnson  b let 
ters  to,  ii.  357,  420. 

Cuchillen’s  well,  i.  409. 

Cucumbers,  i.  423  ; ii.  246. 

4 Cui-bono’  man,  ii.  298. 

Cuillen,  the,  i.  402,  402  n. 

Cullen,  Dr.  William,  ii.  119,  137,  369. 

Culloden,  battle  of,  i.  529  n. 

Cumberland,  William,  duke  of,  i.  529,  529  n. ; ii.  429.- 
Richard,  Esq.,  i.  39  n.,  382.— his  ‘Choleric  Man,’i 
303  n. — character  of  Sir  Fretful  Plagiary  intended  for 
him,  i.  303  n. — his  4 Odes,’  ii.  65. — his  mode  of  study, 

ii.  269. — his  4 Walloons,’  ii.  318,  318  n. — his  conversa 
tion  described,  ii.  429.— anecdotes  of  Johnson  by,  ii. 
429  n.,  497. — his  Lines  descriptive  of  Johnson’s  char 
acter,  ii.  500. 

Cumming,  Thomas,  the  quaker,  i.  354,  355,  400,  524  n. , 
ii.  343. — some  account  of,  i.  400  n. 

Cuninghame,  Sir  John,  i.  455. 

Cunning,  i.  394. 

Cuper’s  Gardens,  i.  425,  425  n. 

Curates,  salaries  of,  ii.  104. 

4 Curiosities  of  Literature,’  Mr.  D’Israeli’s,  il.  271  n. 
Curiosity,  i.  32, 

Curran,  John  Philpot,  i.  510  n. 

Currants,  ii.  340. 

Cust,  Francis  Cockayne,  i.  68  n. 

Cutts,  Lady  Atterbury’s  funeral  sermon  on,  ii.  144. 

4 Cyder,’  Philips’s,  i.  347. 

4 Cypress  Grove,’  Drummond  of  Hawthornden’s,  i.  3i>4. 
Cyrus,  the  resignation  of,  ii.  205. 

D. 

Dacier,  Madame,  her  Homer,  ii.  185  n. 

Dalen,  Olaus  von,  his  4 History  of  Sweden’  recom- 
mended, i.  284. 

Dalloway,  Dr.,  ii.  529. 

Dalrymple,  Sir  David,  afterwards  Lord  Hailes,  i.  115, 
195,  201,  336, 466,  493.  See  Lord  Hailes.— Sir  John,  i. 
304,  313,  465,  466. — his  discoveries  respecting  Russell 
and  Sydney,  i.  304. — Johnson’s  laughable  imitation  of 
his  style,  i.  466,  466  n. — Lady  Margaret,  i.  454. — some 
account  of,  i.  454  n. 

Dalzel,  Andrew,  Greek  professor  at  Edinburgh,  ii.  430. 
Darner,  Hon.  John,  ii.  208. — some  account  of,  ii.  208  n. 
Dance,  Mr.  the  architect,  i.  286  n. 

Dancing,  advocated  by  Johnson,  i.  256  ; ii.  285. 
Dancing-Master,  Johnson’s  conversation  with  one,  ii.  255 
4 Dandy,’  i.  386. 

Danes,  the,  ii.  358. 

Danish  colony  at  Leuchars,  i.  344,  344  n.— fort,  i.  379. 

D.  Arblay,  Madame.  See  Burney. 

Darius,  shade  of,  ii.  247. 

Darteneuf,  Charles,  ii.  37. — some  account  of,  ii.  37  n. 
Darwin,  Dr.  Erasmus,  mutual  dislike  between  Johnson 
and,  i.  479  n. 

Dashwood,  Lady,  ii.  220,  220  n. 

Dating  letters,  a laudable  habit,  ii.  230  n. 

Daughters,  benefit  of  taking  them  early  into  company, 
ii.  256. 

Davies,  Mr.  Thomas,  the  actor  and  bookseller,  charac- 
ter and  anecdotes  of,  i.  177,  179, 192,  206,  214,  214  n., 
217,  251,  262  302,  320,  473,  500,  516,  517  ».,  518 ; ii. 

1,  141,  142,  151,  244,  247,  528.— his  4 Life  of  Garrick,’ 

i.  16  «.,  38  «. ; ii.  237,  237  n. — Johnson’s  letters  to,  ii 
351,  420. — Churchill’s  sarcasm  on  his  acting,  i.  177  n 
— his  4 pretty  wife,’  i.  177,  177  n. ; ii.  351. 

Davis,  Rev.  Henry  Edward,  his  4 answer  to  Gibbon,’  ii 
164. 

Dawkins,  Henry,  Esq.  ii.  304,  304  n. 

Day-labourers,  wages  of,  ii.  330. 

Dead,  legal  redress  for  libels  on  the  character  of,  ii.  54. 
Dead  language,  on  writing  verses  in,  i.  528. 

Deaf  and  dumb,  Mr.  Broadwood’s  academy  foi,  i.  464. 
Deafness,  Johnson’s,  ii.  187. 

Deane,  Rev.  Richard,  ‘on  the  Future  Life  of  Brutes ,’  1 
247. 

Death,  i.  72,  144, 149,  261,  267,  287,  384,  387,  443,  464 

ii.  Ill,  113,  170,  176,  202,  318,  320,  348,  360,  367,  369, 
374, 378,  387. — reflections  on  a violent,  i.  144.— South- 
well’s stanzas  upon,  i.  486  to. — preparation  for,  i.  433 

Death-bed  resentments,  i.  403.— repentance,  Dr.  Wiehart 
on,  i.  408. 

Debates  in  Parliament,  Johnson’s  share  in  them  i.  44, 
58,  59,  60;  ii.  437. 

Debt,  misery  of  being  in,  ii.  319. 


546 


INDEX. 


Debtor,  proverbial  wretchedness  of,  ii.  319. 

Debts,  i.  150 ; ii.  99. 

Decay  of  the  mental  faculties,  ii.  49. 

‘ Decline  and  Fall,’  Gibbon’s,  ii.  37. 

Dedications,  i.  310,  421 ; ii.  93.— and  Prefaces,  by  John- 
son, and  remarks  on.  i.  64, 71,  73,  110, 129  to.,  137, 138, 
153,  156,  159, 166, 206,  233,  234,  235,243,  301,  310, 421  ; 
ii.  93. 

Definition,  i.  335  to. 

Definitions,  i.  12  to.,  32  to.,  126,  126  to.,  330  to.,  336,  460 
«.  ; ii.  150,  179,  182  to.,  191,  192. 

De  Foe,  Daniel,  i.  287  ; ii.  159.— his  ‘ Robinson  Crusoe,’ 
ii.  159.— invents  the  story  of  Mrs.  Veal’s  ghost,  i.  2S7, 
287  ». 

Degeneracy  of  the  human  race  disputed,  i.  307,  307  to. 
De  Groot,  Isaac,  a relative  of  Grotius,  Johnson’s  kind 
interference  in  behalf  of,  ii.  98. 

Deist,  i.  227. 

Delany,  Dr.,  his  ‘ Observations  on  Swift,’  i.  403 ; ii.  152, 
269. 

Delap,  Rev.  Dr.,  i.  222  ; ii.  110,  110  to. 

Delay,  danger  of,  i.  144. 

Delicacy,  ii.  257. 

Democritus,  ii.  296  to. 

1 Demonax’  of  Lucian,  curiously  applicable  to  Johnson, 
ii.  266  to. 

Demosthenes,  i.  59,  60  to.,  304. 

Dempster,  George,  IJsq.,  i.  184, 196,  198, 199  to. ; ii.  173. 
— some  account  of,  i.  184  to. — his  epitaph  on  himself, 
i.  184  to. — his  character  of  Johnson’s  ‘ Journey  to  the 
Hebrides,’  i.  467,  501. 

Denbigh,  i.  483. 

Dennis,  John,  his  ‘ Critical  Works’  worth  collecting,  ii. 
63. 

Departed  spirits,  appearance  of,  i.  149,  182 ; ii.  292,  379. 
‘ Depeditation,’  i.  365. 

Depression  of  spirits,  treatment  of,  i.  39  to. 

‘ Derange,’  ii.  400. 

Derby,  china  manufactory  at,  ii.  116. 

Derby,  Rev.  J.,  ii.  93. — curious  anecdote  of,  ii.  93  to. 
Derrick,  Samuel,  Esq.,  i.  47,  175,  179,  203,  360,  404 : ii. 

202,  335,  351  to. — some  account  of,  i.  175  to. — his  ‘ Let- 
ters,’ i.  360. 

Descriptions,  seldom  correspond  with  realities,  i.  363, 
369  ; ii.  337. 

‘ Deserted  Village,’  i.  226,  313. 

Desmoulins,  Mrs.,  i.  22,  29,  280;  ii.  142,  142  ».,  172, 199, 

203,  207  to.,  221,  242,  291,  353,  366. 

Despotic  governments,  ii.  166. 

Devaynes,  John,  Esq.,  ii.  376. 

Devonshire,  William  Cavendish,  third  Duke  of,  ii.  126. 

— his  dogged  veracity,  ii.  206. 

Devotion,  ii.  349. 

‘ Dialogues  of  the  Dead,’  Lord  Lyttleton’s,  ii.  37,  277. — 
two,  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  in  imitation  of  Johnson’s 
style  of  conversation,  ii.  176,  464,  464  to. 

Diary,  Johnson’s,  i.  289,  338.— the  utility  of  keeping  one, 

i.  196,  306  ; ii.  144,  330. 

Dibdin,  Mr.  Charles,  i.  269. 

Dick,  Sir  Alexander,  i.  336,  465 ; ii.  99, 367,  369,  369  to. — 
his  letter  to  Johnson  on  the  good  effect  produced  in 
Scotland  by  his  ‘ Journey,’  ii.  88. 

‘ Dictionnaire  Portatif’  of  L’Avocat,  recommended,  ii. 
396. 

‘ Dictionary  of  the  English  Language,’  Johnson’s,  i.  71, 
73,74,75,  110,  112,  116,  119,  122,  123,  125,  129,  140, 
164,  199,  278,  283,  301,  302,  303,  320,  335,  352,  365, 
417;  ii.  33,  93,  94,  191,  209,  218,  243,  475— first  pub- 
lished,  i.  125.— Wilkes’s  jeu  d’espriton,  i.  128.— Gar- 
rick’s epigram  on,  i.  128. — Johnson’s  profits  by,  i.  130. 
—epitome  of,  i.  131. — felicity  with  which  the  examples 
are  selected,  ii.  379. — curious  particulars  as  to  the  prac- 
tical compilation  of,  ii.  531. 

Dido,  ii.  336. 

‘ Difficile  est  proprie,’  &c.,  of  Horace,  ii.  75,  75  to. 
Dilatoriness,  Johnson’s,  ii.  266. 

Dillingham,  Miss  Anne,  ii.  229  to. 

Dilly,  Edward,  i.  316  ; ii  72,  166,  194, 196,  212,  214,  215, 
294.  301. — his  letter  to  Boswell  on  the  ‘ Lives  of  the 
Poets,’  ii.  92.— Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  98. 

‘ Dining-tables,’  Macleod’s,  i.  402  to. 

Dinners,  i.  209  ; ii.  70,  260. 

Diploma,  Johnson’s,  on  being  created  a doctor  of  laws,  1. 
217,  513. 

‘ Dirletnn’s  Doubts,’  characterized  by  Lord  Hardwicke, 

ii.  113. 

' Disarrange,’  ii.  400. 

Disease,  its  effect  on  the  mine!  ii.  357. 

Diseases,  acute  and  chronica^  ii.  318. 

Disguise,  ii.  256. 

Dislike  mutual,  ii.  230. 


D’Israeli,  J.,  Esq.,  i.  23  44  n.,  47  n.,  44  w.,  284  n ^ 

308  to. ; ii.  204  to.,  271  n. 

Dissimulation,  i.  241. 

Distinctions,  ii.  195. 

Distrust,  ii.  103. 

‘ Divine  Legation,’ Warburton’s,  ii.  272. 

Divine  worship,  duty  of  attending,  ii.  400. 

Divorces,  ii.  193. 

Dixie,  Sir  Wolstan,  i.  30,  30  to. 

Dockers  and  the  inhabitants  of  Plymouth,  dispute  be 
tween,  i.  164,  164  to. 

‘ Doctor  of  Physic,’  i.  499,  529,  550. 

‘ Doctrine  of  Grace,’  Warb.urton’s,  i.  352. 

Dodd,  Rev.  Dr.  William,  ii.  94,  96,  99, 108,  111,  118, 15» 
160,  160  ?z.,  165,  165  to.,  341,  400. — Johnson’s  assist 
ance  to,  ii.  96,  105. — his  letters  to  Johnson,  ii.  106,  107 
— Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  . 108. — his  ‘Thoughts  it 
Prison,’  ii.  160, 160  to. — his  letter  descriptive  of  John 
son’s  person  and  manner,  ii.  165  to. 

Doddington,  George  Bubb,  afterwards  Lord  Melcombe, 

i.  85,  85  to.,  88  to.  ; ii.  278  to. 

Doddridge.  Dr.  Philip,  i.  416,  416  to. 

Dodsley,  Robert,  the  bookseller,  i.  38  to.,  47  74,  74  to., 
76,  79,  81  «.,  114,  137,  145,  148;  ii.  37,  63,  159,  165, 
218,  249.— his  £ Public  Virtue,’  ii.  249. — his  tragedy  ot 
‘ Cleone,’  ii.  249. — James,  i.  73,  79  ; ii.  37. 

Dodwell,  Rev.  D-.,  i.  483,  483  to. 

Dogs,  i.  263,  438,  439  to.,  500 ; ii.  128,  263. — custom  of 
eating,  in  China,  i.  312. 

Doing  penance  in  Church,  i.  391. 

Dominicetti,  an  Italian  quack,  his  medicated  baths,  i 
265. — some  account  of,  i.  265  to. 

Donaldson,  Alexander,  the  piratical  bookseller,  i.  197. 

Donne,  Dr.,  his  vision,  ii.  37,  37  to. 

‘ Don  Quixote,’  ii.  258. 

Dorchester,  Catherine  Sedley,  Countess  of,  i.  336,  336  to. 

Dossie,  Robert,  Esq.,  ii.  246. 

Douglas  cause,  i.  24S,  311,  312  «.,  329,  447,  451,  457  ; ii 
48  to.,  140. — crowned  heart  in  the  arms  of,  ii.  123.— 
Home’s  tragedy  of,  i.  450,  508 ; ii.  78. — Duchess  of,  i 
134,  551. — Rev.  Dr.  John,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Salis 
bury,  i.  48,  48  «.,  54,  94,  143,  183,  195,  251  ; ii.  20 
378— his  ‘Milton  no  Plaigiary,’  i.  94  to.— Dr.,  a phy- 
sician, his  collection  of  editions  of  Horace,  ii.  37 1 
378  to. 

Dovedale,  i.  480. 

Doyle,  Sir  F.  H.,  i.  127  to. 

‘ Dragons,’  Madame  de  Sevigne’s  application  of  th« 
word,  ii.  223  to. 

Drake,  Sir  Francis,  Johnson’s  Life  of,  i.  57. 

Draughts,  tranquillizing  effects  of  the  game,  1. 137 

Dream,  Johnson’s,  ii.  243,  264. 

Dreams^efficacy  of,  i.  97. 

Dreghorn,  Lord,  i.  208  to.,  337  to.,  526. 

‘ Drelincourt  on  Death,’  i.  287,  287  to.— Miss,  afterwaidr. 
Lady  Primrose,  i.  387,  387  to. 

Dress,  i.  80, 179,  256,  258,  326,  452, 473  ».,  521  j ii.  19  to., 
69,  181,  259,  260. 

Dressing,  time  consumed  in,  i.  343. 

Drinking,  i.  298,  340,  356,  374.  393,  497,  497  ». ; ii.  33 
64,  70,  149,  149  to.,  150,  152, 174,  182,  267,  210,  273  to  . 
282,  285,  291,  37t. — to  excess,  the  practice  great!  j 
diminished,  i.  340  to. — Johnson’s  argumer.s  against,  i 
437 ; ii.  120. — its  effect  upon  conversation  and  benevo 
lence,  ii.  64. — by  deputy,  ii.  183. 

Dromore,  Bishop  of.  See  Percy. 

Drowning,  suicide  by,  i.  339. 

Druids’  temple,  i.  357,  365,  537. 

Drumgoold,  Colonel,  ii. -16,  18. 

Drummond,  of  Hawthornden,  i.  384,  465;  ii.  166. — Mr 
William,  the  bookseller,  i.  235,  242  to.,  454,  459  ; ii.  82 
— Johnson’s  letters  to,  i.  235,  236,  237. — Dr.,  ii.  82,  268 
— Mr.  George,  i.  334. 

Drunkards,  i.  341 ; ii.  210,  371. 

Dryden,  i.  89  to.,  170,  226,  259,  289,  315,  403,510  ; ii.  74, 
174  to.,  192,  207,  215  to.,  270,  271,  299  to— Johnson’s 
reverence  for,  ii.  270. — his  ‘ Hind  and  Panther’  quoted, 

ii.  270. — his  philosophical  lines  on  life,  ii.  388.  -Join- 
son’s  Life  of,  ii.  503. 

Dublin  University,  premiums  in,  i.  137  n, — Mr  Fkod 
bequeaths  his  estate  to,  i.  139  to. — grant  a diploma  to 
Johnson,  i.  217. 

Dubos,  Abb6,  i.  261. 

Dudley,  Rev.  Henry  Bate,  afterwards  Sir  Henry,  ii  386 
— some  account  of,  ii.  386  to. 

Duel,  ancient  trial  bv,  i.  327. 

Duelling,  i.  294,  294 ‘to.,  310,  399 ; ii.  343,  343  n. 

Du  Halde,  his  ‘ Description  of  China,’  i.  61,  247  , ii  252 

Dulness,  ii.  262. 

Dunbar,  Dr.  James,  his  ‘ Essays  on  the  History  of  Maa 
kind,’  ii.  142. 


INDEX. 


547 


Dun  Can,  i.  380,  381,  381  n. 

i*ancan’s  monument,  i.  360,  360  n 

Dunces,  i.  259. 

Dunciad,’  i.  259,  514  : ii.  188. 

Duncombe,  William,  Esq.,  ii.  177.— some  account  of,  ii. 
177  n. 

Dundas,  Henry,  Esq.,  afterwards  Viscount  Melville,  i. 
115,  286  n.  ; ii.  137. 

Dundee,  John,  Viscount  of,  his  fine  epitaph,  i.  340  n. 

Dundonald  Castle,  i.  455. 

‘ Dungeon  of  Wit,’  i.  443. 

Dunning,  Mr.,  afterwards  Lord  Ashburton,  i.  286;  ii. 
100,  149. 

Dunsinan,  William  Nairne,  Lord,  i.  338,  338  n.,  463. 

Dunton,  John,  the  bookseller,  his  ‘ Life  and  Errors,’  ii. 
338. 

Dunvegan,i.  396,  396  ».,  401. 

Duppa,  Richard,  Esq.,  his  publication  of ‘Johnson's 
Diary  of  a Journey  into  North  Wales,’  incorporated, 
by  his  permission,  into  the  present  edition  of  this 
work,  i.  478. 

■Durandi  Rationale,  1459,’  the  third  book  printed  with 
a date,  i.  492. 

Durham  cathedral,  i.  551. 

Durham,  ‘-on  the  Galatians,’  i.  459,  459  n. 

Durinish,  i.  401. 

Dury,  Major-General  A.,  i.  144,  144  n. 

Dutch  language,  ii.  147,  249. — Johnson  studies  it  at 
seventy-one,  ii.  249. 

Dyer,  Samuel,  i.  75,  138,  211,  225,  230,  311,358,524,  n. ; 
ii.  130  n.,  149  n.,  222,  245. — some  account  of,  i.  225. — 
his  ‘Fleece,’  ii.  39. 

‘ Dying  with  a grace,’  ii.  371. 

E. 

Early  habits,  force  of,  i.  526. — rising,  i.  391 ; ii.  118. 

Earthquake,  ii.  103. 

East  Indians,  ii.  189. 

East  Indies,  practice  of  going  to,  in  quest  of  wealth,  ii. 
216. — alleged  delinquencies  in,  ii.  344. 

Easter,  i.  475  ; ii.  57,  86,  178  n. 

* Easy  Phraseology,’  Baretti’s,  ii.  115. 

Eating,  i.  208 ; ii.  126,  174.— Johnson’s  mode  of,  i.  115 
n.,  208,  390  ; ii.  74. 

Eccles,  Rev.  Mr.,  his  literary  fraud,  i.  156. — some  ac- 
count of,  i.  156  n. — Isaac  Ambrose,  Esq.,  i.  192. 

Ecole  Militaire,  ii.  11. 

Economy,  i.  173  ; ii.  158,  172,  349. 

Edinburgh,  i.  326,  460,  551.— Castle,  i.  460. — procurators 
of,  Johnson’s  argument  against  a prosecution  for  a 
libel  by,  ii.  305,  468. 

Education,  i.  226,  297,  354 ; ii.  33,  68,  119,  209,  249,  291. 
— of  children,  i.  17,  201. — Johnson’s  plan  of,  i.  36  ; iD 
209. — great  influence  of,  ii.  34. — by-roads  in,  ii.  21. — 
of  the  people,  i.  297 ; ii.  62. — in  public  schools,  i.  349  ; 
ii.  21,  53,  53  n.— in  England,  ii.  196.— Milton’s  ‘Trac- 
tate’ on,ii.  196. — Locke’s  Essay  on,  ii.  196. 

Edwards,  Thomas,  his  ‘Canons  of  Criticism,’  i.  114  n.— 
Mr.,  ‘ on  Grace,’  ii.  168. — Oliver,  Johnson’s  fellow  col- 
legian, ii.  173,  173  n.,  291.— Rev.  Dr.  Edward,  ii.  200. 
— his  Xenophon’s’  Memorabilia,’  ii.  200,  200  n. 

Eel,  ii.  207. 

Egalite,  Duke  of  Orleans,  ii.  329  n. 

Eglintoune,  Alexander,  Earl  of,  i.  36,  455  ; ii.  128, 178. — 
Susanna.  Countess  of,  i.  454  n.,  455,  563 ; ii.  199. — 
some  account  of,  i.  455  n. 

Egmont,  John,  first  Earl  of,  his  ‘ History  of  the  House 
of  Y very,’  ii.  337. — John,  second  Earl  of,  his  * Faction 
Detected,’  i.  55. 

Egotism,  ii.  181. 

Egotists,  the  four  classes  of,  ii.  120. 

Egyptians,  ancient,  question  as  to  their  colour,  ii.  304. 

Eldon,  Earl  of,  i.  337  n. 

Election  Committees,  duty  of  members  of  parliament 
sitting  upon,  ii.  283. 

Elephant,  Johnson  compared  to,  ii.  264. 

* Elements  of  Criticism,’  Lord  Kaimes’s,  i.  57,  179,  201 ; 

ii.  151. 

* Elfrida,’  Mason’s,  i.  514. 

Elgin,  i.  359,  359  «.,  553. 

Elibank,  Patrick  Murray,  fifth  Lord,  i.  277,  296,  324,  384, 
433,  459,  460,  462,  475  ; ii.  57,  70,  245,  300. — some  ac- 
count of,  i.  277  n. 

Eliot,  Mr.,  afterwards  Lord,  ii.  69,  225,  285  n.,  285,  367. 

Elizabeth,  Queen,  i.  153,  260 ; ii.  247,  288. 

Ellis,  John,  the  money-scrivener,  ii.  56. — some  account 
of,  ii.  56  n. — Ellis,  Henry,  Esq,,  of  the  British  Muse- 
um, i.  486  n. 

Elphinston,  Archbishop,  i.  352. — James,  i.  237,  303,  310, 
502;  ii.  206. — his  edition  of  the  ‘Rambler,’  i.  85. — 
Johnson’s  letters  to,  i.  85,  86. — some  account  of,  i.  85  n. 


— his  translations  of  the  mottoes  to  the  ‘ Rambler,’  i. 
92,  92  n. — Johnson’s  character  of,  i.  291. — his  transla 
tion  ofMartial,  ii.  155. 

Elririgton,  Rev.  Dr.  Charles,  engaged  in  writing  the  Life 
of  Archbishop  Usher,  i.  173  n. 

4 Elvira,’  Mallet’s  tragedy  of,  i.  184. 

Elwal,  E.,  the  enthusiast,  i.  288,  318. 

Emigration,  i.  328,  347,  389,  418,  427. 

Emmet,  Mrs.,  the  actress,  Johnson  in  love  with,  i.  449 

Emphasis,  modes  of  placing,  in  reading  the  ninth  com 
mandment,  i.  68. 

Employment,  ii.  124.— female,  ii.  257.— of  wealth,  ii 
329. 

Emulation,  i.  354. 

‘ England’s  Parnassus,’  ii.  101  n. 

English  and  Dutch  languages  radically  the  same,  ii.  147, 
249. 

‘ English  Malady,’  Cheyne’s,  ii.  82.— bar,  ii.  390.— cler 
gy,  i.  408.— drama,  ii.  359,  362. 

English  merchant,  i.  219  n.— Poets,  Johnson’s  edition  of. 
See  4 Lives  of  the  Poets.’ 

Englishmen,  their  cold  reserve  towards  strangers,  ii 
335. — and  Frenchmen  compared,  i.  74,  170 ; ii.  153, 
247. — and  Scotchmen  compared,  i.  326;  ii.  246. 

Entails,  i.  355  ; ii.  24,  27,  30,  31. — Johnson’s  letters  on, 
ii.  24,  26,  27. 

Envy,  ii.  160,  175  n.,  250. 

Epigram,  Johnson’s,  to  Mrs.  Carter,  i.  54. — on  George 
the  Second,  i.  58. — ad  Lauram  Parituram,  i.  63  n. — ad 
Ricardum  Savage,  i.  65  n. — Garrick’s,  on  Johnson’s 
Dictionary,  i.  128.— on  the  marriage  of  an  Austrian 
Arch-duchess  to  Buonaparte,  i.  401  n. — on  seeing 
Blenheim,  ii.  38. — to  Miss  Mary  Aston,  ii.  190  n. — on 
Lord  Anson’s  temple  of  the  winds,  ii.  204  n. — Dr. 
Trapp’s  celebrated,  ii.  265. — on  a religious  dispute  at 
Bath,  ii.  3S3  n. 

‘ Epigrammata  Sacra,’  ii.  174  n. 

Epilogue  to  ‘ Irene,’  by  whom  written,  i.  79,  79  n. — to 
the  ‘ Distressed  Mother,’  by  Johnson,  i.  532. 

Epitaph  on  Philips,  the  musician,  i.  57,  58,  58  n. — on  Sir 
Thomas  Hanmer,  i.  71. — on  Mrs.  Johnson,  i.  100.— on 
Admiral  Byng,  i.  134. — on  Johnson,  bySoame  Jenyns, 
i.  134  n. — for  a creature  not  yet  dead,  i.  135  n.— George 
Dempster’s,  on  himself,  i.  1S4  n.—  on  Colin  Maclaurin, 
i.  337  n. — on  Dr.  Smollet,  i.  453. — on  Dr.  Parnell,  ii 
275. — on  Goldsmith,  ii.  80. — on  a celebrated  Italian,  i 
519,  519  n. — on  a wicked  man,  killed  by  a fall  from 
his  horse,  ii.  343. — on  Johnson,  by  Mr.  Flood,  ii.  451, 
— on  Johnson,  by  Dr.  Parr,  ii.  452',  452  n. 

Epitaphs,  i.  373  n.,  452  n. ; ii.  21,  79,  81,  268,  275,  336 
— Johnson’s  Essay  on,  i.  57. 

Equality,  i.  229,  307  ; ii.  58,  398. 

Erasmus,  i.  479  n.,  486. — Jortin’s  Life  of,  ii.  399. — an 
expression  of,  applied  to  Johnson,  ii.  386. 

Errol,  Lord,  i.  353,  354,  355,  355  n.— Lady  Isabella,  i 
354. 

4 Errors  of  the  Press,’  Caleb  Whitefoord’s  witty  paper 
on,  ii.  395  n. 

Erse  language,  Johnson’s  letter  on  the  proposal  to  trans 
late  the  Scriptures  into,  i.  235,  236. — manuscripts,  i. 
504,  505,  519,  520. — and  Irish,  both  dialects  of  the 
same  language,  i.  284'. — songs,  i.  361,  377,  404. 

Erskine,  Sir  Harry,  i.  176. — Hon.  Andrew,  i.  184  ; ii.  110. 
— Hon.  Thomas,  afterwards  Lord,  i.  292,  293,  293  n. 
— some  account  of.  i.  292  n.— Hon.  Henry,  gives  Bos 
well  a shilling  for  the  sight  of  hi3  ‘bear,’i.  333  n.— 
Lady  Anne,  i.  460. 

‘Espionage,’  no  word  in  the  English  language  to  de 
scribe,  i.  509  n. 

4 Esquire,’  the  title  of,  i.  9. 

Essex,  the  unfortunate  Earl  of,  his  advice  on  travel,  i 
195.- -Head  Club,  instituted,  ii.  364. — its  rules,  ii  ’65, 
365  n. 

Estates,  obligation  in  settling,  ii.  31. 

Eternal  punishments,  ii.  132,  186, 

Eternity,  i.  374  ; ii.  371. 

Etymologies,  Johnson’s,  characterized,  i.  126. 

4 Eugenio,’  a poem,  lines  from,  i.  315. 

Evans,  a bookseller,  beating  given  to  him  by  Goldsmith. 

i.  304.— Rev.  Dr.  Evan,  i.  486  ; ij.  38  n. 

‘ Evelina,’  Miss  Burney’s  novel  of,  ii.  229,  335,  348. 

Evil,  origin  of,  i.  360,  452. — speaking,  ii.  206. — spirits,  i 
335  ; ii.  384,  384  n. 

Exaggeration,  general  proneness  to,  ii.  103,  210,  261, 
328.  341 . 

4 Excise,’  Johnson’s  offensive  definition  of,  i.  12  ».,  126, 
126  n. ; ii.  191. 

Executions,  public,  i.  261,  356  ; ii.  334, 401. 

Exercise,  benefits  of,  ii.  318  n. 

Exhibition  of  paintings  at  the  Royal  Academy,  !.  1M 

ii.  338,  346,  374. 


549 


INDEX. 


Existence,  ii  190,  251. 

Expectation,  usefulness  of  comparing  experience  with, 
i.  140. 

Expense,  ii.  243. 

Extraordinary  characters  given  of  people,  not  to  be 
credited,  ii.  38. 

F. 

Fable,  sketch  of  one,  by  Johnson,  i.  312. — of  the  Bees, 
Mandeville’s,  i.  263. 

Facility  of  composition,  Johnson’s  extraordinary,  ii.  266. 
Faction,  ii.  338. 

Factiousness,  ii.  296  n. 

Facts,  mischief  of  mingling  them  with  fiction,  ii.  333. 
Fairfax’s  : Tasso,’  ii.  268. 

Fairies,  ii.  247. 

‘ Fairy  Queen,’  Spenser’s,  ii.  244. 

Faith,  i.  351 ; ii.  303. 

Falconer,  Rev.  Mr.,  a nonjuring  bishop,  ii.  202. 

4 Falkland  Islands,’  Johnson’s  pamphlet  respecting,  i. 
272,  273,  280. 

‘ False  Alarm,’  Johnson’s,  i.  270,  2S0 ; ii.  253. 

‘ False  Delicacy,’  Hugh  Kelly’s  play  of,  i.  245. 
Falsehoods,  ii.  144. 

Fame,  i.  263,  317 ; ii.  157. 

Family  influence,  i.  282,  321,  516. — men  of,  i.  357.— resi- 
dences, i.  396. — disputes,  ii.  221. 

Fancy,  i.  272;  ii.  188,  264. 

Farmer,  Rev.  Dr.,  i.  160;  ii.  232,  248. — Johnson’s  letters 
to,  i.  270  ; ii.  233. 

Farmers,  ii.  194. 

Farnborough,  Lord,  ii.  176  n. 

Farquhar,  George,  his  writings,  ii.  244. 

‘Fashionable  Lover,’  Cumberland’s  play  of  the,  i.  382. 
Fasting,  ii.  33. 

Father’s  Revenge,’  the  Earl  of  Carlisle’s  tragedy  of,  ii. 
361. 

Faulkner,  George,  Johnson’s  conversation  with,  i.  341. 
Fawkener,  Sir  Everard.  i.  72  n. 

Fawkes,  Francis,  his  translation  of  Anacreon,  ii.  479  n. 
Fear,  i.  258,  500  ; ii.  39S,  442  n. 

‘Feeling  people,’  i.  262. 

Fees,  lawyers’,  i.  345. 

‘ Felixmarte  of  Hircania,’  Spanish  romance  of,  i.  18. 
Fencing,  i.  343. 

Fenelon’s  ‘ Telemachus,’  i.  431. 

Fenton,  Elijah,  his  share  in  the  translation  of  the  Odys- 
sey, ii.  233. 

Ferguson,  Mr.  James,  ii.  137.— Mr.,  the  astronomer,  i. 

264. — Sir  Adam.  i.  290. 

Fergusone,  Captain,  i.  386  n.,  412  n. 

Fergusson,  Dr.  Adam,  i.  333,  335. 

Ferns,  the  Rt.  Rev.  Dr.  Thomas  Elrington,  Bishop  of,  i. 
90  n.,  138  n. , 197  n .,  202  n.,  240  n.,  242  n.,  258  n.,  267 
n. ; ii.  339  n.,  3S3  n. — the  deanery  of,  ii.  283. 

‘Festivals  and  Fasts,’  Nelson’s,  ii.  41. 

Feudal  system,  i.  293,  300,  357  ; ii.  223. 
fiction,  ii.  355. 

Fiddle,  difficulty  of  playing  upon,  i.  310. 

Fielding,  Henry,  i.  68  n.,  108  n. ; ii.  367.— compared  with 
Richardson,  i.  245,292,  292  n. — his  ‘ Amelia,’ ii.  65, 
65  n.— Sir  John,  ii.  233,  233  n. 

Fife,  barrenness  of,  i.  344. 

Fighting-cock,  i.  514. 

Filial  affection,  very  singular  instance  of,  ii.  143  n 
Filmer  on  government,  ii.  112. 

Finery  in  dress,  ii.  260. 

‘ Fingal,’  the  poem  of,  i.  171,  352,  378,  404,  544,  460, 497, 
498,  501  ; ii.  364.  See  ‘ Ossian.’ 

Finnon  haddock,  i.  358  n. 

Firebrace,  Lady,  verses  to,  i.  52. 

Fishmonger,  insensibility  of  one,  ii.  207. 

Fitzherbert,  William,  Esq.,  i.  29,  143.  158,  309,  407  «., 
520  ; ii.  209.— Mrs.,  i.  29  ; ii.  109,  254,  276. 
Fitzmaurice,  Mr.,  ii.  158  n.,  230,  231. 

‘ Fitzosborne’s  Letters,’  ii.  230,  230  n. 

Fitzroy,  Lord  Charles,  ii.  45. 

Flatman,  Thomas,  his  poems,  ii.  59. 

Flattery,  i.  313,  340,  484  ».,  526  ; ii.  14S  n.,  1S1,  189,  408. 
‘ Fleece,’  Dyer’s  poem  of  the,  ii.  39. 

Fleet-street,  i.  515  ; ii.  173. 

Fleetwood,  Everard,  Esq.,  ii.  181. — on  the  Sacrament, 
recommended  by  Johnson,  ii.  526. 

Fleming,  Sir  Michael  le,  i.  205. — some  account  of,  i. 
205  7i. 

Flexman,  Mr.,  ii.  396. 

Flint,  Bet,  ii.  295,  295  n. 

Flogging  in  schools,  ii.  21,  399. 

Flood.  Right  Hon.  Henry,  his  bequest  to  Dublin  Uni- 
versity, i.  139  7i. — his  opinion  of  Johnson  as  an  orator, 
I 275  —his  epi;aph  on  Johnson,  ii.  451. 


Floyd,  Thomas,  i 203. 

Floyer,  Sir  John,  on  ‘ Cold  Baths,’  i.  32 — on  athma, 

ii.  372. 

Fludyer,  Johnson’s  college  companion,  ii.  36. 

Folengo,  Theopolo,  ii.  166  rt. 

Fondness,  ii  320. 

Fontainebleau,  ii.  13. 

Fontenelle,  ii.  20. 

Foote,  Samuel,  anecdotes  and  character  of,  i.  154,  183, 

262,  263,  263  n.,  264,  268,  283,  297  «.,  332,  346,'  462 
500 ; ii.  32,  74,  74  n.,  85,  125,  126,  227,  330  , 349,  37'i, 
398. — his  description  of  Johnson  at  Paris,  ii.  19,  19  n. 

Forbes,  Sir  William,  of  Pitsligo,  i.  327,  334,  355  n.,  406, 
462,  470,  470  n. ; ii.  64,  80,  80  n.,  81,  131. 

Ford,  Rev.  Cornelius,  a cousin  of  Johnson’s,  i.  11.— in 
s’.ructs  Johnson  in  the  classics,  i.  18. — some  account 
of,  i.  18  n. — ghost  story  respecting,  ii.  193.  -Sarah, 
Johnson’s  mother,  i.  9,  11. 

Fordyce,  Rev.  Dr.  James,  i.  179,  475;  ii.  439.  -Dt 
George,  ii.  145  n. — Miss,  i.  551. 

Foreigners,  ii.  247. 

Fores,  i.  360,  360  n. 

Forgetfulness,  i.  343;  ii.  305. 

Form  of  prayer,  arguments  for,  i.  452. 

Fornication,  i.  291,  391 ; ii.  55,  219. 

Forrester,  Colonel,  ii.  56. 

Forster,  George,  his  ‘ Voyage  to  the  South  Seas,’  ii.  124. 

Fort  Augustus,  ii.  200. — George,  i.  364J. 

‘ Fortune,’  Derrick’s  poem  of,  quoted,  i.  47. — hunters,  i 
173. 

Foster,  Dr.  James,  ii.  245  n. — some  account  of,  ii.  245  n 
— Mrs.  Elizabeth,  Milton’s  grand-daughter,  i.  93,  94. 

Fothergill,  Dr.  John,  the  physician,  ii.  44  n. — Rev.  Dr 
Thomas,  Johnson’s  letter  to,  on  receiving  his  diploma 
from  Oxford,  i.  513. 

Foulis,  Sir  James,  i.  373,  404. — some  account  of,  i.  373  n. 
— the  Messieurs,  the  Elzevirs  of  Glasgow,  i.  454. 

‘ Fountains,’  the,  a tale,  by  Johnson,  i.  235. 

Fowke,  Joseph,  Esq.,  ii.  514. 

Fox,  Right  Hon.  Charles  James,  i.  281  n.,  309  n.,  475, 
475  7i.,  520  n.  ; ii.  57  n .,  153,  156,  159,  165,  367,  372. 
378,  385.— his  conversation,  ii.  326. 

France,  Johnson’s  Journal  of  his  Tour  in,  ii.  10-17.— 
want  of  middle  rank  in,  ii.  13,  18. — state  of  literature 
in.  ii.  153. 

Francis,  Rev.  Dr.  Philip,  i.  59.— his  translation  of  Horace 
ii.  195. 

Franklin,  Rev.  Dr.  Thomas,  the  translator  of  Sophocles, 
i.  154,  330  7i. ; ii.  81  n.,  150,  266. — his  translation  of 
Lucian’s  ‘ Demonax’  and  dedication  to  Johnson,  ii  265. 

Fraser,  Mr.,  the  engineer,  ii.  182. — Simon,  Lord,  i 401 

Fraternal  intercourse,  i.  145,  145  n. 

Frederick  of  Prussia,  Johnson’s  Life  of,  i.  132,  246. 

Free  will,  i.  258,  318  ; ii.  168. 

Freeling,  J.  C.,  Esq.,  ii.  352  n.,  358  n. 

French,  Johnson’s  notions  of  their  manners  and  customs, 
i.  357  ; ii.  18,  18  n.,  19,  194,  247,  355. — Academy,  send 
Johnson  their  Dictionary,  i.  128. — language,  ii.  19.  - 
writers  superficial,  and  why,  i.  203. — novels,  i.  170.— 
credulity  of  the,  i.  439. — literature,  i.  399,  431  ; ii.  259 
355,  509. 

Freron,  M.,  the  antagonist  of  Voltaire,  Johnson’s  visit 
to,  ii.  12,  20. 

Frewen,  Rev.  Dr.  Accepted,  i.  314  n. . 

Friends,  and  Friendship,  i.  63,  86, 128, 145, 147,224,  ?62 
287,  295,  351,  357,  524;  ii.  72,  168,  168  n.,  209,  210 

263,  265,  299,  355,  372,  378. 

Friendship,  an  Ode.  by  Johnson,  i.  63,  234. 

Frisick  language,  i.  211. 

Frith  of  Forth,  i.  338. 

‘ Frustra  Letteraria,’Baretti’s,  ii.  121. 

Fullarton,  Colonel  John,  ii.  195. 

Future  state,  i.  287  ; ii.  132. — knowledge  of  friends  in.  i 
287;  ii.  Ill,  167,  168  n.,  168,  379. 

G. 

Gabbling,  ii.  194,  244. 

Gaelic  language,  i.  284  ; ii.  364. — Dictionary,  ii.  363. 

Gaiety,  ii.  90,  256. 

Gait.  Johnson’s,  ii.  282. 

Galatians,  Durham  on  the,  i.  459. 

Galen,  ii.  237. 

Gaming,  i.  292 ; ii.  57,  57  n. 

‘ Ganganelli’s  Letters,’  not  authentic,  ii.  167 

‘ Garagantua,’  Johnson  compare'd  to,  ii.  154 

Garden,  ii.  305,  339. 

Gardener,  Mr.,  the  bookseller,  i.  518,  518  n 

Gardening,  i.  257  ; ii.  255. 

Gardenston.  Lord,  i.  346. — some  account  of,  i.  346 n. 

Gardiner,  Mrs.,  i.  102;  ii.  361. 

Garrick,  David,  anecdotes  of,  i.  28,  35, 36,  37,  43,  57,  H 


INDEX. 


Mi' 


73, 77,  78, 80,  81  n.,  88,  98,  106, 115,  1 30,  145, 178,  180, 
213,  213  n.,  225,  240,  254,  257,  298,  310,  818,  315,  405, 
417,  446,  510  ; ii.  43.  44  n.,  61,  68,  74,  104,  110, 125, 126, 
155,  156,  157,  165  n.,  170,  176,  197,  202,  203,  210,  243, 
244,  248,  251,  263,  293,  300,  341,  348,  359,  359  n.— 
Johnson’s  envy  of,  i.  67. — his  ‘ Ode’  on  the  death  of 
Mr.  Pelham,  i.  116.— his  Epigram  on  Johnson’s  Dic- 
tionary, i.  128. — Johnson’s  opinion  of,  i.  ISO,  259,  261, 
298,  310,  313,  332,  363,  405,  462,  510,  530  ; ii.  21,  34, 
43,  61,  68,  74,  125,  126,  157,  176,  209,  210,  243,  244, 
359. — his  Shakspeare-jubilee,  i.  254.— Boswell’s  letter 
to,  i.  445, — his  letter  to  Boswell,  i.  444. — his  liberality, 
ii.  157,  210. — his  death,  ii.  202,  202  n.,  203. — Johnson’s 
eulogium  on,  ii.  210,  210  n.— inscription  under  his  por- 
trait, ii.  293.— his  imitation  of  Johnson’s  manner,  i. 
510. — his  talent  of  mimicry,  i.  510. — Johnson’s  opinion 
of  his  prologues,  i.  510. — Mr.  Peter,  i.  37.  42,  479,  595  ; 
ii.  43,  45,  213,  222. — Mr.  George,  ii.  104. — Mrs.,  ii.  210 
n.,  293. 

Gastrel,  Rev.  Mr.,  his  gothic  barbarity  in  cutting  down 
Shakspeare’s  mulberry-tree,  ii.  46,  46  n. — Mrs, , i.  520 
n. ; ii.  38,  39,  135,  201,  203,  212,  222,  317 

Gastrel,  Bishop,  his  ‘ Christian  Institutes,’  i.  436. 

Gataker,  Rev.  Thomas,  ‘ on  Lots,  and  on  the  Christian 
Watch,’  i.  428. 

Gaubius,  Professor,  his  distinction  between  hypochon- 
dria and  madness,  i.  23. 

Gay,  the  poet,  i.  423  ; ii.  268. — his  ‘ Beggar’s  Opera,’  ii. 
180. — Johnson’s  Life  of,  ii.  275. — the  ‘ Orpheus  of 
Highwaymen,’  i.  527  n. 

Gelidus,  character  of,  in  tjie  * Rambler,’  i.  S8,  493  n. 

Gel!,  Mr.,  of  Hopton  Hall,  i.  276  n. 

Gell,  Sir  William,  i.  276  n. 

General  warrants,  legality  of,  i.  255. 

Generosity,  i.  465. 

Genius,  i.  352  ; ii.  204,  236. 

Gentility,  i.  516;  ii.  259. 

Gentleman,  Mr.  Francis,  i.  175.— some  account  of,  i. 
175  n. 

‘ Gentleman,’  the  appellation  of,  i.  9. 

Gentleman’s  Magazine,  i.  32,  35,  42,  57,  59,  63,  66;  ii. 
171  n.,  180,  190  n.,  247  ».,  268  «. 

‘ Gentle  Shepherd,’  Allan  Ramsay’s,  i.  308,  455  n. 

George  I.,  Johnson’s  character  of,  i.  517  ; ii.  297. 

George  II.,  his  severity  in  the  case  of  Dr.  Cameron,  i. 
56. — Johnson’s  uniform  invective  against,  i.  57,  142 
n .,  517.— Johnson’s  Epigram  on,  i.  58. — not  an  Augus- 
tus to  learning  or  genius,  i.  64.— his  destruction  of  his 
father’s  will,  i.  517,  517  n. 

George  III.,  his  accession  and  character,  i.  153,  153, 161, 
386,  522  n. — Johnson’s  character  of,  i.  158. — grants 
Johnson  a pension,  i.  161. — Johnson’s  interview  with, 
i.  239. — happy  expression  of,  i.  90  n. — his  magnani- 
mous conduct  during  the  riots  in  1780,  ii.  234. — his  al- 
leged refusal  of  an  addition  to  Johnson’s  pension  dis- 
proved, ii.  413,  421,  421  n.,  422. 

George  the  Fourth.  See  Prince  of  Wales. 

* Georgies,’  the,  ii.  346. 

Gerard,  Dr.,  i.  352,  365. 

German  courts,  i.  417. 

Gesticulation,  ii.  395. 

Gestures,  Johnson’s,  i 56,  325  ».,  510  «. 

Ghosts,  i.  149,  182-3,  281,287,  293,  295,  296  n.,  346  »., 
437  n.  ; ii.  145,  159,  171,  193,  194,  213,  292,  293 

Giannone,  ii.  243. 

Giants’  Causeway,  ii.  221. 

‘ Giants  of  Literature,’  i.  90. 

Giardini,  i.  310. 

Gibbon,  Edward,  Esq.,  i.  169  n.,  253,  282  n.,  329  n.,  375 
n.,  475  n.,  520,  520  n.,  527  to. ; ii.  37,  38  «.,  54  to.,  69, 
81. — sketch  of  his  appearance  and  manners,  by  George 
Colman,  jun.,  ii.  69  to.— his  character  of  Dr.  Maty,  i. 
122  n.— his  ‘ Reply  to  Davis,’  ii.  164.— his  panegyric 
on  public  schools,  ii.  53  to. — Charles,  his  : Work  worth 
the  Reading,’  i.  227. — Rev.  Dr.,  ii.  304,  378. — some  ac- 
count of,  ii.  304  to. 

Gibraltar,  ii.  12,  261. 

Giffard,  a clergyman,  verses  by,  i.  174,  361. 

Gifford,  William,  Esq.,  anecdote  related  by,  on  John- 
son’s proficiency  in  Greek,  ii.  429. 

Gilbert  on  ‘ Evidence,’  i.  461. 

-Gillespie,  Dr.,  ii.  369. 

Gin-shops,  i.  307. 

Gisborne,  Dr.,  ii.  109  to. 

Glanville,  William  Evelyn,  Esq.,  ii.  184  «. 

Glasgow,  i.  453,  454  ; ii.  333. 

Giasse,  Mrs.,  her  book  of  ‘ Cookery,’  written  by  Dr. 
Hill,  ii.  167. 

Glensheal,  i.  293,  369  to. 

Gloominess,  folly  and  sir  fulness  of,  ii.  312. 

Glover’s  Leonidas,^.  3eo. 


Gloves,  ii.  156. 

Glow-worm,  i.  247,  312. 

Gluttony,  i.  208. 

Gobelins,  ii.  11. 

Goldsmith,  Dr.  Oliver,  Boswell’s  character  of,  i.  185-9.— 
Sir  J.  Hawkins’s  character  of,  i.  186. — anecdotes  of,  i 
186-190,  192,  229,  241,  252,  259,  303,  307,  309,  319,  320, 
353;  ii.  117,  226. — Johnson's  opinion  of,  and  of  his 
writings,  i.  184,  226,  2S8,  296,  300,  302,  305,  306,  312, 
313,  314,  320,  321,  367,  417,  418, 444,  524,  524  to. ; ii.  62 
62  to.,  80  to.,  118,  151,  153,  155,  160,  176,  204,  204  to.. 
250,  252,  262,  263,  298,  329,  332,  392,  398.— beats  Ev- 
ans, the  bookseller,  for  abusing  him,  i.  304,  304  to.— 
his  bon-mots  on  Johnson,  i.  252,  313,  319,  321. — his 
death,  i.  477,  478. — Johnson’s  tetastric  on,  i.  47-8,  81 
to.— Johnson’s  Latin  epitaph  on,  ii.  79,  80.— Garrick’s 
description  of  him,  i.  186  to. — Horace  Walpole’s  opin 
ion  of  him,  i.  186  to. — affected  Johnson’s  style  and  man 
ner  of  conversation,  i.  186. — trick  played  on  him  by 
Roubiliac,  i.  186— his  ‘ Vicar  of  Wakefield,’  i.  187.— 
his  comedies  refused  by  Garrick  and  Colman,  ii.  180  — 
Dr.  Warton’s  opinion  of,  i.  225.— his  ‘ Traveller,’  i.  226 
313,  444  ; ii.  153, 180. — his  ‘ Deserted  Village,’  i.  226 
313. — Johnson’s  prologue  to  his  ‘ Good-natured  Man,' 

i.  406. — his  Life  of  Parnell,  i.  288. — dedicates  ‘ She. 
Stoops  to  Conquer’  to  Johnson,  i.  306. — his  ‘ Animated 
Nature,’  ii.  80  n. — Rev.  Mr.,  i.  295. — Mrs.,  ii.  87. 

Good  breeding,  i.  348.— in  what  it  consists,  i.  258.— the 
best  book  upon,  i.  418. 

Gooddere,  Captain,  i.  332  to. 

Good  Friday,  ii.  172,  177,  339. 

Good-humour,  i.  391,  525. 

‘ Good  mat  ,’  ii.  356. 

‘ Good-natured  man,’  Goldsmith’s,  i.  244,  24t>. 

Goodness,  infinite,  ii.  387. — natural,  i.  393. 

Gordon,  Professor  Thomas,  i.  350,  351. — Lord  George 

ii.  233,  234  to. — Sir  Alexander,  i.  350. 

Gout,  i.  391  ; ii.  264. 

‘ Government  of  the  Tongue,’  ii.  205. 

Government,  i.  290. — influence,  i.  522,  523  ; ii.  66,  286 
— of  India,  ii.  344. 

Governments,  different  kinds  of,  ii.  166. 

Gower,  Earl,  his  letter  to  a friend  of  Swift  in  behalf  ot 
Johnson,  i.  50. — probable  cause  of  Johnson’s  aversion 
to,  i.  51  to.,  127,  127  to. 

Grace,  ii.  168. — Latin  one,  of  Johnson’s,  i.  342.  —at 
meals,  i.  362. 

Graham,  author  of  £ Telemachus,  a Masque,’  i.  185, 
353,  ii.  89. — Lord,  third  Duke  of  Montrose,  ii.  207, 
297. — Miss,  afterwards  Lady  Dashwood,  ii.  220. 

Grainger,  Dr.  James,  ii.  40,  40  to.,  131. — his  ‘Sugar 
Cane,’  ii.  39,  40  to. — his  ‘ Ode  on  Solitude,’  ii.  131. 

Grammar-school,  Johnson’s  scheme  for  the  classes  of  a, 

i.  36. 

Grand  Chartreux,  ii.  16,  16  to. 

Grange,  Lady,  her  extraordinary  confinement  at  St- 
Kilda,  i.  398. 

Granger,  Rev.  James,  his  ‘ Biographical  History,’  i. 
410  ; ii.  83. — Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  22. 

Grant,  Sir  Archibald,  ii.  88. 

Granville,  John  Carteret,  first  Earl,  ii.  246,  285. 

Gratitude,  i.  401. 

Grattan,  Right  Hon.  Henry,  i.  510  to. ; ii.  393. 

‘ Grave,’  Blair’s,  ii.  66. 

Graves,  Rev.  Richard,  i.  515  to.  ; ii.  39. — his  ‘ Spiritual 
Quixote,’  ii.  469  to. — Mr.  Morgan,  i.  34  to. 

Gravina,  ii.  337. 

Gray’s  poetry,  i.  181,  376  to.,  424,  511  ; ii.  60,  62,  170, 
279.— his  dulness,  i.  511 ; ii.  60.— his  Odes,  i.  514,514  to/. 

ii.  246.— his  ‘ Letters,’  i.  530. — his  ‘ Memoirs,’  ii.  60. 

‘ Gray’s  Inn  Journal,’  i.  154. 

‘ Great,’  how  pronounced,  i.  79  to.,  286,  286  w. 

Great,  manners  of  the,  ii.  194. — men,  on  paying  coup 
to,  i.  227. 

Greece,  the  fountain  of  knowledge,  ii.  185. 

Greek  language,  Johnson’s  advice  on  studying,  ii.  22( 
— compared  by  Johnson  to  lace,  ii.  250,  250  to.— John 
son’s  alleged  deficiency  in,  ii.  429,  420  to.,  430,  430  n ■ 
grammar,  Clenardus’s,  ii.  249. 

Green,  Matthew,  his  ‘ Spleen’  quoted,  ii.  218. — Mr. 
Richard,  of  Lichfield,  his  museum,  i.  478;  ii.  44.— his 
cast  of  Shakspeare,  ii.  5.— Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  430. 

Green’s  ‘ Diary  of  a Lover  of  Literature,’  i.  520  to. 

Green-room,  Johnson’s  reasons  for  not  frequenting,  i 8^ 

‘ Green  Sleeves,’  the  song  of,  i.  412. 

Greenwich  Hospital,  i.  204,  205. 

Grenville  Act,  i.  461.— Right  Hon.  George,  j.  273. 

Gresham  college,  ii.  53. 

Greswold,  Henry,  his  character  of  Johnson,  i.  33. 

Greville,Mr.,  his  ‘Maxims, Characters,  and  Reflections, 
ii.  388. — a name  assumed  by  Hawkesworth,  i.  72  n- 


550 


INDEX 


Giey,  Dr.  Zachary,  ii.  179.-  Dt  ll.c.WJ  n »'»J. 

Grief,  i.  262 ; ii.  103,  302 

Grierson,  Mr.,  king’s  printer  at  Dublin,!  167.— some 
account  of,  i.  167  to. — Mrs.,  some  account  of,  i.  167  to. 

Griffiths,  Mr.,  of  Kefnamwycllh,  i.  490 

Grimston,  Viscount,  his  ‘ Love  in  a hollow  Tree,’  ii.  285, 
285  to. 

Groot,  Isaac  de,  a descendant  of  Grotius,  Johnson’s 
kindness  to,  ii.  98. 

Grose’s  ‘ Olio,’  ii.  530. 

Grotius,  i.  203 ; ii.  30,  9S. — on  the  Christian  religion, 
recommended  by  Johnson,  i.  180. — ‘ de  Satisfactione 
Christi,’  i.  351. 

Grotto,  Pope’s,  ii.  245,  274. 

Grottos,  ii.  245  n.,  247. 

Grove,  Rev.  Henry,  author  of  the  excellent  paper  in  the 
‘ Spectator’  on  novelty,  ii.  61,  252. 

• Grub-street,’  Johnson’s  description  of,  i.  12S. 

Gualtier,  Philip,  ii.  332. 

Guarini,  quoted,  ii.  192. 

Guardians,  Johnson’s  advice  on  the  appointment  of,  ii. 
216. 

‘ Gulliver’s  Travels,’  i.  508. 

Gunisbury  Park,  Johnson  in,  ii.  286. 

Gunning,  Elizabeth,  Duchess  of  Argyle,  i.  447,447  to. 

Gunpowder,  i.  363;  ii.  197. 

‘ Gustavus  Vasa,’  Brooke’s,  i.  54. 

Guthrie,  Mr.  William,  i.  44,  54,  246. — his  ‘ Apotheosis 
of  Milton,’  i.  54. 

Gwatkin,  Mr.,  ii.  491  to. 

Gwynn,  Mr.,  the  architect,  i.  234,  491,491  to. ; ii.  34,  35. 
— Johnson’s  dedication  to  his  £ London  and  Westmin- 
ster Improved,’  i.  234. — his  proposals  for  the  improve- 
ment of  the  metropolis,  i.  234. — Mrs.,  i.  186  ; ii.  464  to. 

H. 

Habeas  Corpus,  i.  255. 

Habits,  early,  i.  527. 

Hackman,  Rev.  Mr.,  his  trial  for  shooting  Miss  Ray,  ii. 
208,  209. 

Haddock,  Finnon,  i.  353. 

Hagley,  i.  491. 

Hague,  Mr.,  Johnson’s  early  instructer,  i.  16. 

Hailes,  David  Dalrymple,  Lord,i.  115.  196,  201, 300,  332, 
336,  410,  439,  497,  498  ; ii.  25,  140,  345,  352,  358,  392.— 
some  account  of,  i.  195. — his  letter  to  Boswell  on  the 
£ Journey  to  the  Hebrides,’  i.  467. — his  £ Annals  of 
Scotland,’  i.  476, 477,  493;  ii.  7, 9,  9,  23,70,  197,  203,  218. 

Hale,  Lord  Chief  Justice,  i.  235,  518. — anecdotes  of,  ii. 
390. 

Half-pay  Officers,  i.  4S8  to. 

Hall,  Rev.  Dr.,i.  15  to.,  20  to.,  24  to.,  27  to.,  122  n.,  214  to,, 
270  ; ii.  169,  173,  387.— Mrs.,  ii.  28  to.,  291,  293,  374.— 
Bishop,  i.  287  ; ii.  168. 

Halliday’s  Juvenal,  Johnson’s  high  opinion  of,  ii.  442. 

Halsey,  Edmund,  Esq.,  i.  219  to. 

Hamilton  of  Bangour,  his  poems,  i.  334,  334  to. ; ii.  110. 
—Right  Hon.  William  Gerard,  i.  218,  221,  224,  275, 
507  ; ii.  98  to.,  150  to.,  229  to.,  298  to.,  361  to.,  450  to. — 
Johnson’s  compliments  to  his  conversation,  i.  218. — 
some  account  of,  i.  218  to. — his  anecdote  respecting 
Johnson’s  pension,  i.  507,  507  «. — Johnson’s  letters  to, 
ii.  361,  419. — his  kindness  to  Johnson,  ii.  361. — Mr., 
the  printer,  i.  310,  310  to.— Lady  Betty,  i.  44S,  450. — 
Duchess  of,  i.  447,  450. 

'•  Hamlet,’  i.  303  ; ii.  69,  283  to. 

Hammond,  James,  his  ‘Love  Elegies,’  i.  415;  ii.  248, 
248  to. 

Mr.  Bevil’s  defence  of,  ii.  279  to. — Dr.,  £ on  the  New 
Testament,’  ii.  375,  399. — his  works  recommended  by 
Johnson,  ii.  399. — some  account  of,  ii.  399  n. 

* Handmaid  to  the  Arts,’  ii.  246  to. 

Hanging  criminals,  on  the  new  way  of,  ii.  334. 

Hanmer,  Sir  Thomas,  his  Shakspeare,  i.  71,  234,  233  to. 

Hanover  succession,  ii.  325,  325  to.,  333  to. 

Hanway,  Jonas,  his  ‘ Essay  on  Tea,’  i.  134. — his  Tra- 
vels characterized  by  Johnson,  i.  169. 

Happiest  life,  which  the,  ii.  399. 

Happiness,  i.  193,  227,  290,  384,  424,  521  ; ii.  37,  68,  117, 
132,  167.  169,  190,  304. — equalized  by  Providence,  i. 
118  to. — the  only  solid  basis  of,  ii.  197. 

Hardinge.  Sir  Henry,  i.  501  to. 

Hardwicke,  Lord  Chancellor,  ii.  61,  133. 

Hardy,  Mr.,  his  ‘ Life  of  Lord  Charlemont,’  ii.  226. 

Hardyknute,  ballad  of,  i.  261. 

‘ Harleian  Miscellany,’  i.  71. 

Harlow.  Mr.,  the  painter,  ii.  359  n. 

Harmless  pleasure,  ii.  210. 

Harrington,  Countess  of,  ii.  105,  105  to. 

Harrington,  Dr.  Henry,  his  £ Nugae  Antiquae,’  ii.  331, 
331  n. 


Harriot,  Mrs.,  i 270 

Harris,  James,  Esq.,  i 310,  457,  457  «. ; ii.  94,  150,  ] 53  n. 
— his  character  of  Johnson’s  Dictionary,  ii.  94. — his 
£ Hermes,’  ii.  464. 

Harrison,  Cornelius,  Johnson’s  cousin,  i.  11,  551. — Mrs., 
her  ‘Miscellanies,’  i.  133. 

Harry,  Miss  Jane,  the  proselyte  to  Quakerism,  ii.  171 
— some  account  of,  ii.  171  to.,  172  to. 

Harte.  Dr.  Walter,  his  ‘ History  of  Gustavus  Adolphus,’ 

i.  168,  ii.  285,404. — Johnson’s  character  of,  i.  163.- 
some  account  of,  i.  168  to. — his  excessive  vanity  ii 
2S5. 

Harwood,  Dr.,  his  ‘ History  of  Lichfield,’  i.  35  to.,  103 
n.,  152  to.,  206  to.,  293  ».,  294  ; ii.  202  n. — Dr.  Edward, 

ii.  63. — some  account  of,  ii.  63  «. 

Hastie,  Mr.,  the  schoolmaster,  prosecuted  for  undue  se- 
verity, i.  279,  284,  296,  300, 536. — Johnson’s  argument 
on  behalf  of,  i.  296,  300,  536. 

Hastings,  Warren,  Esq.,  Boswell’s  character  of,  ii.  280 
— his  letter  to  Boswell  respecting  Johnson,  ii.  290.— 
Johnson’s  letters  to,  ii.  281,  282.— his  endeavours  to 
introduce  the  Persian  language  into  Europe,  ii.  281. 

I Hatchett,  Charles,  Esq.,  his  account  of  the  ‘ Literary 
Club,’  i.  194  n.,  533. 

Hatred,  ii.  109. 

‘ Hatyin  foam  foam  eri,’  a popular  Erse  song,  i.  377.— 
translation  of,  by  a fair  friend  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  i. 
423  to. 

Hawkestone,  i.  481. 

Hawkesworth,  Dr.,  Johnson’s  contributions  to  his  ‘ Ad- 
venturer,’ i.  96,  107. — an  imitator  of  the  style  of  John- 
son, i.  107,  306. — his  ‘ Collection  of  Voyages,’  i.  316 ; ii 
51. — his  objections  against  a particular  providence,  i. 
420,420n.-falls  a sacrifice  to  newspaper  abuse,  i.  520  to. 
Hawkins,  Mr.,  Johnson’s  instructer  in  Latin,  i.  16. — Rev. 
William,  his  ‘ Siege  of  Aleppo,’  ii.  156, 156  to.— Sir  John, 
circumstances  as  to  Johnson  related  by  him  contra- 
dicted or  explained,  i.  17  «.,  18  to.,  65  to.,  66  to.,  74  to., 
79  to.,  82,  82  to.,  84  to.,  90,  90  to.,  91  to.,  94  , 99,  104,  148, 
148  to.,  152  to.,  159,  187,212,  217  to.,  218  to.,  230,  237, 
311,  345  ; ii.  39  to.,  63  to.,  108,  144,  219.  364,  365,  368, 
395,  401,  407,  412,  423,  433,  436,  437,  442,  444,  445,  446, 
505. — Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  364. — his  journal  of  the  last 
fortnight  of  Johnson’s  life,  ii.  442. — his  miscellaneous 
anecdotes  of  Johnson,  ii.  505. — Miss,  i.  285  «. ; ii.  59 
•to.,  172  to. — her  description  of  Mrs.  Williams,  i.  101  to 
— her  description  of  Mr.  Bennet  Langtbn,  i.  105  to.  - 
her  description  of  Garrick’s  person  and  mode  of  liv- 
ing, ii.  157  to. — anecdotes  of  Johnson  by,  ii.  505. 
Hawtliornden,  i.  384,  465. 

Hay,  Lord  Charles,  ii.  52,  250. — some  accountof,  ii  52  n 
Hay’s  ‘ Martial,’  i.  453. 

Hayes,  Rev.  Mr.,  ii.  124. 

Hayley,  William,  Esq.,  ii.  403,  403  to. 

Hayman,  Mr.,  the  painter,  i.  114  to. 

Health,  i.  276. — Johnson’s  rules  for  travellers  in  quest 
of,  ii.  320. 

Healths,  drinking  of,  ii.  220. 

‘ Heard,’  Johnson’s  mode  of  pronouncing,  ii.  131. 
Heaven,  happiness  of,  ii.  169. 

‘ He-bear  and  She-bear,’  ii.  298  to. 

Heber,  Rev.  Reginald,  on  evil  spirits,  ii.  384  «. 
Heberden,  Dr.,  ii.  213,  350. — Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  424. 
Hebrides,  Johnson’s  wish  to  visit,  i.  201,  205.  246,  276, 
281,  300,  312,  322. — Johnson’s  Tour  to,  i.  323. — John- 
son’s published  ‘ Account  of  his  Journey,’  i.  476,  477, 
496.  500  ; ii.  88,  182,  182  to. — Johnson’s  letters  to  Mrs. 
Thrale.  giving  an  account  of  his  journey  to,  i.  550. 
Hector,  Mr.  Edmund  Johnson’s  school-fellow,  i.  13,  17, 
18,  30,  34,  63,  532  to.  ; ii.  40,  41,  42,  267,  309,  425,  425 
to. — Johnson’s  letters  to,  ii.  314,  427. 

Heely,  Mr.,  i.  237,  237  to.  ; ii.  423,  423  ». — Johnson’s 
letter  to,  ii.  423. — Mrs.,  i.  237. 

Heirs,  ii.  24  to.,  24,  26  to.,  85. 

‘ Heloise,’  Rousseau’s,  i.  228  to. 

‘ Hell  paved  with  good  intentions,’  i.  524,  524  to. 
Henault,  Charles,  ii.  8. 

Henderson,  Mr.  John,  the  actor,  ii.  359,  360. — his  imi- 
tations of  Johnson,  i.  511  to. — Mr.  John,  student  of 
Pembroke  College,  ii.  382  to;,  387. — some  account  of, 
ii.  387  to. 

‘ Henry  the  Second,’  Lyttelton’s  History  of,  i.  241. 

‘ Henry  the  Eighth,’ ii.  220. — Shakspeare’s  play  of,  ii. 

359. — Harlowe’s  picture  of  the  trial-scene  in.  ii.  359  n. 
Henry,  Dr.  Robert,  his  ‘ History  of  Great  Britain,’  ii. 
185. 

Herbert,  George,  his  ‘ Jacula  Prudentum,’  quoted,  i.  523. 
Hereditable  jurisdictions,  i.  383. 

Hereditary  insanity,  an  important  chapter  in  the  history 
of  the  human  inind  still  to  be  written,  i.  10  n.— occu- 
pations, i.  348.— -r^ht,  ii.  112 


INDEX. 


551 


1 Hsrmes,’  Harris’s,  i.  457. 

‘Hertnippus  Redivivus,’  Campbell’s,  i.  189  ; ii.  29. 
Hermit,  life  of,  ii.  225.— Parnell’s,  ii.  140. 

‘Heroic  Epistle  to  Sir  William  Chambers,’ ii.  161, 178, 
298.— by  whom  written,  ii.  392,  392  n. 

Hertford,  Francis,  Lord,  i.  115  n. 

Hervey,  Rev.  James,  his  ‘Meditations,’  i.  447. 

Hervey,  Hon.  Henry,  some  account  of,  i.  39  n.— Hon. 
Thomas,  i.  238,  256,  258,  516.— some  account  of,  i. 

238  n. 

Hesiod,  ii.  220. 

Hickes,  Rev.  Dr.,  i.  449  n. ; ii.  382. 

Hickman,  Miss,  i.  33  n. 

•iicky,  Mr.,  the  painter,  i.  516. 

Hierarchy,  Johnson’s  reverence  for,  ii.  284. 

‘ High  Life  below  Stairs,’  Gamek’s  farce  of,  ii.  244 
Highland  chief,  i.  372,  375,  400. 

Highlanders,  i.  284. 

Highwaymen,  the  question  of  shooting  them  discussed, 
ii.  148. 

Hill,  Sir  John,  Johnson’s  character  of,  i.  240,  240  n. — 
Aaron,  his  account  of  ‘ Irene,’  i.  80  n. 

Hinchcliffe,  Dr.  John,  ii.  230  n. 

Historia  Studiorum,’  Johnson’s,  ii.  180. 

Historian,  requisites  for  an,  i.  192. 

Historians,  i.  395 ; ii.  218. — their  habit  of  magnifying 
events,  ii.  182. — English,  ii.  104.— how  characters 
should  be  drawn  by,  ii.  218. 

History,  i.  192,  257,  257  n.,  526,  526  n. — little  really 
authentic,  i.  257,  257  n.,  526. — ‘ an  old  almanack,’  i. 
526  n. — not  supported  by  contemporary  evidence,  a 
romance,  i.  466.— of  manners,  the  most  valuable,  i. 
347. — of  the  Council  of  Trent,  Johnson’s  projected 
translation  of,  i.  40,  51. 

‘ Historyeof  Troye,’  the  first  book  printed  in  the  English 
language,  i.  492  n. 

Hoarding,  ii.  256. 

Hobbes,  Thomas,  on  the  state  of  the  mind  in  old  age,  ii. 
154  n. 

Hogarth,  his  first  interview  with  Johnson,  i.  56. — John- 
son’s lines  on  the  death  of,  i.  57. — his  character  of 
Johnson,  i.  57. 

Holdbrook,  Mr.  Johnson’s  early  instructer,  i.  16. 
Holidays,  ii.  42. 

Hollis,  Tnomas,  Esq.,  i.  19  ; ii.  193. 

Holyrood  House,  i.  334,  451. 

Holywell,  i.  484. 

Home,  Mr.  John,  i.  203,  389  n.,  460,  522  n. ; ii.  78, 116  n. 

— his  tragedy  of  ‘ Douglas,’  i.  450,  508,  508  n. 

Homer,  i.  347,  347  n.,  378  ; ii.  129,  155,  253,  258.— John- 
son’s veneration  for,  i.  172;  ii.  184,  185. — Johnson’s 
seal,  a head  of,  i.  172  n. — Johnson’s  early  translations 
from,  i.  531. — antiquity  of,  ii.  184. — Pope’s  translation 
of,  ii.  267. — Madame  Dacier’s  translation  of,  ii.  185  n. 
— Macpherson’s  translation  of,  ii.  185  n. — Cowper’s 
translation  of,  ii.  185  n. — and  Virgil,  comparative  ex- 
cellence of,  ii.  129. 

{ Homo  caudatus,’  ii.  8. 

Honesty,  noble  instance  of,  i.  357  n. 

Honour,  ii.  254  n. 

Hook,  Abbe,  his  translation  of  Berwick’s  ‘ Memoirs,’  ii. 

167. 

Hooke,  Nathaniel,  i.  382. — wrote  the  Duchess  of  Marl- 
borough’s ‘ Apology,’  i.  382. 

Hoole,  John,  Esq.,  i.  97  w.,  166,  514. — his  early  instruc- 
tion, ii.  334 — Johnson’s  letter  to  Warren  Hastings  in 
behalf  of,  ii.  282. — Johnson’s  elegant  dedication  of  his 
Tasso  to  the  queen,  i.  166. — his  tragedy  of  ‘ Cleonice,’ 

i.  495. — some  account  of,  i.  495  n.— Johnson’s  letters 
to,  i.  495;  ii.  417. — his  diary  of  Johnson’s  last  illness, 

ii.  526. 

Hope,  i.  160 ; ii.  182. 

Hope,  Dr.,  i.  466,  .l  370. 

Hopeton,  John,  Earl  of.  ii.  270  n. 

Horace,  i.  90,  524  ; ii.  75,  152,  180,  181,  195,  204,  299  n., 
345. — Johnson’s  early  translation  from,  i.  531. — Fran- 
cis’s translation  of,  the  best,  ii.  195. — Dr.  Douglas’s 
collection  of  editions  of,  ii.  378,  378  n. 

Horace’s  villa,  ii.  152. 

Horne,  Dr.  George,  Bishop  of  Norwich,  i.  477,  493 ; it 
37.  90. — his  character  of  Johnson,  ii.  453,  525. — Rev. 
John.  See  Tooke. 

Horrebow’s  History  of  Iceland,  ii.  164. 

Horses,  old,  what  should  be  done  with,  ii.  362,  363. 
Horsley,  Dr.  Samuel,  i.  202  n. ; ii.  365.— William,  i. 

239  n. 

Hospitality,  i.  288,  308  ; ii.  184,  248,  347. — as  formerly 
practised  towards  the  poor,  decline  of,  ii.  248. — to 
strangers  and  foreigners,  decline  of,  ii.  248. 

Hospitals,  administration  of,  ii.  68. 

House  of  Commons,  ii.  146,  147,  328.— influence  of  Peers 


in,  i.  339.— po  ver  of  expulsion  by,  ii  220.- -originally 
a check  for  the  Crown,  on  the  House  of  Lords,  ii.  220 
— best  mode  of  speaking  at  the  bar  of,  ii.  142. — its 
power  over  the  national  purse,  ii.  327  n.,  328.— Lor  h 
Bolingbroke’s  description  of,  ii.  146  n.— coarse  inver 
tives  used  in,  ii.  386. 

House  of  Peers,  i.  355. 

Housebreakers,  ii.  305. 

How,  Mr.  Richard,  ii.  331  n. 

Howard,  John,  Esq.,  the  philanthropist,  i.  147  ; ii.  14J 
374.— Hon.  Edward,  i.  268.— Sir  George,  i.  529  n. 

Howell’s  ‘ Letters,’  i.  519  n. 

Huddersford,  Dr.,  i.  120,  139. 

‘ Hudibras,’  i.  397,  528;  ii.  62,  185. 

Huet,  Bishop  of  Avranches,  ii.  121. 

Huggins,  William,  the  translator  of  Ariosto,  i.  165,  16t 
n.~ his  dispute  with  Dr.  Thomas  Warton  respecting 
Ariosto,  ii.  244. 

Hughes,  John,  the  poet,  i.  116 ; ii.  177,  268. 

Hulks,  punishment  of  the,  ii.  159. 

Humanity,  Johnson’s,  ii.  395. 

Human  life,  ii.  401. — miseries  and  happiness  of,  i.  521. 
will,  liberty  of,  ii.  201.— bones,  Johnson’s  horror  at  the 
sight  of,  i.  330. 

Hume,  David,  i.  80,  115  n.,  177,  227,  255,  267.  329,  416, 
453  «.,  507;  ii.  96,  110,  127,  164,  168,  336,  383.— an  echo 
of  Voltaire,  i.  247.— his  political  principles,  ii.  336.— 
his  scepticism,  ii.  96,  111,  383. — his  ‘ Life.’  ii.  96. 

Humour,  good  and  bad,  ii.  185,  249,  305. — Johnson’s 
talent  for,  i.  76. 

‘ Humours  of  Ballamagairy,’  i.  307  w. 

Humphry,  Ozias,  Esq.,  Johnson’s  letters  to,  ii.  373.— 
some  account  of,  ii.  373  n. 

Hunter,  Mr.  Johnson’s  early  tutor,  a rigid  disciplinarian, 

i.  16,  18,  117,  265.— Dr.,  ii.  315,  347.— Miss,  ii.  332  «. 

Hunting,  i.  221,  409. — Johnson’s  opinion  of,  i.  221,  409. 

Hurd,  Dr.  Richard,  i.  29  ; ii.  75,  143,  271.— his  ‘Select 

Works  of  Cowley,’  ii.  59. — Johnson’s  character  of,  ii. 
137. — his  sermon  on  evil  spirits,  ii.  183,  183  n. 

‘ Hurlo  Thrumbo,’  the  eccentric  author  of,  i.  425  n. 

Husbands,  ii.  219. — John,  i.  21. 

Hussey,  Rev.  Dr.  Thomas,  tutelar  Bishop  of  Waterford, 

ii.  439,  439  n. — Rev.  John,  ii.  201. — Johnson’s  letter  to, 
ii.  201. 

Hutchinson,  William,  a drover,  noble  instance  of  hon- 
esty in,  i.  357  n. — John,  Esq.,  his  ‘ Moral  Philosophy,' 
ii.  68. — Mrs.,  i.  269  n. 

Hutton,  William,  his  ‘ History  of  Derby,’  ii.  117  n — 
Mr.,  the  Moravian,  ii.  438. 

Hyde,  Henry,  Lord,  ii.  28  n. — Justice,  ii.  234  n 

Hyperbole,  Johnson’s  dislike  to,  i.  263. 

Hypocaust,  a Roman  one  described,  i.  482  n. 

Hypochondria,  i.  22,  39;  ii.  223. — termed  by  Cheyne 
‘ the  English  Malady,’  i 22. — and  madness,  distinction 
between,  i.  23. — improper  treatment  of,  i.  39  n. 

‘ Hypochondriac,’  Boswell’s,  ii.  331. 

Hypocrite,  no  man  one  in  his  pleasures,  ii.  392. — play  of 
the,  i.  508. 

I. 

Iceland,  curious  chapter  out  of  the  ‘ Natural  History’  of. 
ii.  164. 

Icolmkill,  1.  440,  442,  562. 

Idleness,  i.  142,  194,  207,  264  ; ii.  245,  330. 

‘ Idler,’  Johnson’s,  i.  127  n.,  141,  148,  149  ; ii.  67, 164.— 
character  of  the,  i.  142. — character  of  Sober  in,  in- 
tended as  Johnson’s  portrait,  ii.  264. 

Ignorance,  i.  261 ; ii.  262. — singular  instance  of,  i.  362  , 
ii.  262. — guilt  of  continuing  in  voluntary,  i.  235.— 
among  men  of  eminence,  instances  of,  i.  261. 

Ham,  Johnson’s  visit  to,  ii.  127. — natural  curiosity  at. 
ii.  127,  127  n. 

‘ Ilk,’  sense  of  the  word,  ii.  182  n. 

Imagination,  ii.  190. 

Imitations,  instances  of  Johnson’s  all'  imjiroviso , ii  115 

Imlac,  character  of,  ii.  253. 

Immortality,  i.  524  ; ii.  127,  127  n. 

Impartiality,  ii.  32. 

Impressions,  folly  of  trusting  to,  ii.  303. — should  be  de- 
scribed while  fresh  on  the  mind,  i.  140. 

Improvisatore,  Italian,  ii.  87, 

Impudence,  difference  between  Scotch  and  Irish,  i.  503 

Ince,  Richard,  Esq.,  author  of  papers  in  the  ‘ Spectator,’ 
ii.  61. 

Inch  Keith,  i.  339. 

Inch  Kenneth,  i.  431,435,  435  n.,  438,  497,498,562.- 
Johnson’s  Latin  Ode  on  the  island  of,  i.  437,  541. 

‘ Incidit  in  Scyllam,’  8tc.,  whence  taken,  ii.  331  n. 

Income,  living  within,  ii.  348. 

Incredulity,  Johnson's,  ii.  261. 

Index  Rerum  to  Clarissa  recommended  by  Johnson,  i.  9f 


552 


INDEX. 


India  government  of,  ii,  344. — practice  of  going  to,  in 
quest  of  wealth,  ii.  216. 

Indians,  why  not  weak  or  deformed,  ii.  343. 

Indigestion,  Johnson’s  remedy  for,  i.  512  n. ; ii.  482. 
Indolence,  Johnson’s,  i.  206,  213;  ii.  265. 

Inequality,  i.  307. 

Infidel  writers,  i.  416 ; ii.  36,  333. 

Infidelity,  i.  227,  229,258,263,  383  n.,  524;  ii.  36,  70, 
110,  383. — conjugal,  ii.  58,  218,  218  n. 

Infidels,  keeping  company  with,  ii.  221. 

Influence  of  the  crown,  i.  167  ; ii.  347. 

Ingratitude,  ii.  49. 

Inheritance,  consequences  of  anticipating,  ii.  24. 

Innes,  Mr.  William,  ii.  435. — Rev.  Mr.,  i.  156. 

Inns,  comforts  of,  ii.  38. — Shenstone’s  lines  on,  ii.  39. 
Inoculation,  ii.  385. 

Innovation,  rage  for,  ii.  334. 

Inquisition,  i.  207. 

Insanity,  i.  10,  22,  23,  137,  180,  393 ; ii.  122,  253.— hered- 
itary, an  important  chapter  in  the  history  of  the  human 
mind  still  to  be  written,  i.  10  n. 

Insects,  i.  316. 

Insensibility  of  a fishmonger,  ii.  207 
Insults,  i.  294. 

Intentions,  i.  228. — good,  ii.  418. 

Interest,  ii.  146. — of  money,  ii.  189. 

Intoxication,  ii.  33. 

Intromission,  vicious,  i.  300,  302,  336,  537. 

Intuition  and  sagacity,  distinction  between,  ii.  404,  404  n. 
Invasion,  ridiculous  fears  of,  ii.  182. 

Invectives,  ii.  386. 

Inverary,  i.  445. 

Inverness,  i.  364. 

‘ Inverted  understanding,’  ii.  206. 

Invitations,  i.  525. 

Invocation  of  saints,  i.  319 ; ii.  220,  384. 

Inward  light,  i.  171. 

Inyon,  Dr.,  i.  63  n. 

Ireland,  i.  169,  173,  319,  334. — injured  by  the  union  with 
England,  ii.  221. — hospitality  to  strangers  in,  ii.  243. — 
its  ancient  state  less  known  than  that  of  any  other 
country,  i.  139. — Johnson’s  wish  to  see  its  literature 
cultivated,  i.  139. — necessity  of  corn  laws  in,  i.  173. 
Ireland,  William  Henry,  his  forgery  of  the  Shakspeare 
papers,  ii.  311  n. 

‘Irene,’  Johnson’s  tragedy  of,  i.  37,  40,  41,42,  61,78; 
ii.  243. — acted  at  Drury-lane  Theatre,  i.  79.— extract 
from,  i.  98. 

Irish,  the,  a fair  people,  i.  503. — mix  better  with  the  Eng- 
lish than  the  Scotch  do,  i.  315. — Johnson’s  compassion 
for  the  distresses  of.  i.  169,  319. — Johnson’s  kindness 
for,  ii.  221. — union,  ii.  221.— gentlemen,  good  scholars 
among  them,  i.  173. — accent,  i.  286. — impudence,  i. 
503. — language,  ii.  93,  147. — parliament,  ii.  227. — and 
Welsh  languages,  affinity  between,  i.  139. — and  Erse 
languages,  compared,  i.  284,  519,  520  n.— papists,  i. 
169,  319. — tragedy,  Foote’s  account  of  one,  ii.  227. 
Irreparable,’  or  ‘ irrep-irable  ?’  ii.  32. 

Irvine,  Mr.,  i.  354. 

Isle  of  Man,  ii.  78. — of  Muck,  i.  397. 

Italy,  Johnson’s  projected  tour  to,  :i.  51,  55,  58,  61,  400, 
405,  411. 

Ivy-lane  Club,  i.  75. 

J. 

Jackson,  Henry,  Johnson’s  school-fellow,  ii.  43,  43  «., 
101.— Richard,  commonly  called  ‘ omniscient,’  ii.  55, 
55  n.,  104. 

Jacobites,  i.  195,  509. 

Jacobitism,  Johnson’s  ingenious  defence  of,  i.  195. 

James  I.,  his  ‘Dsemonology,’  ii.  208. 

James  II.,  i.  386,  517  : ii.  112,  208. 

James,  Dr.,  i.  28,  63  n.,  64,  289  ; ii.  50,  57,  264.— his 
‘Medicinal  Dictionary,’ i.  64. — his  character,  i.  64. — 
his  death,  ii.  50. 

Janes,  Mr.,  i.  372,  377. 

Japix,  Gisbert,  his  ‘Rymelerie,’  i.  211. 

Jealousy,  ii.  69. 

Jenkinson,  Right  Hon.  Charles,  afterwards  Earl  of 
Liverpool,  i.  249;  ii.  107. — Johnson’s  letter  to,  on  be- 
half of  Dr.  Dodd.  ii.  107,  107  n. 

Jenyns,  Soame,  i.  83  «.,  134,  303  ; ii.  66,  168. — his  ‘ Ori- 
gin of  Evil,’  i.  134. — his  epitaph  on  Johnson,  i.  134  n. 
—epitaph  prepared  for  him  by  Boswell,  i.  134  n.— ap- 
plication of  a passage  in  Horace  to,  ii.  164. — his  ‘ Evi- 
dence of  the  Christian  Religion,’  ii.  168. 

Jephson,  Robert,  Esq.,  i.  260  n. ; ii.  397  n. 

Jesuits,  destruction  of  the  order  of,  ii.  18. 

Jodrcll,  Richard  Paul,  Esq.,  ii.  228,  346,  365,  376.— some 
account  of,  ii.  376  n. 

Jahnsor,  Michael,  father  of  Samuel,  i.  9,  10, 11,  509  n. 


—his  death,  i.  27.— Mrs.,  mother  of  Samuel,  i.  12, 15.— 
her  death,  i.  145. — Johnson’s  letters  to  her,  i.  146. — Na 
thaniel,  brother  of  Samuel,  i.  10,  32,  32  n.— Mrs.,  wife 
of  Samuel,  i.  35,  36,  40,  85,  96-100,  213  ; ii.  190. 
JOHNSON,  SAMUEL— 

Leading  events  of  his  life. 

[1709]  his  birth,  i.  9. — inherited  from  his  father  ‘a  vile 
melancholy,’  i.  10. — his  account  of  the  members  of  hig 
family,  i.  11.— traditional  stories  of  his  infant  preco- 
city, i.  13. — afflicted  with  scrofula,  i.  14.— [1712]  taken 
to  London  to  be  touched  by  Queen  Anne  lor  the  evil, 
i.  15.— [1716]  goes  to  school  at  Lichfield,  i.  15.— par- 
ticulars of  his  boyish  days,  i.  17. — [1726]  removed  to 
the  school  of  Stourbridge,  i.  18.— [1727]  leaves  Stour- 
bridge and  passes  two  years  with  his  father,  i.  19. — 
[1728]  enters  at  Pembroke  College,  Oxford,  i.  20.— his 
college  life,  i.  20. — translates  Pope’s  ‘ Messiah’  into 
Latin  verse,  i.  21. — the  ‘morbid  melancholy’  lurking 
in  his  constitution  gains  strength,  i.  22. — his  course  of 
reading  at  Oxford,  i.  24. — specimens  of  his  themes  or 
exercises,  i.  26. — [1713]  quits  college,  i.  27.— [1732]  be- 
comes usher  ofMarket-Bosworth  school,  i.  29. — [1733] 
removes  to  Birmingham,  i.  30. — translates  Lobo’s 
voyage  to  Abyssinia,  i.  30. — [1734]  returns  to  Lichfield, 
i.  32.— proposes  to  print  the  Latin  poems  of  Politian,  i 
32. — offers  to  write  for  the  Gentleman’s  Magazine,  i 
32. — [1736]  marries  Mrs.  Porter,  nearly  double  his  own 
age,  i.  35. — opens  a private  academy  at  Edial,  i.  35.— 
[1737]  goes  to  London  with  Garrick,  i 37. — retires  to 
lodgings  at  Greenwich,  i.  40. — projects  a translation 
of  the  ‘ History  of  the  Council  of  Trent,’  i.  40. — returns 
to  Lichfield  and  finishes  his  tragedy  of  ‘ Irene,’  i. 
40. — removes  to  London  with  his  wife,  i.  41. — [1738] 
becomes  a writer  in  the  Gentleman’s  Magazine,  i.  43. 
— writes  the  debates  in  both  houses  of  parliament,  un- 
der the  name  of  ‘ The  Senate  of  Lilliput,’  i.  44. — pub- 
lishes his  ‘ London,’  for  which  he  receives  ten  guineas, 
i.  45. — endeavours  without  success  to  obtain  the  degree 
of  Master  of  Arts,  i.  50. — [1739]  publishes  1 Marmor 
Norfolciense,’  i.  55. — [1740]  writes  the  Lives  of  Blake, 
Drake,  and  Barretier,  i.  57.— [1741]  writes  transla- 
tion of  the  ‘ Jests  of  Hierocles,’  of  Guyon’s  ‘ Disserta- 
tion on  the  Amazons,’ and  of  Fonteneile’s  ‘Panegyric 
on  Dr.  Morin,’  i.  58.— [1742]  writes  ‘ Essay  on  the  Ac- 
count of  the  Conduct  of  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough,’ 
Life  of  Burman  and  of  Sydenham,  and  1 Proposals 
for  printing  Bibliotheca  Harleiana.’  i.  61. — [1743] 
writes  ‘ Considerations  on  the  Dispute  between  Crou- 
saz  and  Warburton,’  &c.,  and  Dedication  to  Dr.  Mead 
of  James’s  ‘Medicinal  Dictionary,’  i.  62,  64. — [1744] 
publishes  the  ‘ Life  of  Richard  Savage,’  and  writes 
‘Preface  to  the  Harleian  Miscellany,’  i.  65,  71. — 
[1745]  publishes  ‘Miscellaneous  Observations  on  the 
Tragedy  of  Macbeth,  with  Remarks  on  Hanmer’s 
Shakspeare,’  i.  71.— [1747]  publishes  the  plan,  or  pros- 
pectus, of  his  Dictionary  of  the  English  Language,  i. 
73. — forms  the  King’s  Head  Club  in  Ivylane,  i.  75. — 
[1748]  visits  Tunbridge  Wells,  i.  76.— writes  ‘ Life  of 
Roscommon,’  ‘Preface  to  Dodsley’s  Preceptor,’  and 
‘ Vision  of  Theodore  the  Hermit,’  i.  76. — [1749]  pub- 
lishes ‘ The  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,’  for  which  he 
receives  fifteen  guineas,  i.  76. — his  ‘ Irene’  acted  at 
Drury-lane  Theatre,  i.  79. — [1750]  begins  to  publish 
‘The  Rambler,’  his  prayer  on  commencing  the  under- 
taking, i.  81.— writes  a prologue  for  the  benefit  of  Mil- 
ton’s grand-daughter,  i.  93. — [1751]  writes  ‘ Life  of 
Cheynel,’  Letter  for  Lauder,  i.  93,  94.— [1752]  occu 
pied  with  his  Dictionary,  and  with  the  Rambler,  i.  96.- 
death  of  his  wife,  i.  96.— his  affecting  prayer  on  the  oc- 
casion, 97.— his  extreme  grief  for  her  loss,  97.— com- 
poses her  funeral  sermon  and  her  epitaph,  100.— circle 
of  his  friends  at  this  time,  i.  103. — [1753]  writes  the 
papers  in  the  ‘ Adventurer’  signed  T.,  i.  96,  107. — begins 
the  second  volume  of  his  Dictionary,  i.  109.— [1754] 
writes  the  Life  of  Cave,  i.  110. — makes  an  excursion  to 
Oxford,  i.  116. — obtains  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts 
from  that  University,  i.  118,  121. — [1755]  publishes  his 
Dictionary,  i.  119.— projects  the  scheme  of  a ‘ Bibliothe- 
que,’  j.  122.— his  depressed  state  of  mind  at  this  period, 
i.  127. — the  Academy  della  Cruscapresent  him  with  theii 
‘ Vocabulario,’  and  the  French  Academy  send  him  their 
‘Dictionnaire,’  i.  128. — projects  a scheme  of  life  for  Sun- 
day, i.  129. — [1756]  publishes  an  abridgment  of  his  Die 
tionary,  i.  131.— writes  essays  in  the  ‘ Universal  Visiter,’ 
i.  131.— superintends,  and  largely  contributes  to,  the 
Literary  Magazine,  i.  132.— composes  pulpit  discourses 
for  sundry  clergymen,  i.  137. — issues  proposals  for  an 
edition  of  Shakspeare,  i.  138.— is  offered  a living,  but 
declines  entering  into  holy  orders,  i.  139.-[1757]  dictates 
a speech  on  the  subject  of  an  address  to  the  throne  after 
the  expedition  lo  Rochfort,  i.  139.— 11758]  commence* 


INDEX 


553 


th«  * Id.er^i.  141.— being  compelled  to  retrench  his  ex- 
penses, he  breaks  up  housekeeping,  and  removes  to 
chambers  in  the  Temple,  i.  143 — [17-59]  loses  his  mother, 

\.  145. — writes  his  ‘ Rasselas’  to  defray  the  expenses  of 
her  funeral  and  to  pay  some  debts,  i.  148. — makes  an 
excursion  to  Oxford,  i.  151.—  writes  a ‘ Dissertation  on 
the  Greek  Comedy,’  the  Introduction  to  the  ‘ World 
Displayed,’  and  ‘ Three  Letters  concerning  the  best 
Plan  for  Blackfriars  bridge,’  i.  150, 152.— [1760]  writes 
‘ Address  of  the  Painters  to  George  III.  on  his  acces- 
sion,’ the  Dedication  to  Baretti’s  Italian  Dictionary, 
and  a review  of  Tytler’s  Vindication  of  Mary,  Queen 
of  Scots,  i.  153. — forms  rules  and  resolutions  for  the 
guidance  of  his  moral  conduct  and  literary  studies,  i. 
154. — [1761]  writes  Preface  to  ‘ Rolt’s  Dictionary  of 
Trade  and  commerce,’  i.  156. — [1762]  writes  Dedication 
to  the  king  of  ‘ Kenedy’s  Astronomical  Chronology,’ 
the  Preface  to  the  Catalogue  of  the  Artists’  Exhibitiop, 
and  the  Dedication  of  Mrs.  Charlotte  Lenox’s  ‘ Female 
Quixote,’  i.  159. — obtains  a pension  of  300/.  a year,  as 
the  reward  of  his  literary  merit,  i.  161. — Accompanies 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  in  a visit  to  Devonshire,  i.  163. — 
[1763]  writes  Character  of  Collins,  Life  of  Ascham, 
Dedication  to  Hoole’s  Tasso,  and  Detection  of  the  Im- 
posture of  the  Cock-lane  Ghost,  i.  166,  183,  206.— Bos- 
well becomes  acquainted  with  him,  i.  174. — [1764]  the 
‘ Literary  Club’  founded,  i.  212. — afflicted  with  a severe 
return  of  his  hypochondriack  disorder,  i.  214. — writes  a 
review  of  Granger’s  1 Sugar  Cane,’  and  of  Goldsmith’s 
‘Traveller,’  i.  213 — visits  his  friend,  Dr.  Percy,  in 
Northamptonshire,  i.  215. — [1765]  visits  the  University 
of  Cambridge,  i.  216. — created  Doctor  of  Laws  by  Dub- 
lin University,  i.  217. — is  introduced  into  the  family  of 
Mr.  Thrale,  i.  218,  221. — gives  to  the  world  his  edition 
of  Shakspeare,  i.  222. — [1766]  writes  the  noble  dedica- 
tion to  the  king  of  Gwyn’s  * London  and  Westminster 
improved,’  and  ‘The  Fountains,’  a fairy  tale,  i.  234. — 
[1767]  his  interview  with  the  king,  i.  239. — interesting 
extract  from  his  devotional  record,  i.  442. — writes  dedi- 
cation to  the  king  of  ‘ Adam’s  Treatise  on  the  Globe,’ 
i.  243. — [1768]  writes  prologue  to  Goldsmith’s  ‘ Good- 
natured  Man,’  i.  244. — visits  Oxford,  i.244. — [1769]  ap- 
pointed professor  in  ancient  literature  to  the  Royal 
Academy  of  Arts,  i 252. — passes  the  summer  at  Oxford, 
Lichfield,  and  Brighton,  i.  253. — appears  at  the  Old 
Bailey  as  a witness  on  the  trial  of  Baretti  for  murder, 
i.  264. — [1770]  publishes  ‘ The  False  Alarm,’  i.  270. — 

1 1771]  publishes  ‘Thoughts  on  the  late  Transactions 
respecting  Falkland’s  Island,’  i.  272.— design  of  bring- 
ing him  into  parliament,  i.  274. — engaged  in  preparing 
a fourth  edition  of  his  folio  Dictionary,  i.  283.— [1772] 
writes  ‘ Defence  of  a Schoolmaster,’  and  ‘ Argument  in 
support  of  Vicious  Intromission,’  i.  296.— interesting 
sketches  of  the  state  of  his  mind  at  this  time,  i.  29S. 

- [1773]  publishes  new  edition  of  his  folio  Dictionary, 
i.  88. — writes  preface  to  ‘ Macbean’s  Dictionary  of  An- 
cient Geography,’  and  argument  in  Favour  of  Lay  Pa- 
trons, i.  301. — at  sixty-four,  attempts  to  learn  the  Low 
Dutch  languages,  i.  322. — injures  his  eyesight  by  the 
imprudent  use  of  small  print,  i.  322. — his  journey  with 
Boswell  to  the  Hebrides,  i.  323. — presented  with  the 
freedom  of  Aberdeen,  i.  351.— [1774]  engaged  in  writing 
his  ‘ Journey  to  the  Western  Islands,’  i.  473. — makes  a 
journey  into  North  Wales  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale, 
i.  478. — spends  some  time  with  Mr.  Burke  at  Beacons- 
field,  i.  493. — writes  ‘ The  Patriot,’  i.  494. — [1775]  pub- 
lishes his  ‘ Journey  to  the  Western  Islands  of  Scotland,’ 

i.  500. — publishes  ‘ Taxation  no  Tyranny,’  i.  505.— re- 
ceives his  diploma  as  Doctor  of  Laws  from  the  Univer- 
sity of  Oxford,  i.  512. — makes  a tour  to  France  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale,  ii.  9. — [1776]  writes  an  Argument 
in  support  of  the  Liberty  of  the  Pulpit,  Proposals  for 
an  Analysis  of  the  Scotch  Celtick  Language,  and  a De- 
fence of  the  Booksellers  from  the  Charge  of  making 
exorbitant  Profits,  ii.  28. — pays  a visit  to  Oxford  and 
Lichfield,  ii.  34. — visits  Bath  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale, 
li.  65. — [1777]  engages  with  the  booksellers  to  write 
‘ The  Lives  of  the  English  Poets,’  ii.  92. — writes  dedi- 
cation to  the  king  of  the  Posthumous  Works  of  Dr. 
Pearce,  ii.  93. — visits  Oxford  and  Derbyshire,  ii.  102. 

— exerts  his  humane  and  zealous  interference  in  behalf 
of  Dr.  Dodd,  ii.  104.— [1778]  his  visit  to  Warley  Camp, 

ii.  197. — his  home  made  uncomfortable  by  the  perpet- 
ual jar-ings  of  those  whom  he  sheltered  under  his  roo$ 
ii.  199. — [1779]  publishes  the  first  four  volumes  of  his 
• Prefaces,  biographical  and  critical,  to  the  most  em- 
inent of  the  English  Poets,’  ii.  201. — [1780]  employed 
in  the  completion  of  the  ‘ Lives  of  the  Poets,’  ii.  225. — 
[1781]  completes  his  ‘ Lives  of  the  Poets,’  ii.  266. — 
loses  hi3  friend  Mr.  T irale,  ii.  288. — appointed  one  of 
-his  executors  ii.  238.  - loses  his  friend  Mr.  Strahan,  ii.  I 

VOL.  II.  70 


291.— p ans  a life  of  greater  diligence,  ii.  308.-  purposes 
to  devote  six  weeks  to  the  study  of  Italian  literature, 
ii.  309.— visits  Oxford,  Birmingham,  and  Lichfield,  ii. 
30P. — [1782]  loses  his  old  friend  Robert  Levett,  ii.  310. 
—declining  state  of  his  health,  ii.  312. — visits  Oxford, 
ii.  319. — takes  a parting  adieu  of  Streatham  ; his  prayer 
on  leaving  Mr.  Thrale’s  family,  ii.  322. — reads  a book 
of  the  jEneid  every  night  for  twelve  nights,  ii.  346. — 
[1783]  attacked  with  a stroke  of  the  palsy,  ii.  350. — 
visits  Lichfield  and  Oxford,  ii.  353.— institutes  the  Es- 
sex Head  Club,  ii.  365.— seized  with  a spasmodic  asth- 
ma, ii.  365. — [1784]  visits  Oxford,  ii.  381.— his  friends 
project  a tour  to  Italy  for  the  benefit  of  his  health,  ii. 
400,  405,  411. — visits  Lichfield,  Birmingham,  and  Ox- 
ford for  the  last  time,  ii.  414. — his  extraordinary  ex- 
piatory visit  to  Uttoxeter,  ii.  424,  424  n.  His  last 
illness  and  death. — rapid  increase  of  his  disorders,  ii 
428. — his  preparations  for  death,  ii.  431.— particulars, 
by  Boswell,  of  his  remaining  days,  ii.  433.— makes  a 
liberal  provision  for  his  negro  servant,  Francis  Barber, 
ii.  434. — particulars,  by  Mr.  Nichols,  of  his  conversa- 
tion within  a few  days  of  his  death,  ii.  437.— his  three 
dying  requests  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  ii.  439.— his 
great  anxiety  for  the  religious  improvement  of  his 
friends,  ii.  439.— particulars  of  Mr.  Windham’s  last  in- 
terview with  him;  from  his  Private  Journal,  ii.  440. — 
Sir  John  Hawkins’s  journal  of  the  last  fortnight  of  his 
life,  ii.  442.— diary  of  his  last  illness  by  Mr.  Hoole,  ii.  526. 
—particulars  of  his  last  moments,  ii.  446. — his  Death, 
ii.  447. — his  Will,  ii.  448. — his  Funeral  in  Westmin- 
ster Abbey,  ii.  450,  450  n .,  507. — his  Monument  in  St. 
Paul’s,  ii.  451,  451  n. — his  Epitaph  by  Dr.  Parr,  ii.  452, 
452  n. — Chronological  Catalogue  of  his  Prose  Works, 
ii.  534. — List  of  various  Portraits  of  him,  ii.  487. — 
List  of  various  Designs  intended  to  be  executed  by 
him,  ii.  485. — his  general  character  by  Boswell,  ii.  452 
— his  character  by  Dr.  Horne,  Bishop  of  Norwich,  ii 
521. — Mr.  Courtenay’s  Poetical  Review  of  his  literary 
and  moral  character,  ii.  518.— Verses  summing  up  his 
character  by  Mrs.  Piozzi,  ii.  510.— Sepulchral  Verses 
on  him  by  Mr.  Flood,  ii.  451. — Recollections  of  him 
by  Miss  Reynolds,  ii.  4S8. — Miscellaneous  Anec 
dotes  of  him — by  Mr.  Cumberland,  ii.  497 — by  Lord 
Chedworth,  ii.  500. — by  Mr.  Wickens  of  Lichfield,  ii. 
501 — by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Parker,  ii.  502 — by  Mrs.  Rose,  ii 

504 —  by  Dr.  Parr,  ii.  504— by  Mr.  Robert  Barclay,  ii 

505- by  Miss  Hawkins,  ii.  505— by  Mr.  George  Steevens, 

ii.  505 — by  Mrs.  Piozzi,  ii.  503. — Miscellaneous  Let 
ters,  ii.  510.  Leading  points  of  his  habits , manners , 
and  character.— his  peculiarities  of  person  and  manner, 
i.  14,  17.  IS,  25,  33,  34,  36,  56,  77,  115,  135,  214,  215, 
228,  252,  325,  326,  341  n.,  429,  472,  4S6  n. ; ii.  69.— his 
very  imperfect  sight,  ii.  17  «.,  69,  260,  265.— his  inabil- 
ity to  discriminate  features,  ii.  1S7.— his  defective 
hearing,  and  his  unaccommodating  manners  ascribed 
thereto,  ii.  1S7,  250. — his  extraordinary  gesticulations, 
i.  325,  510  ; ii.  259,  282  n.— his  peculiar  march,  ii.  282. 
— his  loud  and  imperious  tone  of  voice,  ii.  187.— his  re- 
markable laugh,  ii.  254. — the  extreme  heat  and  irrita- 
bility of  his  blood,  ii.  335. — his  corporeal  defects  con 
tributed  to  the  singularity  of  his  manners,  ii.  187.— his 
dress,  i.  326;  ii.  181. — general  traits  of  his  character 
and  mode  of  living,  i.  17,  18,  19,  20,  26,  34,  35.  44,  49, 
55,  64,  67,  76,  82,  104,  107,  168,  325,  430.— his  morbid 
melancholy,  i.  22,  56,  127,  128,  149,  214,  221,  244,  268, 
325,  393  ; ii.  35.  50,  86,  122,  223,  228,  250,  354*  387.— 
his  mind  preserved  from  insanity  by  his  devot  onal  as- 
pirations, ii.  123. — his  resort  to  arithmetic  when  his 
fancy  was  disordered,  ii.  263.— his  uncouth  habits,  i. 
472.— his  occasional  rudeness  and  violence  of  temper, 
i.  453  «.,  454  n.,  458,  486  ; ii.  41,  67,  72,  78,  119,  168, 
187,  208,  246,  252,  255,  258,  261  n.,  273,  29 2,  299.— his 
readiness  to  take  offence  at  any  slight,  ii.  43V — his  no- 
tions  about  eating,  i.  208,  209,  326  ; ii.  174,  431,  431  n. 
—his  mode  of  drinking  wine,  i.  208  ; ii.  64,  04  n.— his 
ten  years’  forbearance  from  all  fluids  but  tea  and  sher- 
bet, ii.  64.— his  respect  for  birth  and  family,  i 172 

his  profound  reverence  for  the  hierarchy,  ii.  284. — his 
bow  to  an  archbishop,  ii.  337.— his  insensibility  to  the 
charms  of  music,  i.  159,  227;  ii.  21. — and  to  the' 
beauties  of  paintings,  i.  159;  ii.  394. — his  alleged  super- 
stition, i.  214,  281  n. ; ii.  368. — his  personal  courage,  i. 
500  — his  great  love  of  late  hours,  ii.  133. — his  disre 
gard  of  public  abuse,  ii.  204,  252,  270,  280. — his  abhor- 
rence of  affectation,  ii.  251. — his  diligent  study  of 
medicine,  ii.  313. — his  love  of  chymistry,  ii.  215. — his 
extensive  knowledge  of  literary  history,  ii.  126. — won- 
derful power  and  extent  of  his  memory,  i.  14,  18, 
113  n.,  135. — his  political  prejudices,  i.  55. — his  preju 
dice  against  the  Scotch,  i.  326,  503,  503  n. — his  un- 
just contempt  for  foreigners,  li.  247. — his  oratorical 


554 


INDEX, 


powers,  i.  275. — his  great  conversational  powers,  i. 
76,  135,  167,  323  ; ii.  298,  300,  355. — his  great  dex- 
terity at  retort,  ii.  333. — his  bow  wow  way  of  speak- 
ing, i.  511  to. — his  extraordinary  readiness  of  wit,  ii.  74. 
--his  mode  of  reading  prose  and  verse,  ii.  131. — his 
rule  always  to  talk  his  best,  ii.  332. — his  great  talent  for 
humour,  i.  76. — his  powers  of  improvisation,  ii.  85.  - 
his  dislike  to  be  teased  with  questions,  ii.  159. — ex- 
traordinary fertility  of  his  mind,  i.  83. — at  sixty-seven 
purposes  to  apply  vigorously  to  the  Greek  and  Italian 
languages,  ii.  83. — his  style  characterized,  i.  89,  89  to., 
01,  92 ; ii.  155,  268,  277. — various  imitations  of,  ii.  455. 
- liis  objection  to  the  use  of  parentheses,  ii.  335. — his 
writing,  whether  for  the  public,  or  privately  to  his 
friends,  by  fils  and  starts,  ii.  422. — his  extraordinary 
powers  of  composition,  i.  77,  82,  135.  343,  395,  518; 
Ii.  71  to.,  266,  305. — the  ‘ Ramblers’  written  as  they 
were  wanted  for  the  press,  i.  82  ; ii.  64.— wrote  a hun- 
dred lines  of  the  ‘ Vanity  of  Human  Wishes’  in  a day, 
i.  229. — wrote  his  ‘ False  Alarm’  in  twenty-eight  hours, 
I.  270. — wrote  a sermon  after  dinner,  and  sent  it  off  by 
the  post  that  night,  i.  343. — wrote  forty-eight  pages  of 
the  ‘ Life  of  Savage’  at  a sitting,  i.  343.— wrote  six 
sheets  of  translation  from  the  French  in  one  day,  i. 
B43.— wrote  £ The  Patriot’  in  one  day,  i.  495.— his  gen- 
eral tenderness  of  nature,  humanity,  and  affability,  i. 
17,  28,  44,  64,  99,  100,  130,  136,  145,  146,  153.  163,  169, 
215,  280,  442  ; ii.  7,  97,  162,  174,  190,  194,  204.— his 
eandour  and  amiableness  of  disposition,  i.  509. — his 
ratitude  for  kindness  conferred,  i.  217.— his  active 
enevolence,  i.  510.— his  uncommon  kindness  to  his 
servants,  ii.  337. — his  constancy  to  those  whom  he 
once  employed,  ii.  393. — his  great  distress  at  the  loss 
of  his  friends,  ii.  202. — his  fondness  for  animals  under 
his  protection,  ii.  337. — his  inexhaustible  charity,  ii. 
98,  142,  214  to.,  265,  381.— his  love  of  the  poor,  i.  163, 
168,  189  ; ii.  307. — his  kindness  to  authors  in  looking 
over  their  works  and  suggesting  improvements,  ii.  204, 
—his  rigid  honesty,  i.  26. — his  early,  habitual,  and  sys- 
tematic piety,  i.  13,  23,  55,  130,  146.— his  inviolable  re- 
gard to  truth,  i.  60,  135,  197  ; ii.  32,  144. — never  greedy 
of  money,  but  without  money  could  not  be  stimulated 
to  write,  i.  55,  138. — his  hatred  of  disguise,  ii.  256. — 
his  fixed  incredulity  of  every  thing  he  heard,  ii.  261, 
261  to. — his  kindness  to  children,  i.  17  ; ii.  59  to..  337. — 
his  confidence  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer,  i.  306,  317. — 
his  habitual  endeavour  to  refer  every  transaction  of  his 
life  to  the  will  of  the  Supreme  Being,  ii.  427. — his  aw- 
ful dread  of  death,  i.  261,  267,  458,  500  ; ii.  Ill,  170, 
267,  378,  383. 

, hnson,  Charles,  author  of  £ Adventures  of  a Guinea,’ 
i.  417. — Samuel,  author  of  ‘ Hurlo  Thrumbo,’  i.  425  to. 
—the  equestrian,  i.  180. 

• bhnsonians,’  the  collection  so  called,  ii.  31,  31  to.,  182, 

Johnstone,  Arthur,  his  poems,  i.  204,  204  to.,  353  ; ii.  371. 
— some  account  of,  i.  353. — Sir  James,  ii.  379. 

Jones,  Sir  William,  i.  171  to.,  358;  ii.  209,  227,  231  to., 
264,  281  «.,  300. — Philip,  ii.  36,  36  to. — Miss,  i.  140, 
140  to. 

Jonson,  Ben,  i.  465. 

Jorden,  Rev.  Mr.,  i.  20,  21,  27  to. 

Jortin,  Rev.  Dr.  John,  his  ‘ Sermons,’  ii.  151,  399. — some 
account  of,  ii.  323  to.— his  laconic  epitaph  in  Kensing- 
ton churchyard,  ii.  323  to. 

Journal,  or  diary,  of  life,  its  utility,  i.  196,  306,  523 ; ii. 
330.-«Johnson’s  advice  to  a young  lady  on  keeping 
one,  ii.  139. 

Jubilee,  i.  253. 

udges,  private  life  of,  i.  463. — trading,  i.  518. — why 
they  should  not  hold  their  places  for  life,  i.  522. 

Judgment,  i.  524. 

Junius,  i.  273  ; ii.  205.  388. 

Justamond,  John  Obadiah,  ii.  91  to. 

Juvenal,  i.  450  ; ii.  154,  196. — Haliday’s  notes  on,  John- 
son’s high  opinion  of,  ii.  442. 

K. 

Kaimes,  Henry  Home,  Lord,  i.  57,  247,261,  300,  416, 
452.— his  * Elements  of  Criticism,’  i.  179;  ii.  151. — his 
‘ Sketches  of  Man,’  ii.  151,  189,  194. 

Kearney,  Rev.  Dr.  Michael,  i.  68  to. ; ii.  158  «.,  181  to., 
218,  283  to. 

Kearsley,  Mr.,  the  bookseller,  i.  87  to.  ; ii.  282  to. 

Kedleston,  the  seat  of  Lord  Scardale,  i.  480  ; ii.  115. 

Kellie,  Thomas,  sixth  Earl  of,  ii.  120  to.,  183  to. 

Kelly,  Hugh,  ii.  93,  94,  398. — Johnson’s  prologue  to  his 
‘ Word  to  the  Wise,’  ii.  93. — some  account  of,  ii.  438  to. 

Kemble,  John  Philip,  ii.  359,  359  to.  -some  account  of,  ii 
359  7i. — Charles,  ii.  359  to. 

Kempis,  Thomas  a,  ii.  143,  143  to. 

Ken,  Bishop,  ii.  119  «.,  382  w. 


Kennedy,  Rev.  Dr.,  Johnson’s  dedications  his  1 Astro 
nomical  Chronology,’  i.  157.— Dr.,  his  tragedy,  ii.  148 
Kennicot,  Dr.  Benjamin,  his  Collations,  i 171,  334.  - 
some  account  of,  i.  171  to. 

Kenrick,  Dr.  William,  his  attack  on  Johnson’s  Shale- 
speare,  i.  222,  250,  417,  417  ti.  : ii.  154. 

Kepple,  Lady  Elizabeth,  i.  262. 

Kerr,  Mr.  James,  i.  333. 

Kettel,  Dr.  Ralph,  i.  116  to. 

Kilmorey,  John,  tenth  Viscount,  i 481  ; ii.  190,  360. 
Kindersley,  Mr.,  ii.  358. 

Kindness,  ii.  125,  320. 

King,  Rev.  Dr.,  i.  120, 121  ti.,  151,  526  to. — on  the  happi- 
ness of  a future  state,  ii.  168. — Archbishop,  his £ Essay 
on  Evil,’  ii.  217  to. — some  account  of,  i.  120  ti. — Lord, 
his  ‘ Life  of  Locke,’  i.  202  ti. 

Kings,  their  situation,  i.  192,  198,  240,  401  ; ii.  273. 
King’s-Head  Club,  i.  75. 

Kippis,  Dr.  Andrew,  i.  275  to.,  351  to.  ; ii.  317,  317  «.— his 
biographical  catechism,  ii.  426. 

Knapton,  Messrs.,  the  booksellers,  i.  73. 

Kneller,  Sir  Godfrey,  ii.  147,  147  to. 

Knight,  Lady,  i.  98,  100  «.,  234. — her  description  of 
Johnson’s  political  principles,  i.  98  to. — her  account  of 
Mrs.  Williams,  i.  100  to.,  234  to. 

Knitting,  ii.  149,  380.— Johnson’s  attempt  to  learn,  i.  523to. 
Knowledge,  i.  189,  308  to.,  523 ; ii.  38,  62,  185.— every 
day,  the  best,  ii.  119. 

Knowles,  Mrs.  Mary,  the  quakeress,  ii.77, 166,  167,  168, 
170. — her  dialogue  with  Johnson  respecting  the  qua- 
kers,  ii.  171,  171  to. 

Knox,  John,  the  reformer,  i.  341. — Rev.  Vicesimus,  an 
imitator  of  Johnson’s  style,  i.  91  to.  ; ii.  402.— Mr. 
John,  a bookseller,  his  account  of  Johnson’s  ‘ Journey 
to  the  Hebrides,’  i.  502. 

L. 

Labefactation  of  all  principles  in  the  £ Beggars’  Opera,’ 

La  Bruyere,  i.  524  to. 

Lactantius,  ii.  102. 

Lade,  Sir  John,  Johnson’s  advice  to  his  mother,  ii.  119 
— some  account'of,  ii.  119  to. — Johnson’s  verses  on  his 
coming  of  age,  ii.  439. 

Laertius,  Diogenes,  ii.  447. 

Land,  i.  489. 

Landlords,  i.  266,  389,  400,  424,  429  ; ii.  152. 

Langley,  Rev.  Mr.,  i.  480. — Charles,  Esq.,  the  husband 
of  £ Alley  Croker,’  ii.  152  to. 

Langton,  Bennet,  Esq.,  i.  16,  40,  105,  112,  144, 155,  165, 
210,  211,  230,  243,  251,  253  to.,  259,  273,  316  to.,  319  to., 
321  w.,  323  to.,  351  to.,  3o8,  394,  4/7,  500,  52 5 ; ii.  3,  32 
TO.,  40  TO.,  66  TO.,  84,  88,  100  to.,  116,  126,  141,  152,  156, 
164,  172  to.,  178  to.,  179  to.,  193  to.,  197,  232,  225,  294, 
352,  353,  357,  379,  436. — some  account  of,  i.  105  to.  ; ii. 
436.— Johnson’s  letters  to,  i.  124,  140,  144,  155,  230, 
243,  273,  278,  279,  477,  525  ; ii.  3,  97,  199,  307,  313,  357, 
372,  414,  418.— his  Collectanea  of  Johnson’s  sayings, 
ii.  242. — Miss  Jane,  ii.  375. — Johnson’s  letter  to,  i.  276 
—Peregrine,  Esq.,  his  admirable  and  genteel  economy, 
i.  230  to. — Bishop,  i.  105  to. 

Language,  ii.  347. — origin  of,  ii.  340. — of  an  ancient  au 
thor,  not  to  be  modernised,  ii.  392.— on  writing  verses 
in  a dead,  i.  405. 

Languages  i.  203,  236,  2p8,  284  ; ii.  20,  62. — Irish  and 
Gaelic,  the  same,  i.  284,  284  to.— Chinese,  ii.  189. — 
Irish,  i.  284.— poets  the  preservers  of,  ii.  62.— the  pedi 
gree  of  nations,  i.  397. 

Lapidary  inscriptions,  inaccuracy  of,  ii.  202. 

Lascaris’s  Grammar,  the  first  book  printed  in  the  Greek 
character,  i.  492  to. 

Latin  epitaphs,  i.  373  to. 

La  Trobe,  Rev.  Mr.,  ii.  237,  237  to.,  293. 

Laud,  Archbishop,  his  Diary,  i.  305. 

Lauder,  William,  his  forgery  against  Milton,  i 94 , 0. 
270. 

Lauderdale,  Earl  of,  i.  355  ; ii.  57. 

’Laughers,’  the,  utility  of  associating  with,  ii.  332 
Laurel,  the,  i.  74,  74  to. 

Law,  ii.  30. — profession  of,  ii.  124,  124  to. — Johnson’s  in 
tention  of  studying,  i.  218. — his  opinions  as  to  the  study 
and  practice  of,  i.  227,  232,  244,  305,  327,  336,  350,  529, 
535,  537,  538  ; ii.  30,  56,  71,  88,  124,  192,  258,  283,  296 
* — arguments  on  several  cases,  i.  296,  536.  See  Ar 
gument. — Cicero’s  defence  of  the  study  of,  i.  245  to. 
Law,  Dr.  Edmund,  Bishop  of  Carlisle,  ii.  224,  224  to — 
William,  ii.  382  to.,  385. — his  £ Serious  Call’  the  first 
occasion  of  Johnson’s  thinking  in  earnest  of  religion, 
i.  24  ; ii.  482.— the  finest  piece  of  hortatory  theology 
in  any  language,  i.  169.— some  account  of.  i.  169  to. 
Lawrence,  Sir  Thomas,  i.  145  to.— Dr.  Thomas,  i.  14&, 


INDEX. 


5M 


*S«  n. ; if.  67.  85,  $25,  229,  229,  230,  292,  312,  315,  346, 
350. — Joh  nscn’s  letters  to,  i.  499  ; ii.  226,  313,  313  v. — 
JohnscnVi  letters  to  his  daughter,  ii.  313  n.— his  death, 
ii.  313,  350  n. 

Laws,  ii.  24,  58. 

Lawyers,  i.  227  ; ii.  174,  283.— not  to  be  censured  for 
multiplying  words,  ii.  283.— on  their  soliciting  practice, 
ii.  31. — Sunday  consultations  of,  i.  529. 

Lay  patronage,  Johnson’s  argument  in  defence  of,  i.  538. 

Laziness,  i.  400  ; ii.  57,  60. 

Lea,  Rev.  Samuel,  i.  19. 

Learning,  i.  340,  347,  457,  526.— more  universally  dif- 
fused than  formerly,  ii.  345. 

Leasowes,  i.  492. 

Lectures,  on  the  practice  of  teaching  by,  i.  226  ; ii.  291. 

Lee,  Alderman,  ii.  77,  77  n. — Arthur,  Esq.,ii.73. — John, 
Esq.,  the  barrister,  ii.  142,  142  n. 

Leechman,  Dr.  William,  i.  344,  454.— his  work  on 
prayer,  i.  344,  344  n. 

Leeds,  Francis,  fifth  Earl  of,  lines  on  his  marriage,  ii. 
247. 

Legitimation  by  subsequent  marriage,  ii.  246,  246  n. 

Leibnitz,  i.  284,  422. 

Leicester,  Robert  Dudley,  Earl  of,  i.  484. 

Leisure,  the  source  of  intellectual  improvement,  i.  307. 

Leith,  i.  338. 

Leland,  Rev.  Dr.  Thomas,  i.  217,  319;  ii.  93,  175. 

Leland’s  ‘ Itinerary,’  i.  487  n. 

Lenox,  Mrs.  Charlotte,  i.  95,  95  n.,  110,  129  n.,  150,  150 
n.,  159,  496  ; ii.  245,  377.r-Johnson  writes  e Proposal’ 
for  publishing  her  works,  i.  496. 

‘ Leonidas,’  Glover’s,  i.  360. 

Leslie,  Charles,  ii.  382  n. — some  account  of,  ii.  382  n. 

Letter-writing,  ii.  295. 

Letters,  the  sanctity  of  private,  i.  248. — ‘ none  received 
in  the  grave,’  ii.  528. 

Levellers.i.  201. 

Lever,  Sir  Ashton,  ii.  404,  404  n. 

Jjevett,  Mr.  Robert,  i.  64,  64  n.,  80,  99,  225,  305  ; ii.  113, 
140,  180.  198,  203,  221,  291,  346,  351.— Johnson’s  let- 
ters to,  i.  487  ; ii.  9,  83. — his  death,  ii.  310. — Johnson’s 
verses  to  the  memory  of,  ii.  310. 

Lewis,  David,  his  lines  to  Pope,  ii.  389,  389  n. — some 
account  of,  ii.  389  «.— Mr.  F.,  i.  92. 

Lexicography,  more  difficult  of  execution  than  poetry,  i. 
540. 

* Lexiphanes,’  Campbell’s,  i.  243. 

Libels,  i.  425 ; ii.  31,  54, 87.— from  the  pulpit,  ii.  71.— on 
the  character  of  the  dead,  i.  54. 

Liberty,  i.  250,  317 ; ii.  142,  208. — political,  i.  250. — of 
conscience,  i.  317.— of  conscience  and  liberty  of  teach- 
ing, distinction  between,  ii.  345.— of  the  press,  i.  250; 
ii.  54.— of  the  pulpit,  ii.  71.— and  necessity,  ii.  282. 

Libraries,  size  of  several  great,  i.  342. 

Licensed  stews,  ii,  55. 

Licensers  of  the  stage,  i.  54. 

Lichfield,  its  inhabitants  described,  ii.  143. — Johnson’s 
visits  to,  i.  161,  242,  246,  272,  340,  341,  478  ; ii.  42,  44, 
423. — veneration  of  the  corporation  of,  for  Johnson,  ii. 
423  n. 

Liddel,  Sir  Henry,  i.  289  n. 

Lies,  i.  154, 197. 

Life,  rules  for  the  conduct  of,  ii.  320. — Dryden’s  philo- 
sophical lines  on,  ii.  388.— human,  ii.  401 , 528. — reflec- 
tions on,  i.  160,  163,  232,  263,  272  ; ii.  68,  84,  99,  101, 
320,  337. — vacuity  of,  ii.  256. — on  living  it  over  again, 
ii.  387. 

‘ Lilliburlero,’  ballad  of,  its  political  effects,  i.  519. 

Linen,  advantages  of  wearing,  i.  393. 

Lintot,  the  bookseller,  i.  38. 

Liquors,  Johnson’s  scale  of,  ii.  207. 

‘ Literary  Club,’  founded,  i.  212,  212  «.,  213  n.,  230,  232, 
313,  320,  357,  507,  519,  533  ; ii.  90,  94,  100,  145  n.,  165, 
227,  231,  252,  262,  288. — complete  list  of  its  members 
from  its  foundation  to  the  present  time,  i.  553. 

‘Literary  Anecdotes,’  Nichols’s,  a storehouse  of  facts 
and  dates,  ii.  422  n.— fame,  i.  524,  524  n. — fraud,  i.  109, 
109  n.,138n.,  156. — man,  life  of,  ii.  293.— journals,  i. 
241. — : Magazine,’  Johnson’s  contributions  to,  i.  132, 
139,  141  ; ii.  270.— property,  i.  197,  321,  339,  345,  474, 
474  7i.  ; ii.  302.— reputation,  i.  313. 

Literature,  good,  superfetation  of  the  press  prejudicial 
to,  ii.  185. — French  and  English,  compared,  i.  431  ; ii. 
116. — the  small  quantity  of,  in  the  world,  ii.  173  n. — 
dignity  of,  ii.  176. 

Liturgy  of  the  Church  of  England,  the  offspring  of  piety 
impregnated  by  wisdom,  ii.  400. 

Liverpool,  Charles  Jenkinson,  first  Earl  of,  ii.  107. 

Lives  of  the  English  Poets,’  Johnson’s,  i.  241  n. ; ii.  60, 
63,  75,  91,  92,  111,  179,  191,  196  n.,  201,  203,  207,  210, 
ail,  215,  225,  229,  231,  237,  246, 266,  280,  282,  314, 459 


— critique  on,  and  account  of,  ii.  267,  280.— the  moat 
popular  and  entertaining  ef  all  Johnson’s  works,  i 
241  n. 

Lleweney,  i.  482  n.,  483. 

Lloyd,  Dr.,  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph,  i.  483  n. ; ii.  382  n.  - 
some  accountof,  i.483?i. — Mr.,  thequaker,  ofBirming- 
ham,  ii.  41. — Humphry,  the  antiquary,  i. 484— Miss 
Olivia,  the  quakeress,  i.  33.— Johnson’s  verses  to,  i.  33 

Lobo’s  ‘ Account  of  Abyssinia,’  i.  30 ; ii.  51. 

Local  attachment,  i.  266. 

Locality,  ii.  354. 

Lochbuy,  the  Laird  of,  i.  443,  443  n. — Lady,  : 443 

Loch  Lomond,  i.  452 ; ii.  268. 

Lock,  William,  Esq.,  of  Norbury  Park,  ii.  270. 

Locke,  John,  i.  352;  ii.  244. — his  verses  to  Dr.  Syden 
ham  ‘ in  Tractatum  eius  de  Febribus,’  i.  352. — his  plan 
of  education  imperfect,  ii.  196. 

Lodgings,  list  of  Johnson’s  various,  in  London,  i.  42,  75. 

Lofft,  Capel,  Esq.,  ii.  378,  378  n. 

Loggan’s  drawing  of  the  remarkable  characters  at  Tun 
bridge  Wells  in  1748,  i.  36  n.,  44  ».,  76. 

Lombe,  Mr.  John,  his  silk-mill  at  Derby,  ii.  117. 

London,  i.  37,  39,  515,  523  n.,  523  ; ii.  56,  123,  135,  151, 
153,  173,  197,  206,  216,  255,  256,  325.— the  great  field 
of  genius  and  exertion,  i.  37. — ; Art  of  Living’  in,  i. 
39. — Johnson’s  poem  of,  i.  33  n,,  38  «.,  45,  49,  50,  77. 
— Johnson’s  love  of,  i.  139,  168,  174,  191,  256,  429  ; ii 
123,  153,  206,417,  417  n.,  425. — the  fountain  of  intelli 
gence  and  pleasure,  i.  475. — no  place  where  economy 
can  be  so  wellpractised  as  in,  ii.  206. — its  pre-eminence 
over  every  other  place,  ii.  206. — state  of  the  poor  in,  ii. 
216. — too  large,  i.  523,  523  n. — no  similarity  to  a head 
connected  with  a body,  i.  523 — mode  of  choosing  its 
mayors,  ii.  195. — Pennant’s  ‘Account’  of,  ii.  162.— 
shopkeeper,  i.  348,  349  n. — no  place  cures  a man’s 
vanity  so  well  as,  i.  168. 

‘London  Chronicle,’  i.  137,  213,  266,  304;  ii.  141,  285  n 

Londoners,  i.  265,  429. 

Long,  Dudley,  Esq.,  ii.  283,  2S6,  287  n.  See  North. 

Longitude,  i.  129. 

Longlands,  Mr.,  i.  296. 

Longley,  John,  Esq.,  Recorder  of  Rochester,  ii.  245, 245  n 

Longman,  the  Messieurs,  i.  J3. 

Lonsdale,  first  Earl  of,  i.  359  n. 

Looking-glasses,  ii.  14. 

Lopez  de  Vega,  ii.  115. 

Lord  Chancellors,  on  the  mode  of  choosing,  i 285  n 

Lord  High  Constable  of  Scotland,  i.  354  n. 

Lord’s  Prayer,  ii.  315. 

Loudoun,  John,  fourth  Earl  of,  i.  454,  563. — some  ac 
count  of,  1.  454  Tv, — Lady  Margaret  Dalrymple,  Count 
ess  of,  i.  454  ; ii.  199. — some  account  of,  i.  454  n.,  563. 

Loughborough,  Lord,  i.  161,  162,  176,  522,  522  n ; ii.  49, 
330,  330  n.— taught  English  pronunciation  by  Mr.  T. 
Sheridan,  i.  176. — his  talents  and  great  good  fortune, 
i.  176. 

Louis  the  Fourteenth,  i.  444  n. ; ii.  186. 

Lovat,  Simon,  twelfth  Lord,  i.  72,  398  n.,  464.— some  ac- 
count of,  i.  72  n. — Johnson’s  verses  on  his  execution, 

i.  72. — his  inscription  to  the  memory  of  his  father,  i. 
398 

Love,  i.  164,  169,  524;  ii.  42,  132,  256. — Johnson’s  de 
scription  of,  ii.  265. — of  Fame,  Young’s,  i.  416. — in  a 
hollow  tree,  ii.  286.— and  Madness,  ii.  334. 

Loveday,  Dr.  John,  i.  320  n. 

Lovibond,  Edward,  Esq.,  i.  37,  37  n. 

Low  company,  ii.  391.— life,  i.  430;  ii.  259. 

Lowe,  Mr.,  i.  16, 18. — Johnson’s  schoolfellow,  ii.  358. — 
Johnson’s  letters  to,  ii.  321,  352. — Mr.  Mauritius,  the 
painter,  ii.  206,  240,  241,  342. 

Lowth,  Dr.  Robert,  Bishop  of  London,  i.  63n.,  240,348, 
363;  ii.  63n.,71,  342. 

Lowther,  Sir  James,  the  miser,  i.  41. 

Lowthers,  family  of  the,  i.  359. 

Lubricity  of  the  bowels,  Johnson’s  remedy  for,  ii.  482. 

Lucas,  Dr.  Charles,  i.  133. — some  account  of,  i.  133  n. 

Lucian,  ii.  52,  266. 

Lumisden,  Andrew,  Esq.,  ii.  17  n. 

Lunardi,the  aeronaut,  ii.  416  n.,  417  n. 

‘ I.usiad,’  Johnson’s  intention  to  translate  the,  ii.  363.-- 
Mickle’s  translation  of  the,  ii.  363. 

Luther,  i.  394. 

Luton  Hoe,  Johnson’s  visit  to,  ii.  305 

Luxury,  i.  290, 307,  840,  449.— outcry  against  the  evil  of, 

ii.  70,  143,  165,  169. 

Lydiat,  Thomas,  account  of,  i.  77  n. 

Lye,  Edward,  his  Saxon  Dictionary,  i.  230.— some  ac- 
count of,  i.  230  n. 

Lyttleton,  George,  Lord,  i.  Ill,  115,  171,  240,  308,  313, 
373,  421  n.,  474,  491  ; ii.  37,  109,  196,  236,  276,  483.— 
his  ‘ Life  of  Henry  II.,’  i.  240 ; ii  60.— Johnson’s  Lit* 


556 


INDEX. 


of,  ii.  27o. — his  ‘Dialogues  of  the  Dead,’  ii.  277.— his 
extreme  anxiety  as  an  author,  ii.  60,  60  to. — Thomas, 
Lord,  his  vision,  ii.  387,  387  to. — Mr.,  i.  277  ; ii.  69  to. — 
Miss,  ii.  69  to. 

M. 

Macallan,  Eupham,  the  fanatic  woman,  i.  333. 
Macartney,  George,  Earl  of,  i.  159  to. ; ii.  56  to  , i49  to., 
232,  278  to. 

Macaulay,  Rev.  Kennett,  his  ‘Account  of  St.  Kilda,’  i. 
246,  281,  361.— Mrs.  Catherine,  i.  102,  200,  216,  307, 
515  n. ; ii.  3,  66  to .,  77,  126. 

Macbean,  Mr.,  his  ‘ Military  Dictionary,’  i.  53. — Alexan 
der,  i.  75,  76,  301,  324  to.,  376  ; ii.  241,  291,  403. 
Macbeth,  i 71,  261,  554. 

Macbeth’s  Castle,  i.  554 
‘ Maccaroni,’  i.  386  to. 

Maccaronic  verses,  etymology  of,  ii.  165,  166  to. 
Macclesfield,  George,  Earl  of,  i.  115  to. — Countess  of,  the 
reputed  mother  of  Savage,  i.  68,  70  n. 

Macconochie,  Mr.,  afterwards  Lord  Meadowbank,  ii. 
137,  137  to. 

Maccruslick,  i.  379,  379  to.,  383. 

Macdonald,  Sir  James,  i.  201,  285,  372,  373,  382,  411, 
423,540;  ii.  287  to. — inscription  on  his  monument  in 
the  church  of  Slate,  i.  540.— his  two  last  letters  to  his 
mother,  i.  542. — Sir  Alexander,  i.  2S5,  372,  372  to.,  373, 
376,  41S,  433,  457  to.,  556,  563. — Latin  verses  addressed 
by  him  to  Dr.  Johnson  in  the  Isle  of  Skie,  i.  540. — 
Lady  Margaret,  i.  545,  545  to. ; ii.  208. — Miss  Flora,  i. 
383,  384,  386.  386  to.,  387,  387  to.,  412,  472,  545,  558, 
559  ; ii.  96.— Major-general,  i.  414  ». 

Macdonalds,  the,  i.  472  to. 

Macfarlanc,  Mr.,  the  antiquary,  i.  374  «. 

Macghie,  i.  75. 

Mackenzie,  Sir  George,  i.  392. — Henry,  Esq.,  i.  157. — 
his  ‘ Man  of  the  World,’  i.  41S. — his  ‘Man  of  Feeling,’ 
i.  418  to. 

Mackinnon,  Mrs.,  i.  414  to. 

Mackinnor’s  Cave,  i.  439,  439  to. 

Mackintosh,  Sit  James,  i.  475  n.,  520  to. ; ii.  78,  392  to., 
393  «. — his  biographical  notice  of  Mr.  Courtenay,  ii. 
518. 

Macklin,  Charles,  the  actor,  i.  176-  ii.  49. 

Maclaurin,  Colin,  the  mathematician,  ii.  54. — ridicule 
thrown  on  him  in  Goldsmith’s  ‘ Animated  Nature,’  ii. 
54. — his  epitaph,  by  his  son,  i.  337  to. — John,  after- 
wards Lord  Dreghorn,  i.  208,  203  to.,  337,  526. — some 
account  of,  i.  337  to. 

Maclean,  Alexander,  the  Laird  of  Col,  i.  20. — Donald, 
heir  of  the  Laird  of  Col,  i.  437,  438,  439,  439  to. — Sir 
Allan,  i.  436,  436  to.,  444  n.,  561 ; ii.  3,88,  99. — Rev. 
Hector,  i.  422. — Dr.  Alexander,  his  description  of 
Johnson,  i.  443.— Captain  Lauchlan,  i.  421.— Miss,  i. 
434.— of  Torloisk,  i.  503. 

Macleod,  General  John,  Laird  of  Rasay,  i.  373,  383,  389. 

■ — some  account  of,  i.  383  to. — Johnson’s  letter  to,  i. 
415. — his  ‘Memoirs’  of  his  own  life,  i 542.— Lady,  i. 
390,  555. — some  account  of,  i.  390  n. — Miss,  of  Rasay, 
i.  383,  ii.  96. — Sir  Roderick,  i.  390,  392. — Rev.  Neal,  i. 
442,  443. — Malcolm,  i.  377.  557. — Alexander,  or 
Sandie,  i.  378,  379,  379  to.,  383,  388,  390. 

Macleod’s  dining-tables,  i.  402  to. — maidens,  i.  402  to. 
Maclure,  Captain,  i.  434. 

Macneil,  of  Barra,  i.  81  to. 

Macnicol,  Dr.  Donald,  i.  11  to.,  503. — his  attack  on 
Johnson’s  ‘ Journey,’  i.  503  to. 

Macpherson,  James,  Esq.,i.  179,  352,  404,  460,  496,  498, 
499,  500,  501.  See  Ossian. — Johnson’s  letters  to,  i. 
499,  503  504.— Dr.  John,  his  ‘ Scottish  Antiquities,’  i. 
390.— his  Latin  Ode  from  the  Isle  of  Barra,  i.  414. — 
Rev.  Martin,  i.  414,  415. 

Macquarrie,  of  Ulva,  i.  434;  ii.  99,  102. 

Macqueen,  Mr.  Donald,  i.  373,  376,  394,  395,  397,  398, 
415  ; ii.  7. 

Macra,  Mr.  John,  i.  397. 

Macraes,  clan  of,  i.  369  to.,  397. 

Macsweyne,  Mr.,  i.  423,  423  to.,  428. — Mrs.,  i.  423. 
Macswinney,  Owen,  ii.  74. — some  account  of,  ii.  74  to. 
Madden,  Dr.  Samuel,  i.  113  to.,  137,  508,  508  to. — first 
proposer  of  premiums  in  Dublin  College,  i.  137. — his 
‘ Boulter’s  Monument,’  i.  137. 

Madness,  i.  10,  179  ; ii.  122,  253. — its  gradations  traced 
by  Johnson,  i.  23.— and  hypochondria,  distinction  be- 
tween, i 23. 

Magliabechi,  Johnson’s  resemblance  to  the  medallic 
likeness  of.  i.  135. 

* Mahogany,'  a liquor  so  called,  ii.  2S5. 

Maiden  assize,  ii.  156. 

‘ Malagrida,’  ii.  226,  329. 

Malevolence,  natural  human,  i.  101. 

Mallet,  David,  i.  115, 141,  172, 184, 286,  313,  382 ; ii.  130, 


209,  217,  345.— his  tragedy  of  ‘Elvira,’  i.  194  — his 
‘Life  of  Lord  Bacon,’  ii.  130. — in  early  life  wrote  hia 
name  ‘ Malloch,’  ii.  345,  345  to. — his  poem  on  repairing 
the  University  of  Aberdeen,  ii.  345. 

Malone,  Edmond,  Esq.,  i.  10  to.,  17  to.,  18  to.,  25  to.,  30  n., 
38  to.,  63,  63  to.,  65  to.,  88  to.,  96  to.,  108  to.,  113  to..  155 
«.,  178  to.,  218  to.  ; ii.  46,  70  to.,  98  to.,  142  to.,  181  to., 
212  to.,  241,  258  to.,  260  to.,  261 «.,  273,  274,  408.— John- 
son’s letter  to,  ii.  311. 

Man,  i.  521. — not  a machine,  i.  360. — said  to  be  a cook 
ing  animal,  i.  330  to.— picture  of,  by  Shakspeare  and 
Milton,  ii.  283,  283  «. — difference  between  a well  and 
ill  bred,  ii.  393. 

Man  of  Fashion,  ii.  328,  328  to. 

‘ Man  of  Feeling,’  i.  15. 

‘ Man  of  the  World,’  i.  418,  418  to. 

Mandeville’s  ‘Fable  of  the  Bees,’  i.  263. — fallacy  of  his 
doctrine  of  ‘ private  vices  public  benefits,’  ii.  169. — his 
* Treatise  on  the  Hypochondriacal  Disease,’  ii.  399.— 
Sir  John,  his  ‘ Travels  in  China’  recommended  by 
Johnson,  ii.  442. 

Manley,  Mrs.,  ii.  338. 

Manners,  ii.  69,  252.— of  the  great,  ii.  194. — instances  of 
the  change  of,  i.  340,  340  to. 

Manning,  Rev.  Owen,  i.  230  to.— Mr.,  the  compositor,  ii 
394. 

Manningham,  Dr.,  ii.  116. 

Mansfield,  Lord,  i.  285,  285  to.,  296,  299,  310,  328,  353 
463,  507,  507  to.,  515 ; ii.  48  to.,  82,  125  to.,  233,  273,  330 
Mantuanus,  Johannes  Baptista,  ii.  331,  331  to. 

Mapletoft,  Dr.  John,  i.  266  to. 

Marana,  J.  P..  a Genoese,  author  of  ‘ The  Turkish  Spy, 
ii.  338  to. 

Marchetti,  an  Italian  physician,  ii.  442. 

Marchmont,  Hugh,  fourth  Earl  of,  i.  286;  ii.  191,  192 
211,  225,  273. — Johnson’s  interview  with,  ii.  211. 
Markland,  Jeremiah,  the  philologist,  ii.  258 — some  ac- 
count of,  ii.  258  to.,  323  to. — J.  H^  Esq.,  notes  commu- 
nicated to  the  editor  by,  ii.  93  to.,  114,  171,  241,  258, 
321,  323,  331,  333.  334,  341,  343,  376  to.,  378,  379,  381. 
384  to.,  385,  388,  390,  416.  422,  442. 

Marlay,  Dr.  Richard,  ii.  283. — Burke’s  playful  sally  on, 
ii.  283. — some  account  of,  ii.  233  to. 

Marlborough,  John,  Duke  of,  i.  382,  4S6  to.  ; ii.  38,  70, 
209,  286.— Sarah,  Duchess  of,  i.  61,  382. — her  ‘ Apolo 
gy,’  written  by  Nathaniel  Hooke,  i.  382. 

‘ Marmor  Norfolciense,’  i.  55. 

Marriage,  i.  150,  164,  172,  243,  256,  265,  269,  288,  394, 
394  n.,  511;  ii.  41,42,47,  49,  384,  385. — legitimation 
by  subsequent,  ii.  41,  41  to. — with  public  singers,  i.  527. 
— disgraceful  state  of  the  law  respecting,  ii.  41  to.— 
service,  i.  269,  269  to.— Boswell’s  song  on,"i.  269.— Bill, 
royal,  i.  282. — ties,  ii.  58,  174. 

Marriages,  late,  i.  14, 172. — mercenary,  i.  248. — with  in 
feriors,  i.  511. — second,  i.  256. 

Marsigli,  Dr.,  i.  161  ; ii.  213. 

Martial.  Johnson’s  fondness  for,  i.  24  to. — Elphinston’s 
translation  of,  ii.  155. — Hay’s  translation  of,  i.  453. 
Martin’s  ‘Account  of  the  Hebrides,’  i.  201,  530  ; ii.  149 
— ‘ Antiquitates  Divi  Andrei,’  i.  341  to.,  341. 

Martinelli,  Vincenzio,  i.  187,  308.— his  ‘ Istorio  d’Inghil 
terra,’  i.  308. — some  account  of,  i.  308  to. 

Martyrdom,  i.  317,  318. 

Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  i.  153,  333. — inscription  for  a 
print  of,  i.  473,  477,  493,  497,  498. 

Mason,  Rev.  William,  i.  2SS  ; ii.  60. — his  ‘Elfrida,’  j. 
514. — his  ‘ Caractacus,’  i.  515. — his  prosecution  of  Mr. 
Murray,  the  bookseller,  ii.  170,  170  to. — his  share  in 
the  ‘ Heroic  Epistle,’  ii.  298,  392,  392  to. 

Masquerades,  i.  302. 

Mas,  i.  267. 

Massillon,  i.  431. 

Massinger,  his  play  of  ‘ The  Picture,’  ii.  219. 

Masters,  Mary,  i.  102,  102  to;  ii.  361. 

Matrimonial  infidelities,  ii.  58. — Thought!  a song,  by 
Boswell,  i.  269. 

Mattaire,  Johnson’s  character  of,  ii.  243.— his  account 
of  the  ‘ Stephani,’  ii.  243.— his  ‘ Senilia,’  ii;  243— hia 
book  of  the  dialects,  ii.  243. 

Maty,  Dr.  Matthew,  i.  122  ; ii.  91  to.— some  account  of, 
i.  122  to.— Gibbon’s  character  of  his  ‘ Bibliothequa 
Britannique,’  i.  122  «. 

Maupertius,  i.  247. 

Mawbey,  Sir  Joseph,  i.  252  to. 

Maxwell,  Rev.  Dr.  William,  his  anecdotes  of  Johnson 
i.  166,  174,  172  to.,  168,  272.— some  account  of,  i.  166» 
Mayne,  William,  Esq.,  ii.  220 to. 

Mayo,  Rev  Dr.,  i.  316,  317,  318,  318  to. 

Mead,  Dr.,  ii.  119,  195. 

Meadowbank,  Lord,  ii.  137  n. 

Meals,  stated,  ii.  174. 


INDEX. 


557 


Medals,  only  valuable  as  a stamp  of  merit,  i.  50S. 

Medicated  baths,  of,  i.  265. 

Meditation  on  a puddding,  i.  447. 

Mediterranean,  ii.  62. 

Meek,  Rev.  Dr.,  i.  117,  118. 

Melancholy,  i.  22,  39  ».,  200,  243,  393  ; ii.  35,  50,  82,  86, 
122,  223,  228,  250,  354.— Johnson’s  remedy  against,  i. 
200 ; ii.  35,  50,  122,  200.— Johnson  projects  a history 
of  his,  i.  244. 

Melancthon,  ii.  95,  97.— Boswell’s  letter  to  Johnson  from 
the  tomb  of,  ii.  97  n. 

Melchor,  Jacobus,  i.  480  n. 

Melcombe,  George  Bubb  Dodington,  Lord,  i.  85,  85  n.} 
88  ; ii.  278  n. 

Melmoth,  William,  Esq.,  ii.  230.— some  account  of,  ii. 
230  n. — his  ‘ Letters’  quoted,  ii.  375. 

Melville,  Viscount.  See  Dundas. 

Member  of  parliament,  duty  of,  on  an  election  commit- 
tee, ii.  283. 

Jlemis,  Dr.,  i.  496,  499,  529,  550  ; ii.  85. 

Memory,  i.  14,  135, 174  «.,  322,  343  ; ii.  128, 128  n.,  218, 
247,  305. 

‘Menagiana,’  i.  315  ; ii.  20  n.,  50, 181  n.,  190  «.,  332  n. 

Mental  diseases,  not  to  be  dwelt  on,  ii.  430. 

‘ Merchant  of  Venice,’  curious  mistake  in  a French 
translation  of,  ii.  464. 

Merchants,  i.  219  n.,  438. — enlarged  views  of  our  great, 
ii.  243. 

Mercheta  mulierum,  i.  435. 

Merit,  intrinsic,  i.  198. — men  of,  not  neglected,  ii.  328. 

Metaphysical  tailor,  ii.  334. 

Metaphysics,  i.  24. 

Metcalfe,  Philip,  Esq.,  ii.  81,  374. 

Method,  advantages  of,  ii.  84. 

Methodism,  i.  168. 

Methodists,  i.  168, 170,  171,  204,  462  ; ii.  402,  444  to.— ap- 
pellation of,  when  first  given,  i.  204  n.— Rev.  Joseph 
Milner’s  Defence  of,  i.  204  n. 

Meynell,  Mr.,  i.  29  ; ii.  206.— Hugh,  Esq.,  his  happy  ex- 
pression respecting  London,  ii.  206. 

Mickle,  William  Julius,  i.  295  n.,  446  n. ; ii.  363,  389. — 
his  ‘ Lusiad,’  ii.  363. 

Microscopes,  i.  240. 

Micyllus,  Jacobus,  i.  480  n. 

Middle  state,  doctrine  of  a,  i.  99,  449,  449  n. — rank  in 
France,  want  of,  ii.  13,  13  n.,  18. 

Middlesex  election,  ii.  141,  220. 

Middleton,  Lady  Diana,  i.  349  n.,  553. 

Middleton’s  ‘ Life  of  Cicero.’  ii.  398. 

Midgeley,  Dr.  Samuel,  ii.  338,  338  n. 

Migration  of  birds,  i.  316. 

Military  character,  respect  paid  to,  i.  258  ; ii.  52. 

Miller,  Andrew,  the  bookseller,  anecdotes  of,  i.  73,  123; 
ii.  210. — Lady,  account  of  her  vase  at  Batheaston,  i. 
515,  515  n. — Professor  John,  i.  453  n. 

Milner,  Rev.  Joseph,  his  defence  of  the  methodists,  i. 
204  n.— Lauder’s  forgery  against,  i.  94. 

Milton,  John,  i.  93,  314,  326,  486,  n. ; ii.  18,  196,  207, 218, 
243,  269,  279,  283,  383,  396. — ‘ The  Apotheosis  of,’  not 
written  by  Johnson,  i.  54. — Johnson’s  abhorrence  of 
his  political  notions,  but  admiration  of  his  poetical 
merit,  i.  93, 94,  314  ; ii.  269.— John,  his  grand-daughter, 
Johnson’s  prologue  for  the  benefit  of,  i.  93. — his 
‘Tractate  on  Education,’  ii.  196.— Johnson’s  life  of, 
ii.  269. — his  picture  of  man,  ii.  283,  283  n. — Johnson’s 
saying  respecting,  ii.  388. 

Mimickry,  i.  283. 

Mind,  i.  283 ; ii.  68,  154,  185,  528.— influence  of  the 
weather  on  the,  i.  142. — management  of  the,  ii.  35. — 
Cardan’s  mode  of  composing  his,  ii.  122  n. 

Miracles,  i.  199  ; ii.  127. 

Miseries  of  human  life,  i.  521. 

Misers,  i.  359,  433  ; ii.  181. 

Misery,  balance  of,  ii.  387,  483. 

Misfortunes,  ii.  253. 

Missionaries,  i.  462. 

Mistresses,  i.  165,  462. 

Modesty,  ii.  194. 

Moira,  Earl  of,  i.  383  n. 

Moliere,  i.  431 ; ii.  259. 

Moltzer,  Jacobus,  i.  480  n. 

Monarchy,  ii.  66  n. 

Monasteries,  i.  158,  227,  341. 

Monboddo,  James  Burnet,  Lord,  and  his  writing  j,  i.  255, 
280,  297  «.,  321,  335.  346,  346  77.,  349  77.,  350  439 
457;  ii.  8,  88,  118,  121,  157,  230,  304,  376.-jo/nc  ac- 
count of,  i.  230  n. — Johnson’s  visit  to,  i.  347  — his#  re- 
marks on  Johnson’s  style,  ii.  121. 

Money,  i.  341  ; ii.  157,  189. — advantages  of,  11.  124. — 
borrowers,  ii.  317,  319. 

Money-getting  i 509 ; ii.  208. 


I Monks,  ii.  11. 

Monkton,  Hon.  Mary,  the  present  Countess  of  Cork  and 
Orrery,  ii.  231,  233. — some  account  of,  ii.  231  n — Bos- 
well’s verses  to,  ii.  298 
Monnoye,  M.  de  la,  ii.  181 
Monro,  Dr.,  ii.  370. 

Montagu,  Lady  Mary  Wortley,  her  ‘ Letters,’  ii.  259.- 
Mrs.,  anecdotes  of,  i.  100  n.,  151-2,  153,  172,  212  n., 
251  n.,  260,  405,  473 ; ii.  5,  21,  22,  66,  142,  150,  150  rn, 
198,  205,  229  n.,  233,  237,  279,  283,  346,  356,  358,  377.— 
Johnson’s  letters  to,  i.  152,  153. — Johnson’s  admiration 
and  esteem  for,  i.  152  n. ; ii.  377. — her  ‘ Letters,’  edited 
by  Lord  Rokeby,  i.  152  n.— her  ‘ Essay  on  Shakspeare,’ 
i.  260,  405.— coolness  between  Johnson  and,  i.  260 
takes  offence  at  Johnson’s  Life  of  Lord  Lyttelton,  ii 
279,  280  77.,  283,  283  n. 

Montague,  Lords  of,  their  sect,  and  superstition  respect- 
ing, ii.  322,  323  n. 

Montaigne,  his  affection  for  Paris  compared  to  Johnson’j 
love  of  London,  i.  168  n. 

Montausier,  Duke  de,  the  ‘ Misanthrope’  of  Moliere,  H, 
50  n. 

Montesquieu,  i-  391  ; ii.  169  n. — Letter  lxix.  of  his  ‘ Let 
tres  Persannes’  recommended,  ii.  169  n. 

Monthly  Review,  i.  241  ; ii.  60,  65. 

Montrose,  William  Graham,  second  Duke  of,  anecdote 
of  his  shooting  a highwayman,  ii.  148  n. — James,  third 
Duke  of,  ii.  208,  297. 

Monuments,  i.  314. — inaccuracy  of  inscriptions  on,  ii. 
202  n. 

Moody,  Mr.,  the  actor,  i 516,  517. 

Moore,  Thomas,  his  ‘ Life  of  Lord  Byron’  quoted,  i.  510 
n. ; ii.  60  n. — his  Irish  Melodies,  i.  307  n. 

Morality,  ii.  195,  257. 

More,  Sir  Thomas,  i.  479  n. — Miss  Hannah,  ii.  66  n., 
155,  169  n.,  232  n.,  293,  294,  377  , 388,  409.— her  flattery 
of  Johnson,  ii.  169. — Johnson’s  saying  to,  respecting 
Milton,  ii.  388.— Dr.  Henry,  the  Platonist,  i.  287. 
Morell,  Dr.  Thomas,  i.  446. 

Moreri’s  Dictionary,  i.  431. 

Morgan,  Maurice,  Esq.,  his  * Essay  on  the  Character  o i 
Falstaff,’  ii.  335,  335  n. 

Morris,  Corbyn,  his  ‘ Essay  on  Wit,’  ii.  296  n. — Miss,  ii 
530,  530  n. 

Mosaic  account  of  the  creation,  i.  159. 

Moss,  Dr.,  ii.  283. 

Motto  on  the  dial-plate  of  Johnson’s  watch,  i.  248. 
Mounsey,  Dr.  Messenger,  his  character,  i.  251. — his  ex 
traordinary  direction  in  his  will,  i.  251.  n. 

Mount  Edgecumbe,  i.  355. 

Mountstuart,  Lord  (afterwards  first  Marquis  of  Bute),  i 
233  ; ii.  31,  31  n.,  49,  83,  83  n .,  222,  305,  341  77.,  347  n 
Muck,  Isle  of,  i.  397. 

Mudge,  Rev.  Zachariah,  i.  164 ; ii. 284,  324 Johnson’s 
character  of,  ii.  284. — character  of  his  ‘ Sermons,’  ii 
293.— Dr.  John,  i 164. — Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  357. — 
Mr.  Thomas,  the  eminent  watchmaker,  i.  164  n. 
Mulgrave,  Constantine  Phipps,  Lord,  ii.  51  n. 

Mull,  Isle  of,  i.  432,  434,  442,  561. 

Muller,  Mr.,  the  engineer,  i.  152  n. 

Mulso,  Miss,  afterwards  Mrs.  Chapone,  i.  81,  101;  ii 
229  n.,  238,  361. 

Mummies,  ii  304. 

Murder,  proscription  of,  in  Scotland,  i.  327,  350. 
Murison,  Professor,  i.  342,  342  n. 

Murphy,  Arthur,  Esq.,  i.  18  n.,  76,  79  n.,  131  n.,  132, 141, 
145,  147  154,  155,  171  77.,  218  n.,  221,  246,  258,  374 

77,.,  520  n.  ; ii.  59,  63,  143,  165,  353,  365.— his  ‘Poetical 
Epistle’  to  Johnson  quoted,  i.  154.— instances  of  his 
unacknowledged  use  of  Boileau,  i.  154  n. — manner  in 
which  Johnson  became  acquainted  with,  i 154. 
Murray,  Lord  George,  chief  of  the  Pretender’s  staff,  i. 
529  77.  — William,  Attorney-General,  i.  126  n.  See 
Mansfield,  Lord.— his  opinion  respecting  Johnson’s  de 
finition  of  the  word  ‘ Excise,’  i.  126  n. — Patrick,  fifth 
Lord  Elibank,  i.  277  77.— Mr.,  Solicitor- General  of 
Scotland,  afterwards  Lord  Henderland,  ii.  52. — Mr. 
John,  the  bookseller  (father  of  the  publisher  of '■John 
son’),  ii.  170,  170  n. — prosecution  of,  by  Mason  the 
poet,  ii.  170.— his  ‘ Letter  to  W.  Mason,  A.M.’  ii.  178 
77. — Mr.  John,  junior,  his  account  of  the  various  Por- 
traits of  Dr.  Johnson,  ii.  487. 

‘ Muses’  Welcome  to  King  James,’  i.  340. 

Musgrave,  Sir  Richard,  ii.  346,  395  n. — some  account  of, 
ii.  346  n. — Dr.  Samuel,  ii.  179. — some  account  of,  iL 
179  77.  ‘ 

Music,  i.  287,  322  n. ; ii.  131,  149,  250. — the  only  sensual/ 
pleasure  without  vice,  ii.  250.— in  heaven,  i.  58  n.J 
287. — Johnson’s  wish  to  learn  the  scale  of,  six  months 
before  his  death,  i.  322. — Johnson’s  insensibility  to  vh« 
charms  of,  i.  159,  433  ; ii  21. 


558 


INDEX. 


Musk,  used  medicinally  by  Johnson,  ii  193. 

Myddleton,  Mr.,  of  Gwaynynog,  1.  490.— urn  erected  by 
him,  to  commemorate  Johnson’s  visit,  i.  490  to. ; ii.  113. 
Mylne,  Robert,  the  architect,  i.  153,  153  to. 
Mysteriousness  in  trifles,  ii.  256. 

Mystery,  ii.  143, 181,  396. 

Mythology,  ii.  247,  248  «. 

' N. 

Nairne,  Mr.  William,  afterwards  Sir  William,  i.  332, 339, 
341,  342. — some  account  of,  i.  338  to. — Colonel,  i.  344. 
Nash,  Rev.  Dr.  Threadway,  his  ‘ History  of  Worcester- 
shire,’ ii.  160  to.,  387  to. — Beau,  ii.  383  to. 

National  debt,  Johnson’s  notion  respecting  it,  i.  171. — 
faith,  ii.  249. 

Native  place,  love  of,  renewed  in  old  age,  ii.  314. 
Natural  affection,  i.  265 ; ii.  343. — equality  of  mankind, 

i.  228  to. — goodness,  i.  392,  393.— right,  ii.  24. 
Near-sightedness,  Johnson’s,  i.  14;  ii.  17  to.,  69,  187, 

261,  265. 

Necessity,  doctrine  of,  ii.  402. 

Needlework,  ii.  257. 

Negro,  Johnson’s  argument  in  favour  of  one  claiming 
his  liberty,  ii.  132,  137,  561. 

Nelson,  Robert,  his  * Festivals  and  Fasts,’  ii.  42. 

• Network,’  Johnson’s  definition  of,  i.  126. 

Newdigate,  Sir  Roger,  i.  249. 

Newhaven,  William  Mayne,  Lord,  ii.  220.— some  ac- 
count of,  ii.  220  to. 

Newspapers,  i.  291  ; ii.  252. 

New  Testament,  i.  454  ; ii.  171. 

Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  i.  202,  422  ; ii.  250,  308,  308  to.,  345. — 
Johnson’s  praise  of,  i.  171,  331. — Dr.  Thomas,  Bishop 
of  Bristol,  ii.  382,  382  to. — Johnson’s  character  of,  ii. 
382. — his  character  of  Johnson,  ii.  382  to. 

‘ Nice’  people,  ii.  257. 

Nichols,  Dr.  Frank,  i.  522  ; ii.  117. — his  discourse  ‘ De 
Anim  Medica,’  ii.  117. — Mr.  John,  i.  32  to. ; ii.  267, 
270,  279  7i.— Johnson’s  notes  and  letters  to,  ii.  267,  268 
7i.,  422, 429  7i.— Johnson’s  character  of  his  ‘Anecdotes,’ 

ii.  323. — some  account  of,  ii.  422  to.— his  ‘ Literary 
Anecdotes’  a storehouse  of  facts  and  dates,  ii.  422  to. 

Nicol,  Mr.  George,  ii.  363,  527.— Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii. 
420. 

Nightcaps,  i.  415,  429. 

‘ No,  sir,’  in  what  sense  used  by  Johnson,  ii.  392. 
Nobility,  i.  171,  355;  ii.  194,  299  to. — usurpation  of  the, 
ii.  363. 

‘ Noble  Authors,’  Park’s  edition  of,  i.  150  to.  ; ii.  12  to. 
Nollekens,  Mr.,  ii.  135,  139,  139  to. — his  bust  of  Johnson, 
ii.  135,  140. 

‘ Nonjuror,’  Cibber’s  play  of  the,  i.  508,  509  to. 
Nonjurors,  i.  508 ; ii.  382. 

Nores,  Jason  de,  his  comments  on  Horace,  ii.  36. — some 
account  of,  ii.  36  to. 

North,  Dudley,  Esq.,  ii.  283,  283  to.,  286  to.,  287. — Fred- 
erick, Lord,  i.  273,  280,  468,  513  to.,  527  to.  ; ii.  112, 
140. — his  letter,  as  Chancellor  of  the  University  of  Ox- 
ford, in  favour  of  Johnson,  i.  512. 

North  Pole,  Johnson’s  conjectures  respecting,  i.  402. 
Norton,  Sir  Fletcher,  i.  261 ; ii.  47,  47  to. 

1 Nose  of  the  Mind,’  sagacity  the,  ii.  404. 

Nourse,  Mr.,  the  bookseller,  i.  54  to. 

Novels,  i.  170  ; ii.  265. 

Novelty,  the  paper  on,  in  the  ‘ Spectator,’  one  of  the 
finest  pieces  in  the  English  language,  ii.  60. 

Nowell,  Rev.  Dr.,  i.  282  to. — his  sermon  before  the  Com- 
mons, ii.  386. 

*Nugae  Antiquae,’  Harington’s,  ii.  331. 

Nugent,  Robert,  Lord,  i.  273  to. 

‘Nullum  numen  adest,  ni  sit  Prudentia,’  ii.  119. 
Numbers,  science  of,  ii.  33. 

Nuremberg  Chronicle,  i.  491. 

Nu£  yap  ep%erai,’  (‘  for  the  night  cometh,’)  the  motto 
on  the  dial-plate  of  Johnson’s  watch,  i.  248. 


O. 

Oath  of  abjuration,  profligate  boast  of  its  framer,  i.  509 
to. — impolicy  and  inefficacy  of  such  tests,  i.  509  to. 
Oaths,  i.  135,  307,  461 ; ii.64.— morality  of  taking,  i.  508  n. 
‘ Oats,’  Johnson’s  definition  of,  i.  126,  460  «. ; ii.  43  to, 
43,  162. 

Obedience,  ii.  170. 

Obscenity,  always  repressed  in  Johnson’s  company,  ii. 
386. 

Observance  of  days  and  months,  ii.  41. 

‘ Observer,’  Cumberland’s,  ii.  280. 

Occupation,  ii.  124. 

Occupations,  hereditary,  i.  361. 

O’Connor,  Charles,  Esq.,  Johnson’s  letters  to,  on  his 


‘ Dissertations  on  the  History  of  Ireland,’  i.  139 : il.  44 
— some  account  of,  i.  139  to.  ; ii  92  to. 

Ode,  by  Johnson,  ‘ Ad  ornatissimam  Puellam,’  i.  63.— to 
Friendship,  by  Johnson,  i.  63. — Johnson’s.  ‘ Ad  Urba 
num,’  i.  43. — translation  of,  by  Mr.  Jackson,  of  Canter 
bury,  i.  532.— Johnson’s,  upon  the  Isle  ofSkie,  i.  374. 
Johnson’s,  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  i.  375. — in  Theatro,  i.  274 

Odyssey,  more  interesting  than  the  iEneid,  ii.  233, 273 
346. 

Ofellus,  in  the  ‘ Art  of  living  in  London,’  who,  i.  39. 

Offely,  Mr.,  a pupil  of  Johnson,  i.  35. 

Officers,  military,  their  general  ignorance,  i.  464. — re- 
spect paid  to,  ii.  52. 

Ogden,  Dr.  Samuel,  i.  420  ; ii.  303. — on  prayer,  i.  332, 
344. — his  ‘ Sermons,’  i.  329.  350,  437,  446 ; ii.  151. 

Ogilvie,  Dr.  John,  i.  191.-his  ‘ Day  of  Judgment,’  i.  102  « 

Oglethorpe.  General,  i.  48,  48  to.,  57  to.,  294,  295,  296  to. 
520,  521,  521  to.  : ii.  70,  327,  327  to.,  363,  535. 

‘ Ot  <pi\oi  ov  <pi\os ,’  (‘  he  that  has  friends  has  no 
friend ’)  a phrase  frequently  quoted  by  Johnson,  i.  83 
ii.  168,  209. 

O’Kane,  the  Irish  harper,  i.  433. 

Old  age,  ii.  129, 154,  154  to.,  186,  191,  249,  263,  331,  37» 

Old  Bailey  dinners,  ii.  188  to. 

Oldfield,  Dr.,  story  of,  ii.  70. 

Oldham’s  imitation  of  Juvenal,  i.  45. 

Old  men,  folly  of  putting  themselves  to  nurse,  ii.  48. 

Oldmixon,  John,  i.  127  to. 

Oldys,  William,  i.  61.— his  part  in  the  Harleian  Miscel- 
lany, i.  71. 

Omai,  ii.  52  to. 

Opera  girls,  ii.  328. 

Opie,  John,  his  picture  of  Johnson,  ii.  407. 

Opium,  ii.  328. — Johnson’s  use  of,  i.  225. 

Opposition,  the,  ii.  294. 

Orange  peels,  use  to  which  Johnson  applied  them,  i.  512 

Orator,  Johnson’s  qualifications  as  an,  i.  275. 

Oratory,  i.  304  ; ii.  295,  340,  347. 

Orchards,  i.  173. 

Ord,  Mrs.,  a celebrated  blue-stocking,  ii.  229,  230,  235, 

Orde,  Lord  Chief  Baron,  i.  329. 

Orford,  E-arl  of,  ii.  129  to.,  392. — his  pictures,  ii.  404, 
404  to. 

Organ,  i.  515. 

Origin  of  evil,  i.  452. 

Original  sin,  ii.  303. 

Orme,  Mr.,  the  Irishman,  his  character  of  Johnson’s 
* Journey,’  i.  468,  500.— his  eulogy  on  Johnson,  ii.  166. 

Ormond',  Duke  of,  i.  369. 

Orrery,  John,  fifth  Earl  of,  i.  403.— John  Boyle,  Earl  of, 
i.  103,  128,  150  TO. ; ii.  152,  177,  269.  329.— his  letter  on 
receiving  the  specimen  of  Johnson’s  Dictionary,  i.  74 
— some  account  of,  i.  103  to. 

Orton’s  ‘ Life  of  Doddridge,’  i.  416. 

Osborne,  Mr.  Francis,  his  works,  i.  299,  299  «.— Thomas, 
the  bookseller,  i.  61,  63  ; ii.  191. 

Ossian,  poems  of,  their  merit  and  authenticity  discussed, 
i.  171, 179,  335,  335  to.,  378,  404,  444,  460,  461,  496,  498, 
501,  504,  505,  519 ; ii.  311,  332,  364. 

Ostervald’s  ‘ Sacred  History,’  i.  242  to. 

Otaheite,  inhabitants  of,  ii.  67- 

‘ Othello,’  morality  of  the  tragedy  of,  ii.  63. 

Otway,  Thomas,  his  pathetic  powers,  i.  275;  ii.  249 
249  to. 

Oughton,  Sir  Adolphus,  i.  335,  335  to.,  363. 

Ouran-outang,  i.  335. 

Overbury,  Sir  Thomas,  i.  256. 

Overell,  Bishop,  on  a ‘ Future  state,’  i.  449  to. 

Oxford  University,  advantages  of,  i.  246. — Johnson’s  at 
tachment  to,  ii.  186. 

Oxford,  Earl  of,  his  library,  i.  61. 


P. 

Pagan  Mythology,  ii.  248. 

Pains  of  human  life,  i.  521. 

Painters,  reputation  of,  ii.  65  to.— styles  of  different,  ii 
165. 

Painting,  ii.  34,  44,  250,  394. — allegorical,  ii.  394.— John 
son’s  insensibility  to  the  beauties  of,  i.  159. 

Palaces,  ii.  13. 

Paley,  Dr.,  on  the  duty  of  submission  to  civil  govern- 
ment, i.  3S9  to. — his  defence  of  the  Christian  revela- 
tion, i.  388  to 

Palmer,  Rev.  John,  his  ‘ Answer’  to  Priestley  on  Philo 
sophical  Necessity,  ii.  169  to. — Rev.  Thomas  Fysche 
ii.  304. — some  account  of,  ii.  304. 

‘Palmerino  d’lnghilterra,’  a romance  praised  by  Cel 
vantes,  ii.  49. 

Palmerston,  Henry  Temple,  second  Viscount,  ii  352 

Palmira,  ii.  2 55. 


INDEX. 


559 


Palsy,  Johnson’s  attack  of,  ii.  350,  351. 

Pamphlet,  ii.  179,  179  n. 

Pamphlets,  Johnson’s,  i.  161  n .,  506. 

Panegyrick,  ii.  111. 

Pantheon,  in  Oxford-street,  i.  290. 

Panting,  Dr.  Matthew,  i.  25,  25  n. 

Paoli,  General,  i.  254,  257,  288,  297,  309,  321, 48e  ; ii.  01, 
111,  181,  200,  211,  221,  294,  346,  356  n.,  365. 

Papier  mache,  i.  492. 

Papists,  ii.  383. 

Paradise,  John,  Esq.,  i.  22,  22  n. ; ii.  209,  315  «.,  348, 
365,  420.— some  account  of,  ii.  420  n. — Johnson’s  letter 
to,  ii.  420. 

Parallel,  Johnson’s  readiness  at  finding  a,  ii.  115. 
Parental  authority,  ii.  205. 

Parentheses,  Johnson’s  objection  to,  ii.  335. 

Parents,  ii.  259,  260. 

Paris,  state  of  society  in,  ii.  153.— Johnson’s  tour  to,  i. 
443. 

Parish  clerk,  his  necessary  qualifications,  ii.  304.-clerks, 
requisites  in,  ii.  304. 

Parker,  Rev.  Mr.,  the  possessor  of  Johnson’s  teapot,  i. 

134  n.— Mr.  Sackville,  the  Oxford  bookseller,  ii.  389. 
Parkhurst,  Rev.  Mr.,  curious  letter  from  Dr.  Dodd  to,  ii. 
165  n. 

Parliament,  i.  339,  523;  ii.  133,  146, 166,  220,  295,  347.— 
the  use  of,  i.  523. — duration  of,  i.  255. — attempt  to  get 
Johnson  into,  i.  274.— corruption  of,  i.  167.— duty  of  a 
member  of,  ii.  283.— speakers  in,  ii.  348. 

Parliamentary  debates,  Johnson’s  share  in  them,  i.  44, 
52,  58,  59,  60,  64  ; ii.  437. — influence,  i.  339. 

Parnell,  Dr.,  i.  482;  ii.  275,  433  n.— Johnson’s  Life  of, 
ii.  275. — Johnson’s  epitaph  on,  ii.  275. — a disputed 
passage  in  his  ‘ Hermit,’  ii.  140,  212,  212  n. — his  habit 
of  drinking  to  excess,  ii.  111. 

Parr,  Rev.  Dr.  Samuel,  ii.  272,  356  n.— Johnson's  opinion 
of  his  conversation,  ii.  247.— recommended  by  Johnson 
to  the  mastership  of  the  Norwich  grammar  school,  ii. 
247  n. — his  description  of  Mrs.  Sheridan,  the  author  of 
‘ Sydney  Biddulph,’  i.  156  n. — anecdotes  of  Johnson 
by,  ii.  505. — his  epitaph  on  Johnson,  ii.  452,  452  n. 
Parson,  the  life  of  a,  ii.  174. 

Party,  the  necessity  of  sticking  to,  i.  331. 

Party  opposition,  ii.  113. 

Passion  week,  ii.  290. 

Passions,  the,  ii.  63. 

‘ Pastern,’  Johnson’s  wrong  definition  of,  i.  126,  164. 
Paten,  Rev.  Dr.  Thomas,  ii.  324. — Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii. 

324  n .—some  account  of,  ii.  324  n. 

Pater  Noster,  i.  362. 

Paternity,  ii.  157. 

Paterson,  Mr.  Samuel,  author  of  ‘ Coriat,  Junior,’  i.  292, 
292  n. ; ii.  83,  349,  373  n. — Mr.  Samuel,  his  son,  ii.  373. 
‘Patriot,’  apolitical  pamphlet  by  Johnson,  i.  494,  495; 
ii.  59. 

Patriotism,  ii.  113. — Johnson’s  definition  of,  i.  520. 
Patriots,  self-styled,  ii.  289. 

Patronage,  i.  340  ; ii.  328.— lay,  Johnson’s  argument  in 
defence  of,  i.  342,  538. 

Paul,  Sir  George  Onesiphorus,  i.  436  n. 

Payne,  John,  i.  75.— William,  Johnson’s  Preface  to  his 
work  on  ‘ Draughts,’  i.  137  ; ii.  364. 

Pearce,  Dr.  Zachary,  Bishop  of  Rochester,  i.  126  ; ii.  37, 
93. — Johnson’s  dedication  to  his  Posthumous  Works, 
ii.  93. — curious  anecdote  of,  ii.  93  n. — supplied  Johnson 
with  some  etymologies  for  his  Dictionary,  i.  126. 
Pearson,  Rev.  Mr.,  ii.  47,  47  n.,  203,  253. — Mrs.,  of  Lich- 
field, i.  80  n.  ; ii.  39,  47  n.,  103,  336  n. 

Pecuniary  embarrassment,  evil  of,  ii.  320. — profit,  the 
only  genuine  motive  to  writing,  i.  55. 

Peel,  Right  Honourable  Robert,  i.  437  n.  ; ii.  41  n. 
Peerages,  great  inaccuracy  of,  as  to  dates,  ii.  231  n. 
Peers,  House  of,  i.  355. — judicial  powers  of  the,  ii.  192. 

— influence  of,  in  the  House  of  Commons,  i.  339. 

Peers  of  Scotland,  their  interference  in  elections  of  the 
Commons,  ii.  362. 

Peiresc,  his  death  lamented  in  forty  languages,  i.  528. 
Pelham,  Right  Hon.  Henry,  Garrick’s  Ode  on  the  Death 
of,  i.  lia 

Pellet,  Dr.,  ii.  193. 

Pembroke,  Lord,  his  description  of  Johnson’s  conversa- 
tion, i.  325. 

Penance  in  church,  i.  391. 

Penitence,  gloomy,  only  madness  turned  upside  down, 
ii.  58. 

Penmean,  Mawr,  i.  488. 

Penn,  Governor  Richard,  ii.  238  n. 

Pennant,  Mr.,  i.  375,  395,  482  n.,  433,  519  ; ii.  99,  160.— 
his  Tour  in  Scotland,  ii.  161, 162.— his  merit  as  a zoolo- 
ist,  ii.  162. — his  ‘ London,’  ii.  162.— his  character  of 
ohnson,  ii.  162. 


‘ Pensees’  de  Pascal,  ii.  206. 

‘Pension,’  Johnson’s  definition  of,  i.  126,  162. — John 
son’s,  i.  161,  162,  194,  280,  507,  507  n. ; ii.  252,  300. 
Pepys,  William  Waller,  Esq.,  ii.  229,  232,  233,  287  n.~ 
some  account  of,  ii.  287  n. — his  letters  to  Mrs.  Mon 
tagu  respecting  Johnson’s  Life  of  Lord  Lvttelton,  ii. 
397. 

Perceval,  Lady  Catherine,  i.  488  n. 

Percy,  Dr.,  Bishop  of  Dromore,  i.  18,  19,  25,  55, 76.  213, 
215,  251,  273,  358,  410,  529  n. ; ii.  39  n.,  40, 113  n.,  114 
n.,  160,  163,  164,  176,  199,  225  n.,  227,  239  293.— 

difference  between  Johnson  and,  ii.  160,  162. — heir 
male  of  the  ancient  Percies,  ii.  160, 160  n. — Johnson’s 
character  of,  ii.  163. — forms  a sermon  out  of  Johnson’s 
fourth  Idler,  ii.  164. — Johnson’s  ludicrous  parody  on 
his  ‘ Hermit  of  Warkworth,’  ii,  164.— Mrs.,  i.  479  ; ii 
563. 

‘Peregrinity,’  i.  365. 

Perfection,  to  be  aimed  at,  ii.  406. 

Perkins,  Mr.,  the  brewer,  i.  494  n. ; ii.  286,  287,  301.- 
Johnson’s  letters  to,  i.  494 ; ii.  320,  366. 

Peruvian  bark,  ii.  385. 

Peter  the  Great,  i.  407. 

Peterborough,  Earl  of,  ii.  273  n.,  404. 

Peters,  Mr.,  ii.  48. 

Petitions,  facility  of  getting  them  up,  i.  261. 

Petty,  Sir  William,  ii.  243. 

Peyton.  Mr.,  Johnson’s  amanuensis,  i.  75,  283,  298 , 
ii.  3 n. 

Philips,  the  musician,  Johnson’s  epitaph  on,  i.  57. — ‘ Cy. 
der,’  a poem,  i.  347.— Miss,  the  singer,  afterwards  Mrs. 
Crouch,  ii.  349,  349  n. 

Philosophers,  ancient,  their  good-humour  in  disputation 
accounted  for,  ii.  52. 

Philosophical  necessity,  ii.  169,  169  n. — ‘ Transactions,’ 

i.  241. 

Philosophy,  ii.  48,  174. 

Phipps,  Rev.  James,  leaves  his  fortune  to  Pembroke 
College,  ii.  174, 174  n. — ‘ Voyage  to  the  North  Pole,’  i. 

Physic,  successful  irregular  practitioners  in,  ii.  211. — 
Johnson’s  knowledge  of,  ii.  57. 

Physician,  Johnson’s  reply  to  a foppish  one,  ii.  394.— 
anecdote  of  one,  ii.  40,  44. 

Physicians,  ii.  44,  258,  369.— duties  of,  towards  patients, 

ii.  388. — fees  of,  ii.  258. 

‘ Physico-Theology,’  Derham’s,  i.  436. 

Piazzas,  i.  360. 

Picture,  superstitious  reluctance  to  sit  for,  ii.  243.— John 
son’s  motto  for  Dr.  Dodd’s,  ii.  341.— Massinger’s  play 
ofthc,  ii.  218. 

Pig,  the  learned,  ii.  424. 

‘ Pilgrim’s  Progress,’  i.  314 ; ii.  258. 

‘Pindar,’  West’s  translation  of,  ii.  252. 

Pinkerton,  ii.  402. 

Piozzi,  Mrs.,  i.  11,  13  n.,  24  n.,  34  «.,  76,  85  to.,  97  «., 
188  n.,  220,  221,  297  405  n.,  478  n.,  485  n.,  488  n.y 

493  «.,  511  «.,  526  n.,  526  ; ii.  50,  65,  67  n.,  142  n.,  144 
237  ».,  240,  252,  254,  258  «..  260  n.,  261  n.,  292, 
406,  408,  409,  410,  411,  414,  432,  508.  See  Thras- 
her ‘Three  Warnings,’  i.  221. — commencement  and 
progress  of  Johnson’s  acquaintance  with,  i.  221.— re- 
ceives 500/.  for  her  collection  of  Johnson’s  letters,  i. 
242  n.— Johnson’s  letters  to,  i.  242,  249,  253,  271,  277, 
301,  303,  529;  ii.  3,  4,  7,  46,  59,  78,  85,  113,  134,  135, 
188,  198,  205,  213,  216,  220,  221,  225,  228,  229,  230,  231, 
233,  235,  236,  238,  288, 289,  309,  317,  319,  346,  349,  350, 
351,  352,  353,  354,  358,  360,  364,  371.— her  letters  to 
Johnson,  ii.  5,  230, 231,  380,  406.— bequeaths  her  patri 
monial  estate  to  a foreigner,  to  the  exclusion  of  her 
own  children,  i.  483  n. — her  description  of  the  regatta, 
ii.  5. — Baretti’s  strictures  on  her  marriage  with  Piozzi, 
ii.  67  n.— Johnson’s  verses  on  her  birthday,  ii.  87. — her 
miserable  mesalliance,  ii.  406  n., 407,  407  n.— Boswell’s 
proneness  to  distrust  her  character,  ii.  143  n .,  144,  149, 
149  n.,  408,  409,  410,  411,  432.— her  handwriting  an 
almost  perfect  specimen  of  calligraphy,  ii.  268.— anec 
dotes  of  Johnson  by,  ii.  508  n.— her  poetical  character 
of  Johnson,  ii.  510. — her  Collectanea  of  Johnson’s  say- 
ings,  ii.  254.— Signor,  ii.  406,  406  n. 

Pitcairne,  his  Latin  poetry,  i.  340. 

Pitt,  Right  Hon.  William,  first  Earl  of  Chatham,  i.  50, 
299,  310,  442 ; ii.  393. — Right  Hon,  William,  his  son,  ii 
369,  385,  421  n.— Johnson’s  expectation  from,  ii  371 
— and  Fox,  ii.  385. 

Pitts,  Rev.  John,  ii.  331  n. 

Pity,  i.  197. 

Place-hunters,  ii.  146. 

Plagiary,  Sir  Fretful,  character  of,  intended  for  M / 
Cumberland,  i.  303  n. 

‘Plain  Dealer, ’i.  62,  70. 


560 


INDEX. 


Planting,  ii.  134.  -in  Scot-and,  era  of,  :.  467.— in  Scot- 
land, spur  given  to,  by  Johnson’s  ‘ Journey  to  the 
Western  Islands,’  ii.  88. 

Players,  i.  67  , 68,  80,  181,  261,  313,  332,  335,  363;  ii.  19, 
28,  44,  125,  157,  244. 

Pleasure,  i.  475,  558  ; ii.  150,  169,  210. 

Pleasures,  necessary  to  intellectual  health,  ii.  256. — no 
man  a hypocrite  in  his,  ii.  392. 

‘Pleasures  of  the  Imagination,’  Akenside’s,  i.  156. 
Plott’s  ‘History  of  Staffordshire,’  ii.  127. 

Plunkett,  Lord,  i.  526  n. 

Pococke,  Dr.  Richard,  ii.  159  n.,  333. — Rev.  Edward,  the 
oriental  linguist,  ii.  159,  159  «.,  252,  333  n. 

Poetical  scale,  ii.  270. 

Poetry,  Johnson’s  early,  i.  531.— reflections  on,  i.  521. 
Poets,  i.  310,  350.— the  preservers  of  languages)  ii.  62. — 
none  of  our  great,  have  left  issue,  i.  93  n. 

‘Polite  Philosopher,’  ii.  56. 

Politeness,  i.  348;  ii.  116.— Johnson’s,  i.  240,  327,  348, 
451,  525  77. ; ii.  186,  305. 

Politian’s  Latin  poems,  Johnson’s  projected  edition  of, 

i.  32. 

Politics,  modern,  i.  522,  528 
Polygamy, i.  394. 

Poor,  a decent  provision  for,  the  test  of  civilization,  i. 
173. — methods  of  employing,  ii.  243.— ol'  London,  ii. 
216. 

Pope,  Alexander,  i.  21,  49,  73,  259,  348,  343  77.,  445,  473; 

ii.  211. — his  liberal  conduct  on  the  appearance  of  John- 
son’s ‘ London,’  i.  49. — recommends  Johnson  to  Earl 
Gower,  i.  50. — his  note  concerning  Johnson,  i.  56. — his 
peculiar  mode  of  writing,  and  imperfect  spelling,  i.  55, 
56. — his  ‘Messiah’  translated  into  Latin  verse  by  John- 
son, i.  21. — Johnson’s  observation  on  the  proposal  for 
erecting  a monument  to  him  in  St.  Paul’s  Church,  i. 
97  n.,  314. — Johnson’s  dissertation  on  the  Epitaphs  of, 

i.  131. — his  * Dunciad,’  written  primarily  for  fame,  i. 
514. — Johnson’s  character  of  his  ‘ Homer,’  ii.  155.— his 
‘Essay  on  Man,’  ii.  217  n.,  217,  218. — Dr.  Blair’s  Let- 
ter concerning  his  ‘ Essay  on  Man.’  ii.  217. — his  know- 
ledge of  Greek,  ii.  217. — his  Grotto,  ii.  245,  245  n.~ his 
‘ Preface’  to  Shakspeare,  ii.  270  n. — Johnson’s  Life  of, 

ii.  271. — Johnson’s  character  of  his  poetry,  ii.  185,  271. 
— his  limited  conversational  powers,  ii.  272.— his  ‘ Uni- 
versal Prayer,’  ii.  192. — Lewis’s  verses  to,  ii.  3S9,  389 
n. — Dr*.  Walter,  his  ‘ Old  Man’s  Wish,’  ii.  248. 

Popery,  i.  97  n.,  266,  267. 

Population,  i.265,  328;  li.  146. 

Porridge-Island,  ii.  260,  260  n. 

Porter,  Mrs.,  afterwards  Johnson’s  wife,  i.  11,  14,  34,  35, 
36.— Miss  Lucy,  i.  11,  14,  30  77.,  32,  32  n.,  98,  146,  153, 
157,  165,  191,  215,  224,  249,  252,  277;  ii.  3,  45,  47  77., 
135, 139,  222,  225.  353,  359. — Johnson’s  letters  to,  i.  80, 
146,  147,  149,  152,  153,  157,  191,  193,  215 ; ii.  8,  10,  43, 
135, 139,  201,  203,  212,  228,  290,  306,  312,  351,  352,  360, 
362,  368,  370,  375,  430.— Mrs.,  the  actress,  ii.  359. 
Porteus,  Dr.  Beilby,  Bishop  of  Chester,  afterwards 
Bishop  of  London,  ii.  164,  222,  224,  252,  284,  290  n. 
Portland,  Lady  Margaret,  Duchess  Dowager  of,  ii.  232. 
— some  account  of,  ii.  232  n. 

Portrait,  Mr.  Beauclerk’s  inscription  on  the  frame  of 
Johnson’s,  ii.  331,  331  n. 

Portrait-painting,  an  improper  employment  for  a woman, 

i.  525. 

Portraits,  i.  395. — of  Dr.  Johnson,  list  of  the  various,  ii. 

452  n.,  487. 

Possibilities,  i.  35. 

Post-chaise  travelling,  ii.  50,  116. 

Posterity,  ii.  24. 

Pott,  Archdeacon,  his  Sermons,  ii.  42. 

Potter,  Rev.  Dr.  Robert,  ii.  114, 114  n.— Johnson’s  parody 
on  his  verses,  ii.  114.— his  translation  of  JEschylus,  ii. 
155. 

Poverty,  i.  193  ; ii.  257,  317,  319,  320,  322,  325,413. 
Power,  despotic,  ii.  166,  174. — of  the  Crown,  i.  290. 

Praise,  i.  246;  ii.  143,  162,  253,  259,  2S6,  237,  377.— in- 
discriminate, ii.  210.— effect  of  exaggerated,  ii.  286,  237. 
— and  flattery,  difference  between,  i.  484  n. 

Prayer,  i.  332,  344,  362;  ii.  349,  385. — Book  of  Common, 

ii.  3S5. — form  of,  Johnson’s  arguments  for,  i.  452 ; ii. 
3S5.— Johnson’s  affecting  one  on  the  death  of  his  wife, 
i.  97. 

Prayers,  Johnson’s  classification  of,  ii.  426. 

‘ Prayers  and  meditations,’ Johnson’s, i.  24  n.,  25,  35,  SI, 
97,  107,  109,  129,  130, 142,  147,  152,  153,  213,  214,  216, 
218,  242,  243,  244  , 270,  278,  297,  298  , 306, 319,  322,  473, 
495,  524;  ii.  57,  83,  86,  173,  178,  179,  206,  237,  241, 
266,  299,  309.  312,  315,  322,  422,  426,  427  n.}  432,  433, 
443*,  443  493. 

Preaching  above  the  capacity  of  the  congregation,  ii.  333. 
Precociiy  in  children,  ii.  21. 


‘ Preceptor,’  Dodsley’s,  i.  76. 

Predestination,  i.  267. 

Prejudice,  ii.  327  n.— Johnson’s,  against  Scotland 
Scotchmen,  i.  326,  362,  500,  503  n.,  530  n.  ; ii.  329. 
Premium  scheme,  in  Dublin  University,  i.  137. 
Prendergast,  Colonel  Sir  Thomas,  his  presentiment  of 
his  death,  i.  295,  296  n. 

Presbyterians,  i.  266,  453,  459. 

Prescience  of  the  Deity,  ii.  168, 169  n. 

Prescription  of  murder  in  Scotland,  i.  327,  350. 
Presentiment  of  death,  remarkable  story  concerning,  l. 
295,  296  7i. 

Press,  superfaction  of,  prejudicial  to  good  literature,  it. 
185. 

Pretender,  the  young,  Boswell’s  account  of  the  escape 
of,  i.  545. — a history  of,  by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  a desid 
eratum,  i.  462  n. 

Price.  Archdeacon,  i.  491.— Dr.  Richard,  ii.  356  n. 
Priestley,  Dr.  Joseph,  ii.  169  n.,  356,  S56  n. — Johnson’s 
opinion  of,  i.  170. 

Primrose,  Lady  Dorothea,  ii.  274. 

Prince  of  Wales,  his  situation,  ii.  332.  -afterwards 
George  IV.,  i.  241. 

‘ Prince  Titi,  ’ history  of,  ii.  12. 

Principle,  i.  199. 

Principles,  fundamental,  i.  528  n.— of  Politeness,  Trus 
ler’s,  ii.  68  n. 

Pringle,  Sir  John,  i.  288,  353,  456,  458  «.,  459  ; ii.  54  n 
72,  122  77.,  151. 

Printer’s  devil,  ii.  294. 

Printing-house,  Virgil’s  description  of  the  entrance  into 
Hell  applied  to,  i.  431. 

Printing,  i.  291,  492  ; ii.  62,  62  n. 

Prior,  Matthew,  i.  257 ; ii.  129,  215,  232  77. — Johnson’s 
extraordinary  defence  of,  ii.  129,  129  n. 

.Prior’s  ‘Life  of  Burke,’  quoted,  i.  180;  ii.  436  77. 

Prisons  on  the  continent,  ii.  375. 

Pritchard,  Mrs.,  the  actress,  i.  79,  261,  364,  520 
Private  conversation,  ii.  149. 

Prize-fighting,  i.  399. 

Procrastination,  i.  82. 

Procurators  of  Edinburgh,  Johnson’s  argument  against 
a prosecution  by,  against  the  publisher  of  a libel,  ii 
305,  468. 

‘ Progress  of  Discontent,’  Warton’s,  i.  121  n. 

Prologues,  i.  73,  244,  510 ; ii.  94,  359. 

Pronunciation,  i.  2S6,  349  ; ii.  43,  131. 

Property,  i.  318.— laws  of,  ii.  24,  27. 

Propitiatory  sacrifice,  i.  351  77.  ; ii.  304 
Prosperity,  ii.  193. 

Prostitutes,  ii.  277. 

Prostitution,  ii.  55. 

Providence,  a particular,  ii.  375  n. 

Prussia,  King  of,  ii.  185,  297. — his  writings,  i.  196. 
Psalmanazer,  George,  ii.  177,  334. 

Psalms,  biblical  version  of,  i.  486  n. 

Public  amusements,  i.  290.— institutions,  administration 
of,  ii.  68.— speaking,  i.  304,  516.— schools,  ii.  53,  119 
391. — Virtue,  Dodsley’s,  ii.  249. — worship,  i.  189  77 
Pudding,  meditation  on  a,  i.  447. 

Puffendorf,  i.  285  ; ii.  30  n. 

Pulpit,  liberty  of  the,  ii.  71,  83,  83  77.,  559. 

Pulsation,  theory  of,  ii.  61. 

Pulteney,  Right  Hon.  William,  afterwards  Earl  of  Bath 
i.442;  ii.  113. 

Punctuation,  ii.  60,  60  77. 

Punishment,  eternity  of  ii.  132,  303,  387. 

Punishments,  ii.  159. 

Puns,  i.  304,  315,  315  71. ; ii.  181,  392,  393. 

Purcell,  i.  517. 

Purgatory,  i.  99,  267,  287. 

Purposes,  good,  the  benefit  of,  ii.  230  n. 


Quakers,  i.  204;  ii.  41, 143,  149.— their  female  preachers, 
i.  205. 

Quarrels,  ii.  126,  262. 

Quarterly  Review,  the  subject  of  Admiral  Byng’s  trial 
treated  at  large  in,  i.  134. — its  character  of  Jeremiah 
Markland,  ii.  258  n. — its  review  of  Horace  Walpole’s 
Memoirs,  ii.  392. 

Questioning,  not  the  mode  of  conversation  among  gen- 
tlemen, ii.  47,  47  77. 

Quin,  i.  527 ; ii.  95,  157. 

‘Quos  Deus  vult  perdere,’  &c.,  whence  taken,  ii  331, 
331  77. 

Quotation,  ii  295. 

R. 

Racine,  i.  431 

Rackstrow,  Mr.,  of  Fleet-street,  Johnson’s  colonel  in  tbt 
trained  band.  ii.  393. 


INDEX. 


56] 


Rsdcll/Te,  Dr.,  small  success  of  his  travelling  fellow- 
ships, ii.  385. 

Rajapouts,  ii.  290. 

Ralph,  Mr.  James,  ii.  278  n. 

Ramsay,  Allan,  Esq.,  his  ‘ Gentle  Shepherd,’  i.  308.— 
Allan,  Esq.,  the  painter,  ii.  152,  152  184,  185,  186, 

421,  421  n. 

Rambler,’  Johnson  publishes  the,  i.  81,82,  84,  87. — his 
reasons  for  giving  it  that  name,  i.  81.— his  prayer  on 
commencing  the  undertaking,  i.  81.— Cave’s  letter  to 
Richardson  respecting  the  author  of,  i.  84. — remarks 
on,  i.  87,  92,  109.— translations  of  the  mottoes  to,  i.  92, 
92  n. — Italian  translation  of,  ii.  221.— translated  into 
Russian,  ii.  377,  526. 

Ranby,  John,  Esq.,  his  ‘ Doubts  on  the  Abolition  of  the 
Slave  Trade,’  ii.  133. 

Ranelagh,  i.  290  ; ii.  6,  132. 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter,  i.  93. 

‘ Random  Records,’  Colman’s,  ii.  69  n. 

Rank,  its  importance  in  society,  i.  199,  228,  293,  293  n., 
321,  511 ; ii.  261. 

Rasay,  isle  of,  i.  377,  373,  379,  380,  381,  470,  554,  557.— 
John  Maclcod,  Laird  of,  i.  378,  378  n.,  381,  468,  470  n., 
536,  537 ; ii.  90. — his  letter  to  Boswell,  on  Johnson’s 
‘ Journey  to  the  Hebrides,’  i.  463,  490. — Johnson’s  let- 
ter to,  i.  469. — Lady,  i.  378,  558. — Miss  Flora,  i.  383. 

‘ Rascal,’  Johnson’s  use  of  the  word,  ii.  49. 

‘ Rasselas,’  Prince  of  Abyssinia,  Johnson’s,  i.  32, 147  n ., 
143,  152, 196  ; ii.  178,  196,  301. — written  in  one  week  to 
defray  the  expense  of  his  mother’s  funeral,  i.  148. — 
translated  into  four  languages,  i.  303. 

Ratcliff,  Dr.,  master  of  Pembroke,  his  neglect  of  John- 
son at  Oxford,  i.  116.— some  account  of,  i.  116  n. 

Rattakin  mountain,  i.  370. 

Rawlinson,  Dr.  Richard,  the  antiquarian,  ii.  323. — some 
account  of,  ii.  323  n. 

Ray,  Miss,  'i.  208. 

Reading,  i 526 ; ii.  65,  129,  253,  258,  259.— advantages 
of,  i.  525  —snatches  of,  ii.  249. — the  small  quantity  of, 
in  the  world,  il  346. — the  manner  and  effect  of,  i.  19, 
194  ; ii.  129,  209. — best  mode  of,  ii.  65. — and  writing,  i. 
297 ; ii.  6*. 

Red  ink,  properties  of,  ii.  236. 

Reed,  Mr.  Isaac,  i.  80,  315  n. ; ii.  268 

Refinement  in  education,  ii.  119. 

Reformers,  i.  318. 

Regatta  described,  ii.  5. 

Registration  of  deeds,  Johnson’s  note  on,  ii.  283. 

‘ Rehearsal,’ the  Duke  of  Buckingham’s,  i.  289  ; ii.  271, 
394. 

Rein-deer,  introduction  of  into  England,  i.  289. 

Relations,  i.  357. 

Relationship,  i.  293,  357. 

Religion,  i.  24,  130,  170, 180, 182,  214,  216,  223,  225,  227, 
255,  263,  266,  267,  270,  278.  281,  291, 305,  344,  403,  434, 
436  ; ii.  47,  171,  189,  202,  290,  303,  345.— natural  and 
revealed,  ii.  441. — Roman  Catholic,  ii.  383. 

Religious  discourse,  ii.  345.— impressions,  ii.  303. — or- 
ders, ii.  33. — discipline,  ii.  303. 

‘ Remembrance’  and  ‘ Recollection, ’distinction  between, 
ii.  305,  305  n. 

‘Renegado,’  definition  of,  i.  127. 

Rents,  i.  266,  389,  425. 

Repentance,  ii.  170,  343,  433  n. 

Resentment,  ii.  63,  421. 

Resolutions,  difficulty  of  keeping,  i.  270. — of  amend- 
ment, i.  524. 

Respect  not  to  be  paid  to  an  adversary,  i.  329. 

‘ Respublicae,’  the  little  volumes  entitled,  ii.  68. 

Resurrection,  i.  156  ; ii.  291,  343. 

Retired  tradesmen,  i.  516. 

Retirement  from  the  world,  i.  341  ; ii.  307. 

Retort,  Johnson’s  dexterity  in,  ii.  333. 

Reviews  and  Reviewers,  ii.  344. — Monthly  and  Critical, 
ii.  60,  65. 

Reviewers,  impropriety  of  returning  thanks  to,  ii.  277. 

Revolution  of  1688,  i.  309  ; ii.  328,  328  n. 

Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  i.  55,  56,  67,  82,  96,  103,  126,  158, 
161,  162,  163,  164,  212,  213  n.,  230,  241,  258,  260,  269, 
278,  313,  326  n.,  330  n.,  355,  358,  364,  422,  497,  497  n., 
502,  526  ; ii.  32,  50,  63,  65,  78,  81,  83,  145,  145  n.,  156, 
173,  176,  176  ».,  179,  183,  184,  188,  190,  199,  204  n., 
209,  225,  244,  265,  283,  290,  293,  300  n.,  346,  349,  361, 
365,  367,  379,  392,  420,  421,  439. — Johnson’s  ‘dulce 
decus,’  i.  103. — his  prices  for  portraits,  i.  102  n.— his 
visit  to  Devonshire  with  Johnson,  i.  163. — Johnson’s 
letters  to,  i.  215,  277-,  li.  79,  80,  83,  201,  307,  323,  338, 
349.  420.— style  and  economy  of  his  table,  ii.  78. — two 
dialogues  by,  in  imitation  of  Johnson’s  style  of  con- 
versation, ii.  176,  464,  464  n. — his  ‘ Discourses  to  the 
Royal  Academy,’  i.  99.— Miss,  i.  145,  159,  216,  444  n., 

VOL.  II,  71 


525  n. ; ii.  17  «.,  32  n.,  40  ».,  57,  66,  67,  79,  130,  131, 
150,  169,  187,  225,  229,  235  ».,  238,  282,  286,  299,  301 
n. — her  character  by  Johnson,  i.  216  n. — Johnson’s 
letters  to,  ii.  61,  65,  79,  202,  221,  236,  307,  317, 353,  354 
358,  361,362,373,375,380. — her  letter  to  Johnson,  ii 
79. — her  description  of  certain  points  of  Johnson’s 
character,  ii.  187. — her  ‘ Essay  on  Taste,’  ii.  307,  308 
— her  ‘ Recollections’  of  Dr.  Johnson,  ii.  491. 
Rhetorical  gesture,  Johnson’s  ridicule  of,  i.  142. 
Rheumatism,  Johnson’s  recipe  for,  i.  525. 

Rhubarb,  ii.  369. 

Rhudlan  Castle,  i.  485. 

Rhyme,  its  excellence  over  blank  verse,  i.  194;  ii.  270. 
Rich,  Miss,  i.  515  «. 

Richardson,  Samuel,  i.  56,  81,  81  n.,  84,  85  «.,  96,  1 IQ, 

124,  130,  131,  145,  161,  165,  170,  235,  245,  292,  463 ; ii. 

125,  177,  229,  243,  252,  346. — a contributor  to  the 
‘Rambler,’  i.  81. — Johnson’s  character  of,  i.  81,  96, 
292,  463. — Johnson’s  letters  to,  i.  95,  110,  130,  131. — 
Johnson’s  constant  resource  in  pecuniary  difficulties, 
i.  130  n. — compared  with  Fielding,  i.  245. — his  limited 
conversational  powers,  ii.  252. — Jonathan,  i.  49.— Mr  , 
an  attorney,  i.  88* — Miss,  i.  161  «. 

Riches,  i.  193,  283,  289 ; ii.  413.— influence  acquired  by, 
i.  359. 

Riddoch,  Mr.,  i.  350,  351,  353. 

Ridicule,  the  great  use  of,  ii.  206,  248. 

Riggs,  Mrs.,  i.  515  n. 

Ring,  Johnson’s  wedding,  i.  98,  215. 

Riots  of  1780,  ii.  233,  238. 

Ritter,  Joseph,  i.  338,  338  n. ; ii.  22  n. 

Rivers,  Earl  of,  i.  69. 

Rizzio,  David,  i.  334. 

Robert  of  Doncaster,  inscription  on  his  stone,  i.  551. 
Robertson,  Dr.  James,  i.  334.— Dr.William,  the  historian, 
i.  132,  236,  247,  251,  299,  313,  314,  324,  330,  332,  333, 
334,  362,  454,  454  n.,  462,  464,  475  ; ii.  121,  184,  185, 
218,  285,  395  «. — his  style  formed  upon  that  of  John- 
son, ii.  121. — his  ‘ History  of  Scotland,’  ii.  185. 
Robin-hood  Society,  religious,  ii.  291. 

Robinson  Crusoe,  ii.  159,  258. 

Robinson,  Dr.  Richard,  i.  173. — some  account  of,  i.  .773 
n.— Sir  Thomas,  i.  173,  196  ; ii.  6. 

Rochefoucault,  Due  de,  ii.  259.  • 

Rochester,  John  Wilmot,  second  Earl  of,  his  poems,  i 
387  n. ; ii.  129. 

Rockville,  Alexander  Gordon,  Lord,  i.  208  n.,  462 
Rod,  punishment  of  the,  i.  16,  354. 

Rodney,  Admiral  Lord,  ii.  16  n. 

Roffctte,  Abbe,  ii.  18. 

Rogers,  Captain  Francis,  i.  164  n. 

Rokeby,  Morris  Robinson,  Lord,  i.  152  n. 

Rolt,  Richard,  his  ‘ Dictionary  ofTrade  and  Commerce, 

i.  156. — anecdotes  of,  i.  156. 

Roman  Catholic  Church,  Johnson’s  charitable  opinion 
of,  i.  97,97  n.,  266,  267,  281. 

Roman  Catholic  religion,  ii.  55,  383. 

Romances,  ii.  248.— reasons  for  reading,  ii.  248.— John 
son’s  passion  for,  i.  18. 

Romans,  character  of  the  ancient,  i.  133. 

Rome,  the  fountain  of  elegance,  ii.  185. 

Romney,  Mr.,  the  painter,  ii.  65  n. 

Rose,  Dr.,  of  Chiswick,  i.  16  n. ; ii.  353. — his  repartee  on 
Johnson’s  pension,  ii.  326  «. — Rev.  Charles,  i.  217  n.— 
Mrs.,  her  anecdotes  of  Johnson,  ii.  504. 

Roscommon,  Johnson’s  Life  of,  i.  76. 

Roslin  Castle,  i.  465. 

Ross,  Rev.  Dr.  John,  Bishop  of  Exeter,  ii.  376. 

Rothes,  Lady,  Mr.  Bennet  Langton’s  wife,  i.  273,  27*, 

ii.  89,  172  7i.,  353. 

Roubiliac,  the  sculptor,  trick  played  on  Goldsmith  by,  i. 
186. 

Round  robin  sent  to  Johnson  on  the  subject  of  Gold- 
smith’s epitaph,  ii.  80,  81. 

Rousseau,  Jean- Jacques,  i.  197, 198,  228  ; ii.  383. — John 
son’s  opinion  of,  i.  228,  255.— his  ‘ Profession  de  Foi,’ 

i.  228. — his  ‘ Confessions,’  i.  228  n. 

Round  numbers  false,  ii.  396. 

Rowe,  Mrs.,  i.  133. 

Rowley,  Thomas,  ii.  67. 

Royal  Academy,  i.  252;  ii.  346. — family,  i.  416  ; ii.  Ill 
Rudd,  Margaret  Caroline,  ii.  38  «.,  77,  184. 

Ruddiman,  Thomas,  i.  86,  232,  306,  346;  ii.  202. 
Rudeness  of  manner,  Johnson’s  occasional,  i.  454  n.,  458 ; 

ii.  41,  67,  72,  119,  187,  208,  246,  252,  255,  258,  261  n., 
273,  292,  299. 

Ruff  head’s  ‘ Life  of  Pope,’,  i.  289. 

Ruins,  artificial  ones,  i.  49^  n. 

‘ Rumble,’  Hayley’s  ridicule  of  Johnson  undel^ th«  ckt 
racter  of,  ii.  403. 

Runic  inscription,  * 62  n. 


562 


INDEX. 


Rural  sports,  ii.  255. 

Russia,  Catharine,  empress  of,  ii.  201  — orders  the 
‘ Rambler’  to  be  translated  into  Russian,  ii.  377,  526. 

Russell,  Lord,  i.  304  ; ii.  162. — Dr.,  his  ‘ Aleppo,’  ii.  328. 

Rutty,  Dr.  John,  extracts  from  his  ‘ Spiritual  Diary,’  ii. 
120. 

Ryder,  Hon.  and  Rev.  Mr.,  i.  35  n. 

Ryland,  i.  75. 

S. 

Sabbath,  Johnson’s  habitual  reverence  of,  i.  129,  225, 
255,  25 5 n. 

Sacheverel,  Dr.,  i.  13,14. — his  ‘ History  of  the  Isle  of 
Man,’  i.  441. 

Sacrament,  i.  361  ; ii.  302,  383  n. — Fleetwood  on  the, 
recommended  by  Johnson,  ii.  526. — impropriety  of  re- 
ceiving it  sitting,  ii.  207. 

Sagacity  and  intuition,  difference  between,  ii.  404,  404  n. 

Sailor,  life  of  a,  i.  367,  407  ; ii.  34,  158.— Johnson’s  great 
abhorrence  of  the  life  of,  i.  151. — English,  i.  465  ; ii. 
113,  158. 

St.  Andrew’s,  i.  340,  552. — Asaph,  Bishop  of,  see  Shipley, 

i.  483  ; ii.  361.— Columba,  i.  441. — Helens,  Allen  Fitz- 
herbert,  Lord,  his  communication  to  the  editor,  ii.  469 
».,  470  n. — some  account  of,  ii.  470  n.— Kilda,  i.  246, 
281,  361,  418.— Rule’s  chapel,  i.  341. — Vitus’s  dance, 
described  by  Sydenham,  i.  56,  326. 

Saints,  worship  of,  i.  267. 

Salamanca,  University  of.  i.  203. 

Salisbury  cathedral,  ii.  358. — Bishop  of,  see  Douglas,  i. 
322. 

Sallust,  Spanish  translation  of,  ii.  336. 

Salter,  Rev.  Dr.,  i.  75,  8S. 

Sanderson,  Bishop,  i.  266  n.— Professor,  i.  297. 

Sandwich,  John,  sixth  Earl  of,  ii.  208  n. 

Santerre,  the  Parisian  brewer,  ii.  15,  15  n. 

Saratoga,  surrender  of  the  British  army  at,  ii.  195. 

Sardinia,  i.  258. 

Sarpedon,  i.  279  n. 

Sarpi,  Father  Paul,  his  ‘ History  of  the  Council  of 
Trent,’  i.  40,  51,  53. — his  Life  by  Johnson,  i.  53. 

Sastres,  Mr.,  the  Italian  master,  ii.  56,  142. — Johnson’s 
letters  to,  ii.  515. 

Satire,  general,  ii.  258. 

Savage,  Richard,  i.  48,  63,  64,  65,  66.— Johnson’s  Life 
of,  i.  62,  65,  66,  68. — inquiry  as  to  his  birth,  i.  68. — his 
tragedy  of  ‘ Sir  Thomas  Overbury,’  ii.  94,  94  n. — his 
‘ Wanderer’  quoted,  ii.  383. 

Savage  girl  of  Amiens,  i.  358. — life,  i.  311. 

Savages,  i.  255,  283,  311,  317,  348  ; ii.  67,  68,  343,  390. 

Savings,  trifling,  ii.  172. 

Scaliger,  ii.  20  n. 

Scalpa,  island  of,  i.  377. 

Scarsdale,  Lord,  i.  480;  ii.  115. 

Scepticism,  i.  335,  540.— Johnson’s  eleven  causes  of,  ii. 
426. 

Schedel,  of  Nuremberg,  i.  491  to. 

Schomberg,  Dr.  Ralph,  the  Jew  physician,  ii.  44  n. 

Schoolmasters,  i.  17,  35,  279,  234,  291  n.,  297 ; ii.  399. 

Schools,  public,  ii.  53,  53  n.,  119. 

Science,  books  of,  i.  368  n. 

Scorpions,  curious  inquiry  concerning,  i.  247. 

Score,  a song  in,  i.  511  n. — meaning  of  the  word,  i.  511  n. 

Scotch,  Johnson’3  feelings  towards,  i.  169,  193,  246,  257, 
285,  299,  315,  333  n.,  344,  350,  407,  442,  503,  503  n., 
505, 526  ; ii.  31, 151,  210,  237,  246,  294,  306,  326,  326  n., 
333. — accent,  overcome  by  perseverance,  i.  286. — cler- 
gy, i.  409. — impudence,  i.  503. — conjectures  as  to  the 
origin  of  Johnson’s  antipathy  to,  ii.  327  n. — extreme 
nationality  of,  i.  «15. — highlander,  i.  465. — learning  of 
the,  i.  526,  626  n. — cause  of  their  success  in  London, 

ii.  333. — lairds,  Johnson’s  notion  of  the  dignity  of,  i. 
184.— jealousy  of  the,  i.  503. — nationality  of  the,  i.  503, 
510  ; ii.  48,  333. 

Scotland,  episcopal  church  of,  ii.  202. — peers  of,  their  in- 
-<jrference  in  elections  of  the  commons,  ii.  362. 

Scots,  Mary,  Queen  of,  i.  153,  333. 

S-  ott,  Sir  Walter,  notes  communicated  to  the  editor 
by,  i.  184,280,284,  327,  329,  332,  333,  337,  338,  339, 
340,  341,  342,  343,  344,  355,  358,  360,  361,  362,  366,  369, 
373,  375,  377,  378  , 379,  330,  386,  396,  397  , 398,  402, 
404,  405,  409,417,  418,  420.  421,  423,  429,  470,  471,  472, 
545. — a history  of  the  young  Pretender  by  him,  a de- 
sideratum, i.  462  n. — George  Lewis,  sub-preceptor  to 
George  the  Third,  i.  78;  ii.  95. — John,  of  Amwell,  i. 
516.— his  ‘ Elegies,’  i.  521. — Sir  William.  See  Lord 
Stowcll. 

‘Scoundrel,’  Johnson’s  use  of  the  epithet,  ii.  49,  49  »., 
398. — Johnson’s  application  of  the  word,  ii.  41  n. 

Scoundrelism,  i.  357. 

Scripture  phrases  i.  305 


Scriptures,  Johnson’s  letters  on  the  proposal  to  translate 
them  into  Erse,  i.  235,  236. 

Scruples,  ii.  432,  528.— unnecessary,  ii.  257. 

Scuderi,  Mademoiselle,  i.  515  n. 

Seal,  Johnson’s,  i.  172. 

Sea-life,  wretchedness  of,  ii.  34. 

Seasons,  influence  of,  i.  322. 

Seeker,  Archbishop,  Johnson’s  prejudice  against  his  pa 
litical  character,  ii.  252. — Porteus’s  ‘ Life  of,’  ii.  252. 

Second  sight,  i.  228,  281,  376,  378,  398,  393  n.,  435,  461 
467,  507,  545. 

Sedley,  Catherine,  Countess  of  Dorchester,  i.  336  n 

Seduction,  ii.  193. 

Seed,  Rev.  Jeremiah,  his  ‘Sermons,’  ii.  151. 

Self-importance,  ii.  120. — praise,  ii.  181. 

Selden’s  ‘ Table  Ta<lk’  quoted,  i.  39  431 ; ii.  333  n. 

Sellctte,  queries  on  the,  ii.  12,  12  «. 

‘ Semel  insanivimus  omnes,’  &.c.  whence  taken,  ii.  331 
331  n. 

Seneca,  i.  426. 

Selwyn,  George,  ii.  210  n. 

‘ Senectus,’  use  of  the  word,  ii.  191. 

Sensual  intercourse,  ii.  150,  190. 

‘ Sentimental  Journey,’  Sterne’s,  ii.  253  n. 

‘ Serious  Call,’  Law’s,  i.  24,  169. 

Sermons,  the  best  English,  for  style,  ii.  151.— collection* 
of,  ii.  296. — Johnson’s,  i.  138. — Johnson’s  advice  on 
the  composition  of,  ii.  238. 

Settle,  Elkanah,  the  city  poet,  ii.  76. 

Seve  china,  ii.  116  n. 

Severity,  ii.  33. 

Sevigne,  Madame  de,  i.  441  n. ; ii.  68,  223  n. 

Seward,  Rev.  Mr.,  ii.  45,  110. — William,  Esq.,  i.  256  ; ll. 
97,  99,  228,  349.— his  Anecdotes  of  distinguished  Per- 
sons, ii.  390  n. — Miss  Anna,  i.  11  n.,  14  «.,  32,  34  , 97 
n.,  169,  479,  512  n. ; ii.  45,  149  n.,  166,  168,  171  «., 
171,  276,  402,  403. — her  * Ode  on  the  death  of  Captain 
Cook,’  ii.  402. 

Sexes,  inequality  of  the,  ii.  166. — sensual  intercourse 
between,  ii.  190. 

Shakspeare,  different  ways  of  spelling  his  name,  i.  363 
— Johnson’s  edition  of  his  plays,  L 71,  138,  141,  160, 
213,  2£2, 223.— his  witches,  ii.  207. — Johnson’s  opinion 
of  his  learning,  ii.  248. — Johnson’s  lines  on,  ii.  251, 
251  n. — compared  with  Congreve,  i.  259,  263. — his 
picture  of  man,  ii.  283,  283  n. — ‘ Modern  Characters’ 
from,  ii.  154. 

‘ Shall’  and  ‘ will,’  Johnson’s  use  of  the  words,  i.  33  n. ; 
ii.  268. 

Sharp,  Archbishop  of  St.  Andrew’s,  his  monument,  i 
342  n.,  343  n. 

Sir  Walter  Scott’s  story  of  his  murder,  i.  342  n.— Samuel, 
his  ‘ Letters  on  Italy,’  ii.  69,  69  n. — Dr.  John,  i.  216.— 
his  picturesque  account  of  Johnson’s  visit  to  Cam- 
bridge, i.  216. 

Sharpe,  Rev.  Dr.  Gregory,  some  account  of,  i.  172  n 

Shaving,  varieties  in,  ii.  117. 

Shaw,  Cuthbert,  his  poem  of  ‘The  Race,’  i.  237. — Wil- 
liam, his  ‘ Analysis  of  the  Scotch  Celtic  Language,’  ii. 
90,  90  n. — his  pamphlet  on  Ossian,  ii.  363. 

Shawe,  Colonel  Meyrick,  on  the  affinity  between  the 
Irish  and  Erse  languages,  i.  284  n. 

Shebbeare,  Dr.,  i.  252,  252  n. ; ii.  178  n.,  298,  344. — his 
‘ Letters  on  the  English  Nation,’  under  the  name  of 
Battista  Angeloni,  a Jesuit,  ii.  298. 

Sheep’s  head,  i.  443,  443  n. 

Shelburne,  William  Petty,  second  Earl,  afterwards  first 
Marquess  of  Landsowne,  ii.  158,  226,  329  n.,  335,  380 
7i.— Goldsmith’s  blundering  speech  to,  ii.  329. 

Shenstone,  William,  i.  415,  445,  492  ; ii.  39.— his  ‘ Es- 
says,’ ii.  349  n.— favourite  stanza  of,  ii.  314  n. 

Sheridan,  Richard  Brinsley,  i.  67,  155, 162, 169, 172, 176, 
187,  214  n.,  260,  286,  320,  450,  508,'  520  n.,  527  n. ; ii. 
49,  81,  145  7i.,  181,  205,  340.— his  prologue  to  Savage’s 
‘ Sir  Thomas  Overbury,  ’ ii.  94.-his  elegant  compliment 
to  Johnson  on  his  Dictionary,  ii.  94. — proposed  by 
Johnson  as  a member  of  the  Literary  Club,  ii.  94.— 
his  meditated  answer  to  Johnson’s  ‘ Taxation  no  Ty- 
ranny,’ ii.  94  7i.— Thomas,  Esq.,  i.  162,  172,  175,  176, 
179,  202,  260.  260  n.,  508  ; ii.  94,  95,  145  n.,  181,  202, 
202  7i.,  205,  340. — Johnson’s  description  of  his  conver 
eation,  i.  169,  202.— irreconcilable  difference  between 
Johnson  and,  i.  175. — Johnson’s  character  of,  ii.  326. 
326  7i.,  347. — his  Lectures  on  Oratory,  ii.  347.— his  gold 
medal  to  the  author  of  ‘ Douglas,’  i / 508 , 508  n.— Mrs. 
i.  156.— her  ‘ Sidney  Riddulph,’  i.  156. — some  accoun* 
of,  i.  156  7i.,  177. — Dr.  Parr’s  description  of  her,  i 
156  7i. — Mrs.,  formerly  Miss  Linley,  ii.  318.— Charles 
his  ‘ Revolution  in  Sweden,’  ii.  166. 

Sherrard,  Rev.  Robert,  afterwards  fourth  Earl  of  Har 
borough,  ii.  463. 


INDEX. 


563 


She  Stoops  to  Conquer,’  i.  303  to.,  306,  309,  313. 

Shicls,  Mr.  Robert,  i.  75,  75  to. ; ii.  60,  60  to.,  62,  95,  559. 
‘Ship  of  Fools,’  Barclay’s,  i.  119. 

Shipley,  Dr.  Jonathan,  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph,  i.  483  to., 
485  n.  ; ii.  57  to.,  78,  152,  229,  230,  233  to.,  284  to..  290 
w.,  361. 

Shippen,  William,  Esq.,  ii.  112. 

Shoe-buckles,  i.  326. 

Shop-keepers  of  London,  i.  348,  349. 

Short-hand,  i.  310 ; ii.  160,  160  to.,  326. 

Sibbald,  Sir  Robert,  the  Scottish  antiquary,  ii.  144. 

Sick,  duty  of  telling  truth  to  the,  ii.  388,  388  «. — cham- 
ber, ii.  354. 

Siddons,  Mrs.,  her  visit  to  Johnson,  ii.  359. — Mr.  Kem- 
ble’s minute  of  what  passed,  ii.  359. 

Simpson,  Joseph,  i.  100  ; ii.  59. — Johnson’s  letter  to,  i. 

150. — some  account  of,  ii.  59. — Thomas,  the  engineer, 

i.  153  «. 

Sin,  original,  i.  350 ; ii.  303. 

Sinclair,  Sir  John,  ii.  307,  307  to. 

Singularity,  i.  256. 

Sins,  i.  291. 

‘ Sixteen-String  Jack,’  ii.  62,  62  to. 

Skaiting,  ii.  321. 

Skie,  Isle  of,  i.  373,  553,  554,  556,  561. — Johnson’s  ode 
on,  i.  374,  374  to. 

Siam’s  Castle,  i.  353. 

Slave-trade,  Johnson’s  abhorrence  of,  ii.  132,  252,  561. 
Sleep,  ii.  118,  244. 

Smallbroke,  Dr.,  his  ‘ Sermon’s,’  i.  51. 

Small  debts,  i.  150. 

Smalridge,  Dr.,  his  * Sermons,’  ii.  151. 

Smart,  Christopher  i.  131,  135,  180 ; ii.  253. — Mrs.,  ii. 
417  ». 

Smith,  Rev.  Edward,  his  verses  on  Pococke,  t'he  oriental 
linguist,  ii.  159. — Dr.  Adam,  i.  24,  194,  326,  329,  453 ; 

ii.  53,  184,  300. — his  ‘ Wealth  of  Nations,’  ii.  30. — his 
interview  with  Johnson,  i.  453,  453  to. ; ii.  184  to. — dif- 
ference between  Johnson  and,  ii.  250  «.— Garrick’s 
opinion  of,  ii.  251  to. 

Smithson,  Sir  Hugh,  i.  173. 

Smoking,  i.  137,  340  to.,  341. 

Smollett,  Dr.  Tobias,  i.  60,  151. — his  letter  to  Wilkes,  i. 

151.  — his  epitaph,  corrected  by  Johnson,  i.  453. — com- 
missary, i.  452. 

‘ Sober,’  in  the  ‘ Idler,’  intended  as  Johnson’s  portrait, 
ii.  264. 

Society,  ii.  169. — civilized,  its  customs,  i.  198,  199,  200, 
227.— our  duties  to,  i.  227. 

8ocrates,  ii.  158,  285.— learned  to  dance  at  an  advanced 
age,  ii.  285. 

‘Solamen  Miseris  socios,’  &c.  the  author  of,  undiscov- 
ered, ii.  332  to. 

Solander,  Dr.,  i.  279, 280,  438,  438  to.  ; ii.  58. 

Soldiers,  i.  367  ; ii.  52,  158. 

Solitude,  i.  243 ; ii.  351. — dangerous  to  reason,  ii.  256. — 
not  favourable  to  virtue,  ii.  256. — reasons  against,  ii. 
307. 

Somerville,  James,  thirteenth  lord,  ii.  273.— some  ac- 
count of,  ii.  273. 

Somnambulism,  Dr.  Blacklock’s,  i.  335  to. 

Sorrow,  i.  342 ; ii.  289. 

Sorbonne,  ii.  16. 

Souls,  Johnson’s  notion  of  the  middle  state  of,  after 
death,  i.  100. 

Sounds,  i.  297. 

6outh,  Dr.,  his  ‘ Sermons,’  i.  267  ; ii.  151. — his  Sermons 
on  prayer  recommended  by  Johnson,  i.  267. 
Southwark,  people  of,  ii.  242  to.  „ 

Southwell,  Robert,  his  stanzas  ‘upon  the  Image  of 
Death,’  i.  486  to.— Thomas,  second  lord,  ii.  241,  329.— 
some  account  of,  ii.  240  to. — Lady  Margaret,  ii.  240. — 
Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  240. — some  account  of,  ii.  240  to. 
Spain,  no  country  less  known  than,  i.  158,  184,  202. 
Spanish  plays,  ii.  247. 

Speaking,  public,  i.  516. — of  one’s-self,  ii.  181. 

* Speculum  Humanae  Salvationist  ii.  15. 

‘ Spectator,  the,’  i.  85  to.,  304,  305,  528  ; ii.  61,  145,  25J 
253,  284,  291. 

Spells,  i.  378. 

Spelman,  Sir  Henry,  on  the  fatality  attending  the  inheri- 
tance of  confiscated  church  property,  ii.  322  «. 

Spence,  Rev.  Joseph,  i.  434,  434  to.— his  very  amusing 
‘Anecdotes,’  ii.  228,  223  to.,  245,  279,  279  to.,  397.— 
some  account  of,  ii.  279. 

Spsncer,  John  George,  second  Earl,  ii.  165  «.,  281,  231 
n.,  232. 

Spendthrifts,  ii.  256. 

Spirits,  appearance  <f  departed,  i.  149, 183,281,287, 293. 
295,  296  to.  ; ii.  125,  292,  293.— evil,  i.  335.  ’ 

Spiritual  Quixote,’  key  to  the  characters  h,  ii.  469  ». 


‘ Spleen,’  the,  ii.  62. 

Spottiswoode.  Mr.  John,  ii.  182 
Stafford,  Marquis  of,  i.  277  to. 

Stage,  the,  i.  363. 

Stanhope,  Mr.,  (Lord  Chesterfield’s  son,)  i.  115  «. ; rt 
285  to.,  403. 

Stanyan,  Temple,  great  accuracy  of  his  ‘Account  of 
Switzerland,’  ii.  195. 

Statuary,  ii.  34,  34  to., 

Staunton,  Dr.,  afterwards  Sir  George,  Johnson’s  letter 
to,  i.  159.— some  account  of,  i.  159  to. 

Steele,  Sir  Richard,  i.  70  to.,  511 ; ii.  3S,  291.— his  ‘ Chris- 
tian Hero,’  ii.  38. — Addison’s  conduct  towards,  ii.  274, 
274  to. 

Steevens,  George,  Esq.,  i.  268,  271,  301,  303,474,  529, 
529  to.  ; ii.  87,  129,  165,  165  to.,  195,  209,  152,  377  to., 
395,  436,  443.— Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  87.— anecdotes 
of  Johnson  by,  ii.  505. 

Stephani,  account  of  the,  ii.  243. 

Sterne,  Rev.  Lawrence,  i.  292,  308 ; ii.  253  «.,  297.— 
his  ‘ Tristram  Shandy,’  ii.  38.— his  ‘ Sermons,’  ii.  464, 
464  to. 

Stews,  licensed,  ii.  55. 

Stillingfleet,  Benjamin,  Esq.,  ii.  297. 

Stirling,  corporation  of,  Johnson’s  argument  in  favour 
of,  i.  529,  541. 

Stockdale,  Rev.  Perceval,  i.  143,  280  ; ii.  393  to.— his  * Re- 
monstrance,’ a poem,  i.  270. — some  account  of,  i.  270  to 
Stonehenge,  ii.  358,  358  to. 

Stories,  truth  essential  to,  ii.  266. 

Story  telling,  ii.  266. 

Stowell,  Lord,  i.  38  to.,  118  to.,  151  w.,  205,  267,  275  «., 
275, 325,  327,  327  to.,  335  to.,  380  to.,  474,  477 ; ii.  156, 
158,  158  to.,  176,  231,  231  «.,  234,  29i. — his  character 
of  Boswell,  i.  471. — his  account  of  Coulson,  the  ec- 
centric, i.  493  to. 

Strahan,  Rev.  Mr.,  i.  97,  217,  240  «.,  310,  310  to.,  352  to., 
507,  508,  509;  ii.  238  to.,  375.— difference  between 
Johnson  and,  ii.  198.— publishes  Johnson’s  ‘Prayer* 
• and  Meditations,’  i.  97.— Johnson’s  letters  to,  i.  217 ; ii 
198. — William,  Esq.,  ii.  198,  294,  333.— his  letter  re- 
commending Johnson  to  be  brought  into  parliament,  i. 
274. — Mrs.,  Johnson’s  letters  to,  ii.  294,  311. 
Stratagem,  ii.  162. 

Streatfield,  Mrs.,  ii.  261  to. 

Streatham,  i.  257 ; ii.  194,  261,  289. 

Strichen,  Lord,  i.  357  to. 

Strickland,  Mrs.,  ii.  16,  18  to,,  95  to. 

Stuart  family,  i.  153,  195,  307;  ii.  111.— Hon.  and  Rev. 
William,  afterwards  Archbishop  of  Armagh,  and  Pri- 
mate of  Ireland,  ii.  337. — Hon.  Colonel  James,  father 
of  the  present  Lord  Wharncliffe,  ii.  216,  224,  224  to. — 
Andrew,  Esq.,  i.  311. — his  ‘ Letters  to  Lord  Mansfield 
on  the  Douglas  Cause,’  i.  271  ; ii.  48.— Francis,  i.  75  ; 
ii.  225,  228,  369,  371,  530.— some  account  of,  ii.  530.— 
Rev.  James,  translator  of  the  scriptures  into  Erse,  i. 
236  «.,  237. 

Study,  plan  of,  i.  185,  194,  203,  205,  206,  230,  322 ; ii.  166, 
194,  209,  220,  245,  249. 

Style,  i.  89,  90,  91  ; ii.  155  to.,  165,  268,  277,  278.— Bur- 
rowes’s  Essay  on  Johnson’s,  i.  89  to. — Addison’s  and 
Johnson’s  compared,  i.  92. — Johnson’s  character  of 
Addison’s,  i.  91. — various  kinds  of,  i.  298. — metaphori 
cal  expression  a great  excellence  in,  ii.  121.— of  Eng- 
lish wrjters,  how  far  distinguishable,  ii.  164. — of  dif- 
ferent painters,  how  far  distinguishable,  ii.  164. 
Subordination,  ii.  208. — necessary  to  human  happiness, 

i.  199,  200,  229,  307, 321.— impaired  in  England,  by  the 
increase  of  money,  ii.  157. — in  society,  duty  of  main- 
taining, i.  511. 

Subscription  to  the  Thirty -nine  Articles,  i.  266,  282,  282 
to.,  342. 

Succession,  ii.  23,  25. 

Suetonius,  ii.  166  to. 

Suicide,  i.  311,  339  , ii.  318,  349. 

Sunday  consultations,  lawyers’,  i.  255,  305,  307, 436,  529 
—Johnson’s  mode  of  passing,  i.  129,  225,  305,  436. 
Superstition  of  the  press,  prejudiced  to  good  literature, 

ii.  185. 

Superiors,  deference  to,  i.  356,  356  n. 

Superstitions,  i.  214,  281. 429 ; ii.  202. 

Suppers,  ii.  174. 

‘ Surveillance,’  no  English  word  to  describe,  i.  509  n 
Suspicion,  ii.  103. 

Swallows,  i.  247. 

Swearing  in  conversation,  i.  288. 

Swene’s  stone,  i.  360. 

Swift,  Johnson’s  prejudice  against,  i.  334.— his  ‘ Tale  of* 
Tub,’  i.  202,  202  to.,  334.— Earl  Gower’s  letter  to,  con- 
cerning Johnson,  i.  50.— Johnson’s  opinion  of,  i.  173. 
176  to.,  202,  252,  334,  334  n.,  507. — hi*  * c induct  of 


504 


INDEX. 


the  Allies,’  i.  252.— his  * Tale  of  a Tub,’  i.  507,  508  to. 
—his  ‘ Gulliver’s  Travels,’  i.  508.— Johnson’s  Life  of, 
ii.  278.— Johnson’s  character  of  his  ‘ Journal,’  ii.  330, 
330  to.— his  verses  on  his  own  death,  quoted  by  John- 
son on  his  death-bed,  ii.  442  «. 

Swinfen,  Dr.,  i.  15,  22. 

Sympathy,  ii.  46. 

Sympathy  with  others  in  distress,  i.  262. 

Sydenham,  Dr.,  his  description  of  St.  Vitus’s  dance,  i. 
56.— Johnson’s  Life  of,  i.  13,  61.  • 

Sydney,  Sir  Philip,  his  ‘ Arcadia,’  ii.  101  to. — Algernon, 
i.  304. 

‘ Sydney  Biddulph,’  i.  177. 

1 Systeme  de  la  Nature,’  i.  336. 

T. 

* Table  Talk,’  Selden’s,  i.  431 ; ii.  136  n. 

Table,  sinking,  invented  by  Louis  XV.,  ii.  12,  12  to. 

Tacitus,  style  of,  i.  297. 

‘ Tale  of  a Tub,’  i.  202,  334,  507,  508  ». 

Talisker,  i.  408,  410,  560. 

‘ Talk,’  and  ‘ conversation,’  Johnson’s  distinction  be- 
tween, ii.  333. 

Talkers,  exuberant  public,  ridiculed,  i.  316. 

Talking  above  the  capacity  of  one’s  company,  ii.  333. 

Tallow-chandler,  story  of  one,  i.  516. 

Tasker,  Rev.  William,  ii.  204,  319.— his  c Carmen  Secu- 
lare’  of  Horace,  ii.  204. — his  ‘Ode  to  the  Warlike 
Genius  of  Britain,’  ii.  204,  327  to. — some  account  of,  ii. 
204  to. 

Tasso,  ii.  184.— Hoole’s  translation  oT,  ii.  256.— Johnson’s 
elegant  Dedication  of  Hoole’s  translation  of,  to  the 
Queen,  i.  123. 

Taste,  i.  298. — refinement  of,  ii.  406. 

Tavern,  the  chair  of  a,  ii.  39. 

Tavern’s,  ii.  38,  39  to.,  284. 

Tavistock,  Lady,  her  excessive  grief  for  the  loss  of  her 
husband,  i.  262. 

‘ Taxation  no  Tyranny,’  i.  505,  515;  ii.  94,  140,  166. — 
sundry  suppressed  passages  in,  i.  506. 

Taylor,  Jeremy,  i.  90  ; ii.  383  to.,  386,  439  to.,  443.— his ' 
forms  of  prayer,  ii.  385,  385  to. — Rev.  Dr.  John,  i.  20, 
21,  29,  67,  74,  78,  90  «.,  99,  161,  227  «.,  271,  289  ; ii. 
45,  48,  78,  104  to.,  104,  109,  111 , 113,  119, 124,  128,  129, 
134,  186  to.,  213,  350,  373  to.— Johnson’s  letters  to,  i. 
99;  ii.  350,  374. — Chevalier,  ii.  211. — John,  Esq.,  i.  33 
TO.,  79  to.,  244  to. 

Tea,  Johnson’s  defence  of,  and  fondness  for,  i.  133,  135, 
327  ; ii.  133,  157,  399. 

Teapot,  Johnson’s  i.  134  to. 

f Telemachus,’  i.  431 ; ii.  3,  89. 

Temple,  Sir  William,  i.  90. — his  style,  ii.  155,  155  to., 
184.— Rev.  Mr.,  i.  197,  228,  316,  507.— his  character 
of  Gray,  ii.  320. 

Temptation,  ii.  147. 

Tenants,  i.  425,  429. 

Terence,  ii.  248. 

Testimony,  ii.  379. 

Thatching,  i.  413. 

Theft  allowed  in  Sparta,  ii.  170. 

Theobald,  Lewis,  i.  141. 

Theocritus,  his  character  as  a writer,  ii.  243. — some  ac- 
count of,  ii,  323  «. 

Thicknesse,  Philip,  Esq.,  his  ‘Travels,’  ii.  147. 

Things,  attention  to  small,  ii.  335. 

Thinking  too  well  of  mankind,  ii.  398 

Thirty-nine  Articles,  the,  i.  52,  67. 

Thirlby,  Dr.  Styan,  ii.  243,  323. 

Thomas,  Mr.  Nathaniel,  ii.  84  «. 

Thompson,  William,  author  of  the  ‘ Man  in  the  Moon,’ 
i.  470. 

Thomson,  the  poet,  i.  202,  251  ; ii.  62,  91,  95,  102,  196, 
273  to. — Rev.  James,  his  case,  ii.  71. — Johnson’s  argu- 
ment in  favour  of,  ii.  112. 

Thornton,  Bonnel,  Esq.,  i.  84, 89  to.,  108  to.— his  burlesque 
‘ Ode  on  St.  Cecilia’s  Day,’  i.  190. — Mr.  Henry,  ii. 
242  to. 

Thoughts,  inquisitive  and  perplexing,  Johnson’s  prayer 
against,  ii.  422. — in  Prison,  Dr.  Dodd’s,  ii.  160. 

Thrale,  Henry,  Esq.,  i.  135,  219,  222,  252,  274,  365,  418, 
494  ; ii.  45,  51,  55,  91,  100,  202,  213,  242  to.,  261,  2S2, 
286,  288,  294,  398. — Johnson’s  introduction  into  the 
family  of,  i.  219,  220,  221 ; ii.  242,  242  to. — his  design 
of  bringing  Johnson  into  parliament,  i.  274. — Johnson’s 
letters  to,  ii.  79,  100. — his  Address  to  the  Electors  of 
Southwark,  written  by  Johnson,  ii.  240. — his  death,  ii. 
288,  313. — sale  of  his  brewery,  ii.  307. — Mrs.,  see  Pi- 
ozzi,  Johnson’s  Latin  Ode  to,  i.  375,  375  «. 

Threshing,  i.  413. 

Thuanus,  Johnson’s  proposed  translation  of,  ii.  437. 

Thucydic.es,  ii.  184. 


Thurlow,  Lord,  ii.  331. -Boswell’s  letter  to,  on  Johnson’s 
proposed  tour  to  Italy,  ii.  401. — Johnson’s  letters  to 
ii.  412,  413,  413  to.— his  letter  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
ii.  413.— his  letter  to  Boswell,  ii.  405,422. — his  letter  to 
Johnson,  ii.  241.— on  the  liberty  of  the  pulpit,  ii.  71. 

Tillotson,  Archbishop,  style  of  his  Sermons,  ii.  151 

Time  and  space,  ii.  251. 

Timidity,  ii.  391. 

Titi,  History  of  Prince,  ii.  12  to. 

Toasts,  ii.  252. 

Toleration,  i.  317,  318 ; ii.  246.— universal,  ii.  206,  246. 

Tomkeson,  Mr.,  Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  358. 

Tooke,  Rev.  John  Horne,  ii.  177  to. — his  ‘Letter  to  Mr 
Dunning  on  the  English  Particle,’  ii.  195. — his  ‘ Diver 
sions  of  Purley,’  ii.  195  to. 

Topham,  the  King  versus,  for  a libel  against  Earl  Cow- 
per,  deceased,  ii.  54  to. 

Tories,  i.  308,  416  ; ii.  182,  191,  263,  294,  336. 

Tory,  Johnson’s  definition  of,  i.  126. — and  Whig,  John- 
son’s description  of,  ii.  301,  384. 

Torture  in  Holland,  i.  207. 

Towers,  Dr.  Joseph,  his  ‘ Letter  to  Dr.  Johnson  on  hit 
Political  Publications,’  i.  506. — his  * Essay  on  John 
son,’  ii.  269,  269  to. 

Town  life,  ii.  123,  153. 

Townley,  Charles,  Esq.,  ii.  95  ». 

Townshend,  Right  Hon.  Charles,  i.  309 ; ii.  49,  49  to.,  95 

Trade,  i.  264,  293,  438 ; ii.  30.— the  rage  of,  i.  400. 

Tradesmen,  opulence  of,  i.  438.— unhappiness  of  retired, 

i.  516. 

Tradeswomen,  ii.  194. 

Tradition,  i.  345. 

Tragedy,  the  purpose  of,  ii.  63. 

Tragic-acting,  Johnson’s  contempt  of1,  i.  332. 

Translation,  ii.  62. 

Translations,  i.  235  ; ii.  155. 

Transubstantiation,  i.  345,  350. 

‘ Transpire,’  definition  of  the  word,  ii.  191,  191  n. 

Trapaud,  Mr.,  i.  366,  367. 

Travel,  Lord  Essex’s  advice  on,  i.  195. 

‘ Traveller,’  Goldsmith’s,  i.  188,  213,  226,  313,  444,  153. 

Travelling,  i.  179,  185,  195,  206,  272;  ii.  39,  51,  62,  67, 
147,  159,  172,  194,  195. — the  use  of,  i.  557.— in  quest 
of  health,  Johnson’s  rules  for,  ii.  320. 

Travels,  books  of,  i.  551 ; ii.  173. — writers  of,  i.  530. 

Treason,  constructive,  ii.  390. 

Trees,  paucity  of,  in  Scotland,  i.  344,  344  «.,  346,  553 

Trial  by  duel,  i.  327. 

Trianon,  ii.  14. 

Trifles,  i.  137.— duty  of  attending  to,  i.  137,  196 ; ii.  195 

Trimleslown,  Lord,  ii.  143,  143  to. 

Trinity,  i.  319,  350. 

‘ Tristram  Shandy,’  ii.  38. 

Troughton,  Lieutenant,  the  wanderer,  i.  488,  488  to. 

Trusler,  Rev.  Dr.  John,  his  ‘Principles  of  Politeness,’  ii 
68  to. 

Truth,  great  importance  of  a regard  to,  i.  197,  199,  144, 
218,  388,  418,  432. — the  bond  of  society,  ii.  169. — dif- 
ference between  physical  and  moral,  ii.  244,  244  ». — 
essential  to  stories,  ii.  32. 

Tuam,  Archbishop  of,  afterwards  Earl  of  Mayo,  ii.  353. 

Tunbridge  Wells,  Johnson  at,  i.  76. 

Tull’s  husbandry,  i.  436. 

Turks,  ii.  27. 

Turton,  Dr.,  i.  33. 

‘ Turkish  Spy,’  i.  443.— the  authors  of,  ii.  338,  338  ». 

Twalmley,  the  inventor  of  the  ironing  box,  ii.  336. 

Twining,  Rev.  Thomas,  his  translation  of  Aristotle’s 
‘ Poeticks,’  ii.  63  to. 

Twiss,  Richard,  Esq.y  his  ‘ Travels  in  Spain,’  i.  519 ; 

ii.  3 to. 

Tyers,  Mr.  Thomas,  i.  76,  111,  134,  136  to.,  220,  472  ; fi 
27,  86  to.,  175.— some  account  of,  i.  136.— his  descrip- 
tion of  Johnson,  i.  346. 

Tyrconnel,  Lord,  i.  70. 

Tyrwhitt,  Thomas,  Esq.  his  ‘ Vindication,’  ii.  311  n 

Tytler,  William,  Esq.,  i.  153,  417,  460,  470  *t.,  502.— hia 
character  of  Johnson’s  ‘Journey  to  the  Hebrides,’  i 
502.— Alexander  Fraser,  Lord  Wodehouselie,  i.  460, 
465. 

U. 

Union,  Scotch,  i.  333,  333  to.— with  Ireland,  Johnson’s 
prophecy  as  to  the  effects  of,  ii.  123. 

‘ Universal  History,’  list  of  the  authors  of,  ii.  429,  429  ». 
— Wai burton’s  character  of,  ii.  429  to.— Gibbon’s  char- 
acter of,  ii.  429  «. 

‘ Universal  Visiter,’  Johnson’s  essays  in,  i.  131. 

Universities,  English,  not  sufficiently  rich,  ii.  53. 

‘ Unius  lacertae,’  meaning  of  the  expression  in  Juvenal, 
ii.  154. 

Urban,  Sylvanus,  Johnson’s  Latin  ode  to,  i.  43, 532. 


INDEX. 


669 


Ursa Major,'  Johnson  so  designated  by  Boswell’s  father, 

Usher,  Archbishop,  the  great  luminary  of  the  Irish 
church,  i.  173.— University  of  Dublin  about  to  print  his 
works,  i.  173  n. 

Usury  laws,  ii.  58. 

Uttoxeter,  Johnson’s  extraordinary  visit  to,  ii.  424, 424  n. 
V. 

Valetudinarian,  ii.  110. 

Valiancy,  General,  ii.  376  n. ; 378. 

Valiere,  Mademoiselle  de  la,  i.  337  n. 

Vane,  Anne,  i.  78  n. 

Vanity,  ii.  438. 

‘ Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,’  i.  76,  230. 

Vansittart,  Dr.  Robert,  i.  136,  151,  298  299  n.,  493, 

493  n. 

Vauxhall  Gardens,  i.  136 ; ii.  251  n. 

Veal,  Mrs.,  story  of  her  apparition,  i.  287. — invented  by 
Daniel  Defoe,  i.  287  n. 

Veils  to  servants,  ii.  143. 

Versailles,  ii.  14. 

Verses,  alleged  pleasure  in  writing,  ii.  346. 

Vcsey,  Rt.  Hon.  Agmondesham,  i.  358 ; ii.  252,  252  n. — 
Mrs.,  i.  515  n. 

‘Vicar  of  Wakefield,’  i.  187;  ii.  180,  204. 

Vice,  ii.  169,  190,  193. 

Vices  in  retirement,  ii.  398. 

Vicious  Intromission,’  i.  300,  302,  336. — Johnson’s  argu- 
ment in  favour  of,  i.  537. 

Vidit  et  erubuit,’  See.  by  whom  written,  ii.  174, 174  n. 
Vilette,  Rev.  Mr.,  ii.  402,  402  n.,  434  n. 

Villiers,  Sir  George,  ghost  story  respecting,  ii.  194. 
Vincent,  Dr.,  i.  129  n. 

‘Vindication  of  Natural  Society,'  Burke’s,  i.  206  n. 
Virgil,  i.  172 ; ii.  129. — Johnson’s  juvenile  translations 
from,  i.  531. — comparative  excellence  of  Homer  and,  ii. 
129. — superior  to  Theocritus,  ii.  242. — his  description 
of  the  entrance  into  Hell  applied  to  a printing  house, 

i.  431. 

Virtue,  i.  195;  ii.  169,  190,  193,  194,  257. — happiness  de- 
pendent upon,  ii.  169. 

‘ V ision  of  Theodore  the  Hermit,’  considered  by  Johnson 
his  best  writing,  i.  76. 

‘ Viva ! viva  la  padrona ! ’ Johnson’s  all’  improviso  imi- 
tation of,  ii.  115. 

Vivacity,  ii.  43,  43  n. 

Voltaire,  i.  196. 223,  228, 431 ; ii.  97, 185.— his  ‘ Candide  ’ 
similar  in  plan  to  Johnson’s  ‘ Rasselas,’  i.  148  ; ii.  195. 
— a good  narrator,  i.  170. — his  attack  on  Johnson,  i. 
223  — his  distinction  of  Pope  and  Dryden,  i.  226. 

Voting,  right  of,  i.  516. 

Vows,  i.  232,  234  ; ii.  196. 

Vyse,  Rev.  Dr.,  i.  146;  ii.  97,  10  ti.,  423  n. — Johnson’s 
letters  to,  ii.  98,  241,  242. 

W. 

Weariness,  ii.  7. 

Wages  of  labourers,  i.  413;  ii.  330. 

Wales,  Johnson’s  tour  to,  i.  478. — Prince  of,  his  situation, 

ii.  332. 

Walker,  the  actor,  the  original  Macheath,  i.  527. — Mr. 
Joseph  Cooper,  i.  139;  ii.  93  n. — John,  the  master  of 
elocution,  ii.  144. 

Wall,  Dr.,  the  physician,  ii.  385. 

Waller,  Edmund,  the  poet,  i.  349,  525  ; ii.  182  n.,  267, 
528. — Johnson’s  Life  of,  ii.  268. — his  ‘ Divine  Poesie,’  ii. 
384  n. 

Walmsley,  Gilbert,  Esq.,  his  character,  by  Johnson,  i. 
28,  33,  37,  80,  195. — his  letter,  recommending  Johnson 
and  Garrick,  i.  38. 

Walpole,  Horace,  afterwards  Earl  of  Orford,  i.  145  n., 
238  7i.,  517  7i. ; ii.  65  *.,  83,  226,  298,  334  7t.,  391.— his 
humourous  description  of  the  Batheaston  vase,  i.  515  n. 
—his  amusing,  but  often  inaccurate  ‘Reminiscences’ 
quoted,  i.  517  n. — his  character  of  Johnson,  ii.  392  n. — 
Sir  Robert,  i.  50, 257  ti.,  299,  421,442,520;  ii.  112, 286.— 
Johnson’s  constant  opposition  to  his  government,  i.  55. 
Walsh,  Mr.  Saunders,  ii.  59  n. 

Walton,  Isaac,  his  Life  of  Bishop  Sanderson  quoted,  ii. 
443.— his  ‘ Angler,’  i.  479. — his  ‘ Lives,’  i.  477,  493,  526 ; 
ii.  37,  90. 

War,  i.  310 ; ii.  151,  249,  343,  355. 

•V arburton,  Dr.,  i.  62,  71,  76,  110  113,  141,  240,  240 

n.,  348  7t.,  352,  363 ; ii.  130,  175,  271.— his  ‘ Doctrine  of 
Grace,’  i.  352. — Johnson’s  high  opinion  of,  i.  114. — 
made  a bishop  by  Pope,  i.  240  ti.,  348  n. — his  charac- 
ter of  Johnson’s  ‘ Observations  on  Macbeth,’  i.  71. — 
writes  the  preface  to  ‘ Clarissa,’  i.  110  ti.— Johnson’s 
character  of;  ii.  271,  272,  273,  383. — Johnson’s  conduct 
towards,  ii.  271  ti. — his  contest  with  LowUi,  1.  363. 


Ward,  the  noted  doctor,  ii.  211. 

Warrants,  general,  i.  255. 

Warley  camp,  Johnson  at,  ii.  197. 

Warner,  Richard,  his  ‘ Tour  through  the  Northern  Coun- 
ties,’ ii.  424  ti. 

Warren,  Mr.,  the  first  Bookseller  at  Birmingham,  i.  30. 
Warton,  Dr.  Thomas,  i.  67,  81  ti.,  110  n..  116,  118,  124, 
134,  142,  253 ; ii.  37,  113  n.,  144,  166  n.,  232,  244.— 
Johnson’s  letters  to,  i.  116,  118,  119,  122,  124,  125,  131, 
139,  143,  223,  253,  271 ; ii.  232,  233. — his  account  of 
Johnson’s  conversations  at  Oxford,  i.  116.— his  senti- 
ments  on  Johnson’s  Dictionary,  i.  122.— Johnson’s 
parodies  on  his  bad  style  of  poetry,  ii.  113,  113  n., 
lit1  ?.14J1'~Dr'  Joseph,  i.  96,  200,  225,  241,  272, 
’nix  80  81>  217  »•— Johnson’s  letters  to,  i.  107! 

ono  * ■ Richard,  Esq.,  author  of  ‘ Roncesvalles,’  i. 

2Uo  7t. 

Wasse,  his  Greek  Trochaics  to  Bentley,  i.  487. 

Waste,  ii.  158. 

Watson,  Bev.  Dr.  Richard,  Bishop  of  Llanddii;  l.  3*0, 
on?’  oio  ’ 301>  301  «•— his  ‘ Chemical  Essays,’  ii. 

30]>  3?3-— Dr.  Robert,  his  ‘ History  of  Philip  the  Sec 
ond,’  j.  340;  ii.  89. 

Watts.,  Dr.,  i.  134 ; ii.  99,  196,  201.— Johnson’s  Life  of, 

Way,  Daniel,  Esq.,  ii.  317  ti.— Mrs.,  ii.  358. 

Weather,  its  influence  on  the  mind,  i.  142,  193,  201;  ii. 
418— the  English  rallied  by  the  French  for  talking  of 
the,  t.  193  n.  e 

Wealth,  i.  310;  ii.  30,  158,  304—right  employment  of, 

Webster,  Rev.  Dr.  Alexander,  i.  337,  337  n.,  472,  475. 
Wedderburne,  Alexander,  afterwards  Lord  Loughbo- 
roagh* 162>  17*>,  522  ti.  ; ii.  31  n.,  49,  266  n. 

Wedding  ring,  Johnson’s,  i.  98. 

Welch,  Saunders,  Esq.,  i.  183 ; ii.  138,  139  ti.,  216.— 
Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  138. 

Wellesley,  Marquess,  ii.  56  n .,  188  n. 

Welsh  language,  i.  487. — parson,  occurrence  between 
Johnson  and,  i.  490  n. 

Wentworth,  Mr.,  Johnson’s  schoolmaster  at  Stourbridge, 

John,  i.  331,  331  n. ; ii.  28  n.,  145,  170, 
213,  291.— Johnson’s  letters  to,  ii.  28,  213.— his  ghost 
story,  ii.  170,  213.-Charles,  ii.  170.  8 

West,  his  translation  of  ‘ Pindar,’  ii.  252. 

Westcote,  Lord,  afterwards  second  Lord  Lyttelton,  ii 

Wetherell,  Rev.  Dr.  i.523;  ii.  28,  35.— Johnson’s  letter 
to,  ii.  28. 

Wheeler,  Rev.  Dr.  Benjamin,  i.  492 ; ii.  200,  239,  353 
— Johnson’s  letter  to,  ii.  200. — some  account  of,  ii 
200  ti.  ’ 

‘ Whig/  Johnson’s  definition  of  a,  i.  126.— and  Tory,  ii 

Whiggism,  Johnson’s  definition  of,  i.  167,  195 ; ii.  182. 
Whigs,  i.  416,  506,  559 ; ii.  92,  203,  347. 

W"hitaker,  Rev.  James,  his  ‘History  of  Manchester,’  ii 

LCD. 

White,  Rev.  Dr.  Joseph,  Johnson’s  letter  to,  i.  303. — 
some  account  of,  i.  303  n.— Rev.  Henry,  ii.  424. 
Whitbread,  Samuel,  Esq.,  epigram  quoted  by  him,  in  al 
lusion  to  the  marriage  of  an  Austrian  Archduchess  with 
Buonaparte,  i.  401  n. 

Whitby’s  ‘ Commentary,’  i.  418. 

Whitehead,  Paul,  i.  47 ; ii.  360.— William,  i.  74, 181. 
Whitefield,  Rev.  George,  i.  26,  257,  331 ; ii.  220, 220 
his  character,  i.  26,  257,  331. 

Whitgift,  Isaac  Walton’s  eulogy  on,  ii.  288  n. 

‘ Whole  Duty  of  Man,’  conjectures  as  to  the  author  of,  i 
314,  314  ti. 

Whyte,  Mr.  Edward  Anthony,  i.  509  n.,  510  n. 
Wickedness,  i.  394  ; ii.  257. 

Wickens,  Mr.,  of  Lichfield,  anecdotes  of  Johnson  by,  ii 

Wife,  i.  248,  256— Johnson’s  advice  on  the  choice  of  a, 
i.  248,  398 ; ii.  219.— requisites  in,  ii.  219.— a whining 
257  —an  insipid  one,  ii.  257.— a honevsuckle, 
n.  257. — a fraudulent,  ii,  394. 

Wigs,  i.  377  71. ; ii.  181. 

Wilcox,  Mr.,  the  bookseller,  i.  38,  38  n. 

Wilkes,  John,  Esq.,  i.  128,  151,  159  n.,  255,261,  270.  330 
ti.,  387,  442;  ii.  31  n.,  72,  75,  76,  125,  142,  181  234* 
273,274,  294,  295  n , 296,  348,-his  conduct  during  fhe 
riots  in  1/80,  ii.  234,  234  ti— his  jeu  d’esprit  on  John- 
son s Dictionary,  i.  128.— Johnson’s  opinion  of,  i.  179 
442,  442  ti.  ; ii.  125.— meetings  between  him  and  John- 
son, ii.  72.— Israel,  Esq.,  ii.  72. 

Will,  Johnson’s,  ii.  447. 

Will-making,  i.  321. 

‘ Will  ’ and  ‘ Shall,’  Johnson’s  use  of  the  words,  i.  32  » 


566 


INDEX. 


William  the  Third,  Johnson’s  character  of,  i.  517,  517  n. ; 
ii.  112. 

Williams,  Mr.  Zachariah,  his  attempts  to  ascertain  the 
longitude,  i.  129. — some  account  of,  i.  129  n. — Mrs. 
Anna,  i.  57,  100-1,  130,  190,  206,  234  264  ; ii.  5,  58, 

58  7i.,  97,  100,  102,  353,  354,  355,  357.— her  death,  ii. 
354.— Miss  Helen  Maria,  ii.  380. — her  1 Ode  on  the 
Peace,’  ii.  380,  380  n. — her  death,  ii.  380  n. — Sir  Charles 
Haubury,  i.  239,  414. 

’Tilson,  Rev.  Thomas,  his  4 Archeological  Dictionary,’ 
ii.  323. — his  character,  ii.  323  n.— Johnson’s  letter  to, 
ii.  323. 

-Vindham,  Right  Hon.  William,  i.  502,  502  n. ; ii.  96, 
195,  333,  338, 377,  416,433,  486,  529. — Johnson’s  letters, 
to,  ii.  349,  419. — particulars  of  his  last  interview  with 
Johnson,  from  his  private  journal,  ii.  440,  440  n. 

Windus’s  ‘ Journey  to  Mequinez,’  i.  487. 

Wine,  i.  172,  296,  298,  340,  393;  ii.  33,  64,  64  ti.,  120, 150, 
152,  174, 182, 183,  186, 207.— reason  of  Johnson’s  absti- 
nence from,  i.  39  n. 

Winifred’s  Well,  i.  484. 

Wise,  Dr.  Francis,  i.  117. 

Wisedom,  Robert,  his  prayer,  i.  48G,  486  n. 

Wit,  ii.  64,  296  n. 

Witchcraft,  i.  335,  378,  378  n. 

Witches,  i.  294. — in  Macbeth,  i.  360. 

Wives,  ii.  253, 256.— elfects  of  their  non-compliance  on 
petty  occasions,  ii.  219. 

Wolfe’s  4 Choice  of  difficulties,’  371,  371  n. 

Women,  i.  398,  440  n.,  525 ; ii.  167.— without  religion, 
ii.  219.— of  quality,  ii.  195. 

Wood,  Anthony,  i.  20. 

Woodcocks,  i.  247,  316. 

Woodhouse,  the  poetical  shoe-maker,  i.  171,  221. 

Wool!,  Rev.  John,  his  4 Memoirs  of  Dr.  Warton,’  ii.  232. 

Worcester,  i.  49l. 

* Word  to  the  wise,’  Johnaon’s  prologue  to,  ii.  93. 


4 World,’  the,  i.  190. — injustice  of  the  complaints  against 

the,  ii.  328. 

4 World  Displayed,’  Johnson  writes  the  Introduction  to 
i.  150. 

Worthington,  Dr.  William,  i.  486  n.,  488,  491. 

Wraxhall,  Sir  Nathaniel  William,  ii.  232. 

Wrexham,  i.  490. 

Wright,  Mr.  Richard,  of  Lichfield,  ii.  469. 

Writers,  modem,  the  moons  of  literature,  ii.  185. 
Writers  to  the  Signet,  i.  444  n.  « 

Writing,  alleged  pleasure  in,  ii.  34. 

X. 

Xenophon,  ii.  205. — his  4 Treatise  of  Economy,’  ii.  84 
his  4 Retreat  of  the  Ten  Thousand,’  ii.  253.— his 4 Mem* 
orabilia,’  ii.  200  n. 

Xerxes,  ii.  132. 

T. 

Yalden,  the  poet,  ii.  201. 

Yates,  Mrs.,  ii.  227. 

Yonge,  Sir  William,  i.  79,  286. 

4 Yorick’s  Sermons,’  i.  308  n. 

York  Jail,  i.  551. — Minster,  i.  551. 

Young,  Dr.,  i.  87,  416;  ii.  153,  277,  280  n.,  302,  387.— hi. 
‘Night  Thoughts,’  i.  263,  416.— his  ‘Conjecture  on 
original  Composition,’  i.  416. — his  4 Love  of  Fame,’  i. 
416.— Life  of,  by  the  Rev.  Herbert  Croft,  ii.  277.— hi* 
4 Universal  Passion,’  ii.  278. — his  writings  described  by 
Johnson,  ii.  278. 

Young  people,  Johnson’s  fondness  for,  i 20. 

Yvres,  History  of  the  House  of,  ii.  337 

Z 

‘ Zenobia,’  a tragedy,  i.  246. 

4 Zobeide,’  a tragedy,  ii.  61 
Zoucb,  Rev.  Mr.,  ii.  90  *. 


THE  EUR 


